Page 36 of Queen of Sherwood

Marian nodded. “Aye.” She let out a heavy sigh.

It was impossible to tell how truthful she was being, or if this was just another one of her games. Honestly, I was relieved Robin was taking the reins on this one.

“To prove my faithfulness, I will provide you with something that few others know. A piece of evidence you are missing, which will change everything. I must forewarn you, however, it will bring righteous hatred out of you, as it did me.”

Robin scowled. “I don’t know if I need more hatred in my heart, Marian. I seem to be sinking in it these days.”

“Robin,” I croaked, the first of her Merciless Men to speak. I wasn’t trying to sway her mind—only speaking because it pained me to hear her say that. To hear her say something that the rest of us had recognized: She was changing, and not in a good way.

It was an element we’d have to tackle eventually.

“Tell me, Madam Marian,” Robin spat, “and I’ll be the judge of its veracity and worth.”

“Very well,” Marian answered, and cleared her throat.

She seemed to struggle with her words, which simply did not happen with Marian. Again, it could have been part of her artful display, yet I wanted to believe she was being honest and forthcoming. Perhaps for the first time in her life. Lord knew her face looked pained and racked with enough guilt. Either that, or she was an even better actor than I’d known.

“I did not know where Sir Guy would take you when you traded your safety for the handmaid’s,” she said at last. “He simply ordered me to keep you until he arrived.”

“So knocking me unconscious was just for fun?”

Marian shrugged. “I was angry. It was the easiest way to detain you.” She shook her head, her elegant brows flitting with consternation. “I should have suspected something when I was told to feed the female inhabitants of Wilford with that white powder in their drinks.”

A gasp slipped past Robin’s lips, which she tried to hide by clearing her throat. “I knew it—I knew you had tampered with the drinks!”

“Aye, except that order didn’t come from Sir Guy. It came from the Sheriff of Nottingham himself. I was getting mixed signals. That is when I should have noticed something was awry: Because, despite everything you might believe, Sir Guy of Gisborne has a shred of honor. Sir George doesn’t.”

I let out a heavy snort and shook my head. Even if it was true, I would never admit it. Never believe it, really, because I’d had too many run-ins with that despicable, emotionless man.

Marian raised her hands in surrender. “Believe what you will, Little John. But Guy has always treated me favorably.”

“You never thought it might be because he wants something from you?” I asked. “If there is anyone more cunning than you, Marian, it is him.”

She quirked a sad smile. “Aye, that’s the truth of it. You may be right. Even so.”

I glanced at Robin to see how she was taking this, and was surprised to see that her face had gone pale. She wasn’t disagreeing with Marian. Why? Does she actually believe the same thing as her? That Sir Guy of Gisborne is not a horrible fiend?

“Regardless,” Marian continued, “Sir George ordered me to taint the drinks for my guests. Guy simply ordered me to hold the woman captive. And when I mentioned to Sir Guy the white powder, given to me by George, he was shocked. Went and did some digging on his own, and came to a startling realization.”

“That the women you had holed up in Wilford—and in other hideaways, no doubt—were being sold as sex slaves,” Robin announced, baring her teeth. “That isn’t news to us, Marian. We already knew. Already had a huge battle about it, even. You should have seen it.”

“I wish I had,” Marian said, without her typical snark. “If it meant seeing the slavers suffer.”

I was a bit surprised at that response.

Her face was a storm of thinly veiled rage, and it was the first time I’d ever seen her so serious. “Yet I already suspected you knew, Robin, because you’re smart. No, that’s not the information I wished to relay.”

“Then what is it? I’m growing tired of reliving that horror. Many of the girls meant to be offloaded from the carriages are staying with us even now, Marian. They’ve found a home with the Merry Men.”

Marian stepped forward, locking gazes with Robin before flicking her eyes to me, Will, Alan, and Tuck. “Sir Guy discovered the mastermind behind the slaving operation, and it’s not Sheriff George.”

My stomach soured.

“His name is Bishop Sutton of Ravenshead.”

Chapter 10

Friar Tuck

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