Page 45 of Queen of Sherwood

Little John, too, had the utmost respect from the rest of the Merry Men. Whether people wanted to admit it or not, they deferred to him, even with Robin as our chieftess. He was the elder statesman of the group, and his comforting presence had been immediately felt since his return.

I couldn’t deny the importance he held for us, whether that be as a hard worker in camp and someone to emulate, or a skilled tactician on the battlefield.

If we were going to defeat Sheriff George and his ilk, we needed John to be at his best.

My little thorn, most of all, was an idealist. Someone who understood the broader picture of what it meant to be a Merry Man. Her brother, though a bit more pragmatic and realistic in his approach, was similar to her.

It was Robin Hood who connected best with the group. She deserved to be our figurehead and leader. Ever since her arrival, things had changed. For the better, in my opinion, as we became a bit softer and understanding. Allowing whelps like the orphans and servant girls into our group, giving them autonomy for the first time in their young lives, had been just the first step. Now we had people like Wulfric and Bess, too—sage elders who could be the orphans’ grandparents.

I strolled through the woods, ruminating, listening to the sounds of lively chatter fade behind me. I came to a creek and crouched to sip some water. It was crisp and clean, unburdened by the kind of filth that surrounded the water near Nottingham and other cities.

My mood was low. Sadly, Alan’s song did nothing to rectify that. Perhaps I harbored guilt and ill-feelings over what I’d done to Sir Charles after Robin had saved my life from Initiate Brandt.

It was difficult to reconcile being a murderer.

“Is that all I am here?” I wondered aloud, softly.

All my other brothers had found their place within the Merry Men. They fit neatly.

So why am I the only one, it seems, who feels lonely in this band? At times, I feel I don’t belong. Am I nothing more than an assassin and hired sword? An enforcer?

Sighing, I stood and stared down at the shimmering reflection of the moon off the creek’s surface. Even the animals and critters of the woods had gone still since my arrival here. Only the beating of my weighed-down heart filled my ears.

Once, I had stoked a fire inside Robin. The fierce love I felt for her brought out words I’d never spoken, and probably could never replicate. I had begged her to hit me, to take her anger and frustration out on someone other than herself. She had obliged, and I’d never been prouder.

Where did that Will Scarlet go?

Perhaps it was my father’s death weighing me down. The fact he never received so much as a proper burial before the Templar Knights descended and business became the topic of discussion. He had disappeared from this life much the way he had lived: in obscurity.

I knew Ravenshead wasn’t safe, much less the honey farm that had fallen into the citizens’ hands. They weren’t safe because of me, and the actions I’d done.

I didn’t start that fight—Initiate Brandt did with his assassination attempt. I sure as hell ended it, though. And now the Templars would come back heavy-handed.

“Wallowing?”

I spun at the voice behind me, startling my heart to my throat.

Robin stood perched against a tree trunk, arms folded, hiding under the shadow cast by the draping branches.

“Jesus, little thorn. How did you sneak up on me like that?” I chided.

She smirked and pushed off the tree with her foot, closing the gap between us. “I learned from the best. You.”

I frowned at her. “What are you doing out here? It’s not safe—”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

I tapped the sword handles sticking out from behind my shoulders. “I’m armed. And I can defend myself.”

“So can I. Also thanks to you.”

I snorted as she drew nearer, and the heat emanating off her skewed my senses. “Your footwork still needs adjusting. You’re far from a soldier, Robin.”

Rather than get angry at my critique, she smiled. Her hand came up and cupped my cheek, and the warmth of her touch on my cool skin nearly undid me. “What has you so down, love? Is it your father? The Templars? The whole mess?”

I struggled past a lump in my throat, unable to even sigh. Her eyes glittered, searching mine, and I became lost in her world. My first inclination was to deny, deny, deny. I was supposed to be the strong one. I couldn’t be seen as weak.

“I suppose it’s all of it,” I said at last, my shoulders slumping.

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