Page 37 of Queen of Sherwood

“Blasphemy!” I shouted breathlessly. The word came out of my mouth before my brain could even take in Marian’s concession.

Everyone turned to me.

“He’s a good man,” I admitted, flustered. “The one priest who stood with me when I . . . needed an ally. Before I joined this group.”

John stood forward next. “Agreed. While imprisoned in Nottingham, Bishop Sutton was the one person to show me any hint of kindness.”

Will said, “I don’t trust what anyone says until I have my blade against their throat.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “Perhaps we should hear the whore out.”

Robin scowled at him, then back to Marian.

Marian said, “Why would I lie about this?”

“To shift blame to someone else other than the true culprit,” Robin chided. “Sheriff George. The true villain here. You don’t know what George did to . . .” She trailed off, flicking her eyes over to Little John, which made me double take. “. . . to the Merry Men.”

“Oh, there’s no doubt George is in the middle of this,” Marian said, evidently not picking up the odd glance to our former leader. “But there can be more than one villain, Robin, as I’m sure you know.”

“Aye. George, Sutton, Guy, you,” Robin snarled. “Far as I’m concerned, you’re all evil!”

We were at risk of losing this thread. Going down a hole we couldn’t claw back from—and it was all, predictably, started by Maid Marian.

I couldn’t believe her words on face value. Much like the others, I didn’t trust her. Even when I tried to see the best in everyone, and give them second chances, some people simply didn’t deserve them. Marian had proven time and time again that she did not have the Merry Men’s interests at heart.

So why this admission? Could she truly be trying to earn our trust? Could she be this torn over discovering the flesh trading she was inadvertently apart of? Could Maid Marian be showing remorse and guilt, at long last?

“None of us are evil, lass,” Marian said, almost softly, endearingly. “We are simply human. Are some of us more prone to showing our treacherous sides? Yes. But it is all in the name of ambition. Bishop Sutton’s ambition is second to none.”

“Prove it,” I growled.

She turned her wily green eyes on me. “Does it not make sense, friar? Bishop Sutton holds the perfect cover: a doddering old man with a kind smile, giving alms to the poor and homes to the needy. A true paragon of Christ.”

“Exactly.”

“And yet, I’ve heard stories of the man behind the mask. Using his reputation of benefaction for wicked purposes—this sex slave operation being the worst of it. The final straw that brought me here.” She lifted a finger. “Because, you see, Sutton owes money to the Knights Templar. He has borrowed vast sums to build his churches and cathedrals, beyond his purview as a bishop. And the toll has come due.”

John muttered, “He did tell me in prison that he was planning on building a church in Cornwall soon . . .”

“Aye. It’s already begun. Somewhere along the way, he lost money. Construction halted. Now he needs it back. Enter greedy foreigners and noblemen who want nothing more than fresh meat to shove their cocks into. And they’re willing to pay a high price for those holes . . . especially if they’re attached to former heiresses of vast estates.” Her eyes landed on Robin as she finished, gleaming.

I reeled at her grotesque description. My eyes moved to Robin and the rest of the crew, who all glanced around guiltily. I knew what they were thinking.

The gold coins we found under the floorboards of the carriage. Perhaps the girls were not the true treasure . . . but rather the gold hidden away, being shipped secretly across borders to other lands for his “good deeds.” Or, for repayment of his debt.

I did not like what I was hearing.

Still, it was Maid Marian doing the telling. I couldn’t trust her, even if I wanted to. None of us could.

“Who has told you these stories of Bishop Sutton?” Robin asked—the only one to pick up on that first part of Marian’s catapult.

“Sir Guy of Gisborne.”

“Ah. Of course. Seems you’re rather close to him these days.” Robin said it as if it explained everything. I knew she hated the man, yet also knew we couldn’t shut this information out just because of who was telling it.

Even if Guy did have ulterior motives—which I was sure he did—and even if he sent Marian here to tell us all this, that didn’t make it untrue.

“Of course I am,” Marian said simply, shrugging. “Who do you think helped me with your estate? Who do you think has helped me climb the social ladder? I couldn’t have done it on my own. After all, Robin, I’m only a woman in a man’s world. You should know how that feels.”

Their eyes locked together. Robin stepped closer to Marian, until their chests nearly bumped together.

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