Page 120 of Queen of Sherwood

I thought about it some more. I mean, Robert is a handsome, capable young man. No doubt. Quite dashing. And Marian is a finely crafted, beautiful woman. I’m often jealous of her appearance. But that doesn’t make this right!

There was another thing I remembered, right then, that soured my stomach. Robert doesn’t know that Marian and our father . . . once upon a time . . . Ugh. This is awful.

I didn’t want to tell Rob that Marian had seduced Sir Thomas to get in his coffers, and that our father had been unfaithful to our dying mother with this damnable woman.

“Robert,” I said, clearing my dry throat. “Need I warn you—”

“What she’s done to the Merry Men in the past? How she’s betrayed you all, on multiple occasions?”

I nodded vigorously, throwing my arms up. “Yes!”

Robert sighed and sat back, leaning his head against an upright stake of my tent. “I’ve never been part of the Merry Men, Robin. All I can say is, my history with that gorgeous woman is clean, and she’s never been a problem to the Oak Boys.”

He shouldered me again, which did nothing to pull me out of my dumbfounded mind. Then he slapped my knee and stood up with a groan. “Besides,” he said, and winked down at me. “I haven’t even made my move yet. Who knows if she’d have me?”

A dashing protector half her age? The co-leader of our alliance? A man with status, integrity, and charm?

Brother . . . Maid Marian would have a goddamn wild boar in her bed if it snorted loudly enough and could elevate her position.

I frowned as he started walking away, toward the boar-fucker in question. Opening my mouth to shout at him some more, I closed it when I realized I had no room to talk.

I’m currently sharing my bed with four separate men. Suppose I should keep my mouth shut on matters of the heart.

With Robert gone, I stood and stretched my arms over my head. He could do what he wished, I supposed. He was a grown man. No longer that wry, sprightly little boy I sprouted up with.

I took one step away from my tent and—

“Thorn!”

Froze.

Fucking hell. Here we go again.

I spun around at the familiar voice of Will Scarlet behind me, loud and urgent, coming from the southern edge of camp.

For a man who insisted on calling me “little thorn” all the time, he truly could be a thorn in my ass.

“Aye? What is it? You’re back so soon.”

Will pushed through some trees and undergrowth, bounding over a hill. He ran down the other end toward me. His eyes were wild, his face pale.

“Will?” I asked, more seriously this time, taking a step toward him.

Then I saw why he was so flustered.

The big man called Landon, deputy leader of Ravenshead in Bishop Sutton’s vacancy—which I supposed meant he could take that position on a full-time basis now—walked down the hill after Will.

Landon looked messy, with tattered clothes and a bloodied arm.

And behind him . . . were dozens of men, women, and children shuffling into view. Appearing just as decrepit, lost, and dejected as him. Mothers held their arms around waist-high children; men held rusty swords, hoes, rakes, and sickles; whelps were hugging bosoms, crying and wailing.

It looked like the entire damn village of Ravenshead, once home to Will Scarlet’s father, had come to pay us a visit.

“Shit,” I said under my breath.

“Aye,” Will answered. “It’s bad. Ravenshead has been fucking razed to the ground, Robin. My father’s estate and farm? Completely demolished.” When my eyes widened and my heart stopped, he added, “I’ll give you one guess as to who’s responsible.”

I had hoped we would’ve had more time.

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