Page 156 of Queen of Sherwood

Alan-a-Dale played wistful tunes, joined by a choir of orphans and accompanist musicians from camp. Friar Tuck gave the eulogy, as our chaplain.

Gregory had been my final link to the past. With him gone, there were no guiding hands in our family name. It was just me and Robert now, forced to fend for ourselves.

I would miss his guidance and kindness most of all. Beyond that, his stern education of the ways of life.

“He lived life by his own terms,” I had told the congregation of gathered bandits. “From soldier, to landowner, to bandit, he never wavered from what he believed was right. There’s honor in that. Gregory exemplified respect and virtue that seems to be missing today. I hope we can be reminded of those timeless qualities, and that we may dig deep and uncover them within ourselves, in the name of my uncle.”

Following the burial, Robert and Briggs led the procession back to camp. We were still on edge about Sheriff George’s army camped in Ravenshead, so we needed to prepare for a possible battle.

One that would surely be our end, if the Knights Templar combined forces with the dead Sheriff’s militia. They, too, had lost a master: Sir Amadeus Montford, who had been the leading knight in the region.

Our enemies were dead. Bishop Sutton, Sir Montford, Sheriff George, Sir Guy. All gone.

We still had one enemy in camp, but she wouldn’t pose much of a problem now that she had no one to scheme with. Marian had never been as powerful by herself, which was likely what made her so sad and deceitful. She knew that, in order to get ahead as a woman in this realm, she needed to use every bit of leverage she could to get her way.

It had backfired for the final time.

On the way to camp, a scout approached and spoke in a hushed whisper to Robert. I watched them converse, noticed my brother nodding, and then he turned to me.

“The army in Ravenshead is leaving,” Robert announced.

Everyone froze to listen. My heart stilled behind my ribs. “Leaving?” I asked. “. . . Where?”

“Back to Nottingham.” A small, sad smile flickered across his face. “They aren’t going deeper into the woods, sister. They’re retreating.”

I was stunned. It took a moment for my mind to comprehend . . . that we were finally safe.

I became lost in a swirling daze, trapped within myself. It was only when loud cheers and jarring hoots and hollers rose from the hundred people surrounding us that I was snapped back to reality.

People hugged me. I stared at them in shock.

We’ve . . . won?

“Long live Robin Hood!” called one voice, and the chant was repeated by dozens of others.

Fists pumped the sky.

“Long live the Queen of Sherwood Forest!” shouted another.

My mates surrounded me, shifting from one foot to the other as they awkwardly played bodyguard around me.

Too much had happened recently for them to let their sights off me, even if it was our own camp who embraced and cheered me.

We only needed to look to the Muddy Meddlers to understand that.

Still, once the shock wore off, the smiling began. I returned the hugs of my comrades, and then moved my eyes to the men I called lovers.

They had pride in their faces. All of them. I was their entire world, and they looked nowhere but my face.

All the attention made me nervous. I bit the inside of my cheek, chewing, trying to make sure this was real.

The scout’s news was the best we’d had in months. If the army was retreating, it was possible they would come back once they recouped.

But it was also possible that I had been correct, and once we cut the head off the snake—Sheriff George, in this case—then the rest of the troops lost interest. No one really wanted to delve deep into the woods of Sherwood Forest to try and fight against bloodthirsty bandits. Right?

I knew the Merry Men and Oak Boys would become the stuff of legend because of this. The ragtag band of thieves and outlaws who had defied a lord and gotten away with it.

A group who had won their freedom.

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