Page 19 of Queen of Sherwood

Will flared his nostrils, dashing a quick look at me over the knight’s shoulder before narrowing his eyes on the older man. “This honey farm and its lodgings are the greatest source of commerce in Ravenshead. You cannot have it.”

The Templar cocked his head, and from my side profile, he seemed bemused. “We are claiming this land in the name of Pope Celestine the Third, son. You would go against the pope—the holiest man in all Christendom?”

“I would go against anyone trying to bully their way to ownership of this property. It does not belong to you.”

A few of the hushed whispers from the crowd rose at Will’s proclamation. Even though I knew he wasn’t well-loved here, William Elder was well-loved, and the people wanted their voices to be heard. Will Scarlet was a conduit for that.

The Templar frowned. “There is a lack of succession documentation.”

“I am the successor.” Will’s hands twitched at his sides, gloved and open. I knew he wanted to reach for the two swords across his back, yet he refrained. For now.

The Templar Knights had huge swords of their own on their backs. I recalled the memory of my first time here, when blood had nearly been spilled after we caught William Elder’s workers stealing from the elderly man.

Everything inside me told me to avoid getting to that point with these men. These weren’t two brigands trying to con an old man’s honey. These were Soldiers of God—associated with the most feared warriors in the world—and they had the backing of the King of England on their side, as well as the new pope.

I stepped forward, but John put an arm out to stop me. When I scowled at him, he shook his head, keeping his eyes on the situation.

“Is your name on the will?” the Templar asked.

“My name is Will. William Scadlock the Younger, son of William Scadlock the Elder. This land belonged to my father. If it doesn’t belong to me because my pa failed to put me in his last testament, then it will go to the people of Ravenshead.”

My heart soared to my throat at his announcement. He’d never claimed himself in such a way—dire, resolute, and earning firm nods and “ayes” from the townsfolk behind the knights.

An unexpected memory of Will Scarlet seared through my mind: Will ravaging me in the mud near the Grinning Oak, taking and claiming me. I found myself smiling at the lewd, raucous memory. He had come such a long way, yet he still showed sparks of his arrogant, powerful self, in times such as these.

Will Scarlet was a man who never backed down, even if he was half the age of these knights and severely outranked. For all intents and purposes, he was a peasant. An outlaw, if these men knew a thing or two about Will.

He was also the fiercest fighter I’d ever met, and a man I loved wholeheartedly, despite his violent ways. No, perhaps because of his violent ways.

These knights didn’t know the fire they were playing with by testing him.

In a word, Will was the perfect man to rise against these Knights Templar—these outsiders who thought they owned everything their holy feet touched.

I had to tamp down my arousal, biting my lip, as I continued watching.

The Templar Knight, hearing the grumbling behind him, grew agitated. He stuffed his scroll away, his voice indifferent. “Take your grievances up with the Sheriff of this land, whoever he is. Just know that our writ of ownership is absolute. We will not be deterred.”

These men don’t even know who the Sheriff of Nottingham is, yet they act so haughty and superior? It’s shameful.

Will stepped forward, hands bunching into fists. “My father’s body is still warm in the ground, and you would try me like this, knight?”

The Templar bellowed, hand rising to curl around the handle of his great sword over his shoulder. “Try you, knave?! We are the fucking Knights Templar, boy. You are the one testing the holy fires of wrath with your insolence and disrespect!”

Will’s bright eyes darkened like brimstone. A smirk curled one side of his mouth, as if he knew he had pushed the knight’s buttons past the point of breaking.

The younger knight, who had not spoken yet, stepped forward with his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Shall I do away with this one, Sir Charles?”

“I would like to see you try,” Will growled, closing the gap between them until they were ten paces apart. Meanwhile, Rosco and Griff backpedaled a step, clearly frightened of this entire situation they’d found themselves in.

“Initiate Brandt, your holy resolve is admirable,” Sir Charles said, “and I daresay it’s a good—”

“Please, gentlemen!” A broad man stepped forward from the peasant group behind the knights. Landon was burly and thick, similar to Little John’s build, though not quite as extreme in height and physique. With a raised hand, everyone turned at the sound of his loud voice. “Let us not spill blood on this good morning. I am sure we can reconcile our differences with a simple meeting. Perhaps over some bread and honey?” He smiled.

I’d never seen Landon act anything other than brash and mean toward me, so this was a surprise. Seemed he could play the bureaucrat as well as anyone—probably why he was considered the leader of Ravenshead when the bishop was not around.

“Who speaks?” asked the older knight named Sir Charles, crossing his arms.

“My name is Landon. I help facilitate trade in Ravenshead, sir.” He gave a small bow. “We are a devout people. Fearful of God. Subjects to the holy Bishop Sutton. While he is away, I have been deputized with the arm of the law on my side.”

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