Page 34 of Queen of Sherwood

And now . . . I didn’t even know. None of us did, and maybe that was Robert’s point: It was best not to jump blindly into the fire when Marian manned the coals.

“Hold on,” I said, earning everyone’s eyes and ears. I spoke to Robin directly, massaging my beard and chin. “If we know she’s a spy—”

“Which we don’t know,” Alan pointed out.

“—then maybe we can use that to our advantage.”

Robin slanted her head, confusion rippling across her face. “How so?”

“Feed her bad information,” I said. “Assume she’s reporting to Guy or Sheriff George. Make her think we trust her again.”

Robin mulled it over, quiet for a drawn-out moment. Then she shook her had adamantly. “She’s too clever. She’ll know something is awry if we start divulging information to her and act nice. She knows we don’t trust her one whit.”

I shrugged my big shoulders up to my ears. “Then we don’t act nice to her. Should be easy enough, since we all despise the woman.”

When I locked Robin with a wicked grin, she smirked. “Do some scheming of our own.”

Alan-a-Dale stepped forward, putting his arms out between us. “While I’m loving this chat about duplicity and treachery . . . are we sure we can outsmart her? Are we not just better off kicking her out of camp?”

Alan’s gaze flicked between the three of us, ultimately landing on Robin last. Our leader. It was her decision.

“Nay,” she said. “This is an opportunity we should not squander. I like John’s plan. It’s either that, or torture her. And I think we’ve seen enough blood for one sunset.”

My head reeled. Those are the only two options?

She headed for the flap of the tent to leave before anyone could question her. I agreed with her decision, I supposed, yet something else bothered me.

Why was she smiling when she spoke of torture?

“I COME IN GOOD FAITH, on my own volition,” Marian explained.

Robin stood at the front of our semi-circle, her four lovers behind her. Robert had left to welcome the newly arrived Oak Boys to camp and help them get situated.

Folding her arms under her breasts, standing over Marian, Robin said, “You do nothing in good faith, Maid Marian, except perhaps faith to yourself.”

We were on a razor’s edge here—rile Marian up, act deplorable to her, even, yet not play a hand that was heavy enough to oust her from camp. I truly did believe this was a blessing in disguise, if we played it right.

Sending Marian back to her handlers with false information could greatly benefit us. Robin had to be both a diplomat and interrogator, and I knew how hard that could be.

“It’s Madam Marian now, actually,” the curly redhead said with a tightlipped smile. She sat calmly on a bench, opposite Robin.

“Oh. Right.” Robin took it in stride, scoffing. “Since you’ve turned my family home into a whorehouse.”

Marian wasn’t fazed. She smiled wider. “I thought that might come to your attention, at some point.”

Robin bounced Marian’s arrogance right back at her, not taking the bait. I felt like I was watching two creatures I didn’t wholly understand partake in a war I didn’t know how to wage. A war of wiles and wit and backhanded reactions.

I was rapt with attention—all of us were—as the two waged their secret skirmish.

“Does it make you proud, Marian, selling yourself to the highest bidder?” Robin asked with a haughty tone.

Marian raised a finger. “I don’t even need to sell myself, anymore. I have workers for that.”

“You lost the men you truly loved,” Robin continued, undeterred, “only to give yourself over to the bottom-feeders of the realm.”

Marian stood from the bench with a harsh laugh. “From everything I’ve heard, the Merry Men are the bottom-feeders of the realm.”

“You and I both know that’s not true.”

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