Page 58 of Queen of Sherwood

“Oh, no more than a few more hours.”

“Great,” Will Scarlet said, sidling up next to us. “Then we’ll have wasted the entire day and night.”

Alan-a-Dale chipped in. “Was it a waste, though, little badger?” His eyes landed on mine and smoldered with a hint of a smirk curling his lips.

“If all we have to complain about is a wasted day, then I suppose it’s not the worst thing,” John admitted with a shrug.

“And perhaps a sour belly or two, after the fact,” Wulfric replied in a low voice.

I sighed and scratched my forehead. Put my dagger away, and scowled at Maid Marian, who still looked lost in her otherworldly adventure.

Friar Tuck came over with Maria and Griff on either side of him, a shit-eating grin on his face while his heavy arms stayed draped over the younger people’s shoulders. “And we were able to witness a profession of love between two of our own, thanks to it. I’d call this a resounding victory.”

Wulfric’s eyes darted south, across Griff’s naked body. He cleared his throat and glanced away. “Aye. Seems this lad is not able to hide the measure or length of his excitement at the news, either.”

Furrowing my brow, I glanced over and choked, quickly looking away—not wanting to see Griff’s shameless erection any longer than I had to.

Griff caught the hint and looked down at himself. “Oh. Shit.” He covered his body and sprinted off, yelling, “Apologies! Jesus said nothing about this part!” while his pale, bare ass bounced away.

A chuckle ripped past my lips. I hadn’t meant to laugh, but the young lad’s entrance and exit was just too absurd to make sense of. My mates joined in my laughter, and before long even Wulfric was hesitantly giggling like a boy a quarter his age. Only Bess remained stoic and annoyed, shaking her head as she retreated back to her tent.

“Come on, Wulfy,” she ordered. “I didn’t give you leave to stop rubbing my feet.” With that, the two of them disappeared, but not before Wulfric gave me a helpless smile and apologetic shrug.

“Jesus Christ in a peat bog,” a new voice called out.

It sounded familiar, yet also slightly alarmed.

My heart shot to my throat. I looked over in the direction Griff had run off and smiled wide.

Uncle Gregory stood next to Captain Briggs on the outskirts of camp, his arms crossed over his barrel-chest. Behind them stood a line of travelers, all aghast at what they were witnessing.

Griff ran naked past them, and my uncle took one look at him before examining the state of our camp.

It was not the greatest representation of the Merry Men, admittedly.

“Uncle, you made it!” I shouted happily. When I noticed his dour expression, my lips peeled back in a regretful pout. I rubbed the back of my neck, humiliated and ashamed. “You’ve, uh, come at an odd time. One might say a moment of transition,” I said helplessly.

“Naked lads running amok with their little cocks flapping in the wind, dear niece? Crazed eyes in confused faces? One would hope this is simply a ‘transition,’ and not indicative of a larger problem, Robin.”

Robert ran past me and straight for Gregory. He took our uncle by the shoulders and shouted frantically in his face, quite seriously, “Thank God you’re here, Uncle. I think the birds have started talking to me. Can you translate?”

Gregory frowned over Robert’s shoulder at me, even as my brother tugged him into a fierce embrace. His voice was flat as he said, “Sorry, lad. I don’t speak bird.”

“A shame,” Robert huffed.

I met Gregory’s eyes. He did not seem amused.

“Um, welcome to the Merry Men?” I called out, throwing my arms out. “I assure you, dear uncle, my camp doesn’t always look like this.”

TWO HOURS LATER, EVERYONE was starting to regain their sanity. Starting to feel like themselves. We had the fires going again, and another brisk night awaited us. Everyone huddled close together, and ate Bess’ evening meal with a bit more trepidation than earlier.

It was a shame Wulfric had inadvertently tarnished Bess’ stellar cooking reputation. At the same time, with the benefit of hindsight, the situation was quite comical.

This would be one hell of a story to tell, and I had a feeling Alan-a-Dale was already writing the song of it. He was over in a corner by himself, scribbling furiously on a scrap of hemp, with his lute splayed over his knees.

John and Tuck sat next to me. I didn’t know where Will had run off to, but I didn’t care at the moment. I was worn out from our overly eager, hallucination-infused affair from earlier. Every muscle hurt, and my mind felt empty and blank.

Robert had been widening our camp to make room for the Oak Boys’ arrival. Suddenly, in a matter of hours, our site was entirely too small for all the people we had lounging around. We would need to find another hideaway soon—one big enough to house all of us.

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