Page 48 of Queen of Sherwood

I roused the younglings and grumbling orphans from their sleep early that morning. Then I took them out to a clearing away from camp and held an impromptu class.

Everyone stared at me like I was mad when I put them in a row, stood in front of them, and unsheathed my blades. These were practically children, after all. They shared fearful looks.

I’m going to bring out the fierceness inside each one of you, I promised.

“What’s this all about, penny-snatcher?” Rosco asked.

I twirled my blades and stabbed them into the ground. “If you’re going to live among the Merry Men, you must learn to fight. Perhaps that aspect wasn’t initially explained to you, so I’m here to rectify it.”

His friend, Tick, put his hands on his hips. “We aren’t fighters. Ros and I were guttersnipes not too long ago.”

“You’re going to have to become warriors if you want to survive in Sherwood Forest. We have enemies at our doorstep, and no amount of revelry will change that fact. Don’t let the soft songs of last night or the sermons of Friar Tuck fool you, boys: You must fight to survive, and I’m going to teach you how.”

My last comment seemed to perk them up and wipe the dreariness of the morning from their eyes.

I motioned to a pile of wooden swords I had whittled with Alan’s help a few hours before. “Pick up a sword. Face off against one another. I need to see what I’m working with. Today we will work on foundations and footwork. Tomorrow, we might—”

“Wait, tomorrow?” asked the one-eyed boy named Brand.

I stood straight in front of the lad, who couldn’t have seen more than fourteen summers. “Aye, Brand. We’re going to do this every day. That way, I can separate the wheat from the chaff. While Tuck, Alan, and John seem to want to coddle you, I need to make sure you can defend yourselves. Before long, I’ll make warriors out of all of you. You wanted to play knights and damsels last night? Here is your chance.”

Brand audibly gulped and looked around, hesitant. He wasn’t so excited to swing a sword as he’d been last night.

Sighing, I crossed my arms over my chest. “Boys. Do you know what it is the Merry Men do?”

I was facing about ten of them, of various ages, mostly from the orphanage but also friends we had brought along the way, such as Rosco and Tick.

“You rob people,” Rosco said, shrugging. He knew it because he did it, too.

“Aye.” I paced in front of the slouching group. “But not just any people, do we? We steal from the richest of the land—the ones who keep us under heel and don’t pay their fair share. What they do pay for, however, is protection. And to take their ill-gotten gains, we need to incapacitate the guards and mercenaries protecting them. We need to be just as good as the soldiers we face, yet sneakier and smarter.”

The boys nodded their understanding and went to the pile of swords to pick them out. I watched them, and then noticed a few of the younger girls arriving, curiosity on their faces.

The girl named Taffa asked, “Can we join?”

Griff, one of our elder whelps and a former friend of Much the Miller’s son, snorted over his shoulder. “Swordplay is for men, Taffa.”

The girl’s face burned red.

“In a traditional army?” I called out. “Perhaps. But in Sherwood Forest? Everyone is welcome.” I swept my arm out to the pile. “Please. Join us. And bring your friends, too.”

Behind Taffa, Enid, Ada, Gracie, and a few others, I noticed Robin watching. A smirk was plastered on her face, and she gave me a small nod as she watched.

It filled me with pride to know I had her as an onlooker. A rush of arousal swept through me, which I had to keep at bay. Trepidation also filled me, because I didn’t want to fuck this up with her watching.

Within the first hour, I realized how much work I had cut out for me. These lads and lasses knew next to nothing. Most of them could hardly even swing a sword.

I scratched my head with a sigh, and started to go through the motions and styles of swordplay. A small audience of older Merry Men—comrades I’d fought with and raided carriages with—had joined in the back to watch. I caught Maid Marian spying, too, yet she quickly dispersed once she knew I noticed her.

At one point, Tick threw down his sword in frustration and tried to tackle Rosco. The larger lad spun him around and they fell to the ground, sending up a plume of dirt.

While the other boys and girls laughed at the scuffle, I scowled and hurried over. I wrapped my arms around Rosco’s biceps, barred them behind his head, and yanked him off the smaller boy.

Tick was sniffling in frustration, his face bruised, his nose bloodied.

My harsh voice rose above the din of snickering, cutting off all their joy in an instant. “We are never each other’s enemy!” I shouted at Rosco and the others. Their faces went pale, the smiles fleeing. “Got it?”

“Y-Yes, sir,” Taffa replied, followed by the rest of the group.

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