Page 49 of Queen of Sherwood

“It’s something I’ve struggled with, so I know the sensation of frustration and anger,” I continued. “What is essential is learning where to focus your anger. Your comrades are the only ones who will be there to keep you alive. You never point your vitriol at your brethren. Not with blades raised. Understand me?”

The boys and girls nodded quickly, stunned silent.

In that moment, I found Little John towering over all the older members of the group near the back of the glade, watching. He gave me a tiny nod, as if acknowledging my directive and the times we had come close to blows.

If we are going to build a new generation of Merry Men, then we must build them better than we are, old friend.

Taking a long breath, I sheathed my blades. We had been at it for over two hours now, and the whelps were sweating and exhausted. Afternoon was nearly upon us.

“Now let’s go eat,” I announced.

The relief on their faces was palpable.

Chapter 13

Robin

Wulfric appeared from the trees with a bundle of herbs and mushrooms in his arms, a wide, toothy grin on his face. He dropped them into the large cauldron Bess had steaming over a fire, and dusted his hands off.

“That will spice it up nicely,” he said.

Bess scowled at him, the sagging skin of her chin and cheeks drooping. “You’re the first man I’ve let anywhere near my cooking pot in two decades, Wulfy. Don’t make me regret it.”

Wulfric beamed happily. Clearly the man was excited for this new chapter of his life—one that included an unexpected love interest at his side. In less than a full day, the two seemed smitten and attached. The younger Merry Men thought it was funny, but I believed the older ones found their burgeoning romance endearing.

It was the idea that if two elderly folk—a strange man like Wulfric and a stern woman like Bess—could find love out here in the woods, why couldn’t they, too?

I sat around the afternoon fire with my mates, waiting out the morning heat as cloud cover came drifting over.

Our wooden bowls were ready. Our knees were bouncing and our stomachs yelled at us. Chatter from every direction filled the space. The boys and girls who had been practicing with Will Scarlet grumbled about their aching bellies and sore muscles. He had worked them hard on their first day of sword training.

I loved to see it.

Alan, too, was in a good mood. He had helped Will make the wooden swords before anyone else in camp had woken up. I had a feeling they might have gotten into some other extracurricular activity, as well, with no one watching. Plus, the minstrel was likely still riding his high from yesterday, being the star of the night. He had every reason to be chipper.

Little John spoke in hushed tones to Robert, a few feet off from our fire. Tuck, sitting across from me, kept his eyes locked over my shoulder, narrowed on Maid Marian.

Marian had yet to integrate herself into any of the parties: the younglings, the veterans, or the leadership. Although Will had voiced his doubts about his place here, it was only Marian, I felt, who was still finding her footing. No one was going to make it any easier for her, either. Not after what she had done to us.

Trust was a hard-fought commodity here. Break it, and you risked losing it forever. I feared John, Tuck, Alan, and Will would never hold out the olive branch to Marian as they once had. They would never let her get close again.

I couldn’t be so uncompromising. As the leader of the Merry Men, I needed to try and think of the greater good—the wider implications and possibilities of Marian rejoining our band.

Did I trust her? Obviously not.

Did I think she could be useful? Well, yes. Even though I was angry at her renovation of my family estate into an upscale brothel, I couldn’t deny that a place like that would be a potential well of information.

A logistical thought came to me, and I tapped my bowl on my knee. How will she provide us that information, though, if she stays here?

I hated the idea of letting her go back to her handlers. She had already essentially told us Sir Guy had helped her every step of the way, so I was sure that slippery bastard had something to do with her arrival here.

Maybe she’s trying to play both sides. Guess the winner, and then choose who she will truly follow.

If that was the case, I trusted her even less. My instincts told me it was true, because Maid Marian was nothing if not a self-preservationist.

“Stew’s ready!” came Bess’ gruff, loud voice.

Cheers and mutterings rose from the camp.

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