Page 123 of Queen of Sherwood

When more voices stirred, drowning out Marian and forgetting her, she began to sit, evidently pleased her time in the sun was over.

Then I called out, “Say more, Marian. I want to hear your thoughts.”

She froze halfway to sitting. Glowered at me like I’d splashed water on her.

I didn’t smirk or press, however. I wasn’t trying to goad the woman. I was genuinely curious, and I hoped she could see that on my face.

Clearing her throat, Marian stood taller. “According to my sources, Sir Montford and Sheriff George do not get along. With Bishop Sutton gone—the buffer between the two blowhards—perhaps there is a way to pit them against each other.”

“That would be brilliant,” I drawled, “if we had any idea how that would work.”

Marian tilted her head. “You’re clever and resourceful, Robin Hood. Why don’t we pull out a map and look it over?”

I pursed my lips. People looked back and forth between us, as if she was challenging me with that slightly curled tilt to her lips.

How could I deny such a challenge?

OUR LEADERSHIP GROUP split off from the main band, leaving the Merry Men, Oak Boys, and Ravenshead folk to get some sleep and prepare for the morning.

The size of our camp was getting unwieldy. With Landon’s people added in, our chances of keeping our location a secret—even hidden in the gorge of Robert’s secluded Oak Boys camp—was nearly impossible. Especially with how easy it was to infiltrate us now that we couldn’t keep a stern eye on every man and woman who showed up at camp. The Muddy Meddlers were perfect examples of that.

In the tent was me, Robert, Uncle Gregory, Maid Marian, John, Will, Tuck, and Alan. Everyone I needed, and everyone worthy of making a decision. All eight of us came from different walks of life, and had had different experiences, so we could provide varying opinions and plans worth considering.

Marian pored over a map on the table, which was held down by four small stones in each corner. It was a map of part of Sherwood Forest—the northern and western regions we frequented. Even though we were in the east, near Lincolnshire, Ravenshead was closer to our usual haunts.

“If George and Montford are currently garrisoned in Ravenshead, then they’ve taken over the village as their base of operations,” Marian pointed out.

“Garrisoned? Base of operations?” Robert popped his eyebrows at her. “Look at you, madam. Where did you get your military education?”

He spoke with a thread of heat and jest behind his words, and I stared directly at him and shook my head. “Not now, Robert.”

He could try and woo Marian later. Now, it was time to get serious. I needed his mind on the matter at hand, not on the woman at hand.

To her credit, Marian flashed a quick smile at him and then ignored his comment. She traced the map with her finger. “There are many options where George will strike next near Ravenshead: Ashfield, Blidworth, Newstead Village, Rainworth, perhaps even Mansfield.”

“Nay,” Little John said. “He will not strike Mansfield. It’s too large, with its own militia, and he has prior connections with the people there.”

Right. Baron Melwin, deceased chief of Mansfield and associate of George’s in the sex-slaving trade.

“Plus, he doesn’t need to attack them. He’s the Sheriff of Nottingham, not Mansfield. His authority is vast in this region.” John tapped his cheek and stroked his beard, staring down at the map. “What he might do, however, is pull soldiers from there for his hunt.”

“Great,” I muttered. “Even worse. A never-ending stream of fighters at his disposal. We don’t have the numbers to take him on.”

“No, we don’t,” John said bleakly. “If what Landon is saying is true—which I have no reason to mistrust him—then we are contending with two separate armies. Either of them, independent of one another, could stamp us out.”

“Then we need to play it smart,” Will said. “Use the forest to our advantage, as we know how to do. Sherwood has been our hunting ground for years. This is our home, remember.”

“How long do you think we have to prepare?” Friar Tuck asked the tent.

Marian said, “I’d give it days. If that.”

“Why would George attack all these small villages that are, no offense intended, worthless to him?” Alan-a-Dale asked.

It was a fair question.

“Because he’s on a quest for blood,” Will answered, peeling his upper lip back in a snarl. “He may not raze the villages like he did Ravenshead—a place he thinks might have had something to do with Sutton’s end. But he will speak to the people there, plant informants, and eventually find us out.”

“Aye, agreed,” Little John said.

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