Page 31 of Queen of Sherwood

Even worse than the sense of wrongness was the newfound leadership style I had unlocked with ruthless efficiency. The one that killed in cold blood, tried to cover up the crime, and then convince everyone else that the crime had never taken place. That their eyes deceived them. That violence was the answer when you couldn’t get things done through peaceful means.

It was . . . ugly. Messy. Brutal. I knew, in my heart, it was not who I was. Or at least not who I was meant to be.

Yet it also gave me a thrill—the satisfaction of getting a job done right, and getting away with it.

Maybe it is who I am? Maybe this is who I’ve become, and I need to reconcile that?

The five of us left Ravenshead in a state of chaos. A low-level simmer on the fire, ready to boil over and explode if word of Sir Charles and Initiate Brandt’s deaths got back to the Templar Knights.

There was nothing more we could do, for now, until we saw how the Templars reacted; how Sheriff George reacted; how Bishop Sutton—the highest-ranked priest in the vicinity, who called Ravenshead home—reacted.

We couldn’t take the fight to the Templars. We didn’t have the numbers. My fight was not with them, anyway. It was with Nottingham, same as it always had been. And now, I supposed, with Maid Marian. Also the same as it always has been, I thought morosely, bouncing on Mercy’s saddle.

My mates and Robert kept close to me on their horses, silent and exhausted as we rode most the afternoon to get back to the Merry Men’s camp. Our site was closer to Ravenshead than the Oak Boys’ camp, so it was decided Robert would stay with us for a time.

We needed to sleep, first. Shake off the ugliness of today. Then we needed to formulate a plan—a reactionary scheme to take on the Templar Knights, Maid Marian, Sheriff George, Guy of Gisborne, and all our other enemies that seemed to be sprouting up like weeds.

We were lucky, I supposed, that we’d had Robert in Ravenshead. At least that way we didn’t make an enemy of Landon, too, though it had been a close call.

In a way, our mission to Ravenshead had been entirely successful. The people got to keep William Elder’s estate, divvying it amongst themselves. I was sure they’d appreciate that. At the same time, we finally got to call them our allies, which meant bolstering our ranks.

Now, if we could just do that with the dozens of other villages in these parts, we might have the start of a formidable army. Then we could take the fight to the Templar Knights or the Sheriff of Nottingham, if it came down to it.

An hour out from camp, walking our horses down the main trade route, I spotted a figure pacing down the road in the same direction we were going, his back to us. He walked with a bow-legged gait, a staff and sack over his shoulder.

The man heard our hooves too late and tried to dart into the trees off the road after I’d already seen him.

I tilted my head, recognizing the flash of long white braids and dark skin I saw—unique for these parts.

Smiling, I stopped my horse near the bush that he’d jumped into. “Wulfric, is that you?”

The bush spoke, rustling. “Shit. We’re found.”

My smile widened. “You can poke your head out, friend. We are not enemies sent to kill you.”

“Sounds like something an enemy sent to kill me would say. You are bandits, no?”

I chuckled. Tossing a look over my shoulder, and my friends grinned. I found it interesting that things had come full circle: Robert went to Wulfric, and the healer told me where Robert was staying. Now we had found him in dire straits of his own.

“It’s me, Wulfric. Robin of Loxley.”

More rustling from the bush. His head popped up, his acorn-brown face glistening from the afternoon sun. “Robin of Loxley! What a surprise.”

“Hail,” I said with a small laugh. “What are you doing out on the road?”

He stepped out from the bush, dusting the leaves and twigs and spiderwebs off him. “Is a man not allowed to go for a stroll? Has the Sheriff criminalized that, too?”

I opened my mouth, ashamed and fearful I’d offended him. “No, I—”

“Only jesting, Robin of Loxley,” he snorted, flapping a hand at me. His eerie white-teethed smile disappeared just as quickly. “Had to depart the ancient ruin, sadly, I did. White knights showed up making a fuss.”

My brow lifted. “White knights? You mean the Templar Knights?”

“If you say so, lass. A midnight man like me knows what happens when alabaster men with giant red crosses show up. They proclaimed the site a ‘holy’ one, saying no ‘vagrants’ or ‘transients’ were allowed to sleep there. Can you believe it? My home? Holy? For whom, I ask myself.”

I blinked, trying to take everything in, because Wulfric spoke swiftly. “I am sorry.” I thought about looking over my shoulder, but then thought better of it. I don’t need to ask anyone for permission anymore. I need to stop looking to Little John for answers if I’m going to lead this outfit.

“Would you like to join us, Wulfric?” I asked. “At the Merry Men’s camp? We could always use a skilled herbalist and healer such as yourself. Our camp has been growing.”

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