Page 21 of Queen of Sherwood

Little John’s face darkened. “It’s wise not to ask that question of me, little hope. Because my answer is not as constructive as you might hope.”

I swallowed hard, guilt washing over me. “Fair enough. I’m sorry—”

“I understand your meaning, though. Which is why you are most suited to speak with Will. Not me. He will listen to you.”

“He listens to no one, that aggravating man.”

John sighed, glancing over his shoulder at Will, who was yelling at Friar Tuck now. “I suppose you’re right. More likely to listen to you, then.”

I rolled my eyes, then pushed past him. “I’ll see what I can do.”

I meandered over to Will. When I reached their semi-circle, I eyed Rosco, then Griff, then Tuck, and finally Will. “What are we all talking about?” I asked lightly, trying to cut through the tension.

Will scowled. “Don’t try to dissuade me from doing this, little thorn.”

“Good to see you, too.”

His scowl remained on his pretty face. Curls of dark hair rustled in the morning breeze as his bright, uncanny blue eyes drilled into me. His full lips were firm. He was not in the mood for levity, which I should have expected.

“I won’t try to discourage you from the duel,” I said, shrugging. “I understand your father’s estate means a lot to you. I am sorry he is gone, and that I was not here with you.”

I reached out and put a gentle hand on his arm, which he looked down at. His intensity softened, and some of the tension in his shoulders and arms mellowed. “He went peacefully,” he said with a sigh. “It was his time.”

My hand rose from his arm to his cheek, where I cupped his warm skin. Will was freshly shaved, and more beautiful than ever. “You shouldn’t have to deal with such a thing so soon after losing someone you held close. I’m sorry—”

“Stop saying you’re sorry. This wasn’t your fault.”

His head bowed a fraction.

I dipped my head to meet his—Will and I were nearly the same height—and kissed him on the lips. Surprising him, for sure, but definitely surprising the others.

Rosco and Griff shifted their weight, and Friar Tuck cleared his throat. The awkwardness they all felt watching me press my lips to Will’s must have been immediate. For some reason that awkwardness felt gratifying.

I pulled back. “Boys, if you’ll let me talk with Will in private, please?”

Tuck bowed his head. “Of course, little heathen.”

He turned to leave . . . and then realized Rosco was smirking at me and Griff was staring at me like I had parted the seas.

Tuck sighed, slapped Griff upside the head, and snagged Rosco’s shirt sleeve. “Come on, you rapscallions. Leave them to it.”

With that, they wandered off. Just in case anyone felt like prying, I looped my arm in Will’s and walked off with him, toward a thick copse of trees in the distance, past his father’s estate.

As we walked, Will talked. “You said you won’t try to dissuade me, Robin, yet I feel a but coming. And you’re walking me into the woods.”

“Are the woods not our happy place?” I asked. My throat felt thick, abruptly, and my lips curled into a wicked smile that would have impressed Will in any other situation. “Where we’ve done our best . . . work?”

At that, he smiled. Finally. He stared at the ground, likely reminiscing. “The Grinning Oak. The campsites. I suppose you’re right.”

We fell silent, our boots snapping twigs and dry leaves as we made it to the trees where we could be concealed.

I had half a mind to thrust myself upon Will, spread my legs, and let him have his way with me against the nearest tree trunk. Lord knew it would be one way to get him to relieve his frustrations . . .

Except I knew this situation was more than something that could be solved with sex. More than frustration brewed inside him. It was a deep hatred for authority, for the law of the land, and for bullies who tried to get away with despicable things. Will Scarlet wouldn’t stand for it, and, frankly, neither would I.

“The look in your eyes tells me you want me to fuck you until you can’t walk right, little thorn,” he rumbled, stepping close to me and wrapping his arm around my back.

“The idea crossed my mind.”

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