Page 60 of Queen of Sherwood

Beatrice’s face broke into a sinister smile as she stared at the sniveling youth. “Oh, what’s this? What do we have here, Madam?”

“His name is Tick,” Marian said curtly. “I need you to watch over him for me.”

Beatrice reached out and trailed a single finger down the lad’s chest, causing the poor lad to shiver. “Watch over him? I’m sure we can find something more enjoyable than simply watching.”

“No,” Marian snarled, surprising Beatrice. “When I say watch, I mean it, Beatrice. Nothing more with this one. Do you understand?”

Beatrice adopted a hurt expression. Her flighty tone and seductive demeanor dropped in an instant. “Oh. Very well, then, ma’am.”

“Good. I’ll be back, whelp.” Marian pushed the boy forward, and he disappeared out of my sight into the bedroom with the whore.

Before leaving, Marian shook her head. “Learn to put a muzzle on your pretty mouth, woman. Not everything is a means for the job, or to squeeze coins out of someone’s pockets.”

I heard Beatrice reply, “I’m only doing what you taught me, Marian.”

Marian stiffened and flared her nostrils. “The lad’s hardly more than a damned child. Have some decency.”

With that, she slammed the door and stormed off down the hall, headed in my direction. She looked in no mood for a discussion, and yet, I knew she didn’t control this narrative. She had no say in it, truthfully.

I made myself known by stepping out from the shadow as she passed me.

Marian started, going rigid once again. “Christ, Sir Guy, you scared me.”

“I’ve been known to do that.”

“I didn’t think you were here already.”

“I rarely make my presence known until I want it to be,” I said, and then waltzed past her into an empty room where we could talk privately.

Marian glanced over her shoulders, as if worried another one of me might pop out of the shadows, before following me inside and closing the door.

“Who is the boy?” I asked, folding my arms over my chest.

“His name is Tick.”

“I heard that part. Even if it’s not his real name. And you know how much I appreciate real names, Madam Marian.”

Marian frowned. She looked untidy and tired—a rarity for her. Perhaps the job was starting to rattle her.

When she said nothing, I added, “Someone from the Merry Men, I take it. But what is Tick’s purpose?”

“His friend went missing months ago. I know where he is, and I promised to reunite them.”

I raised my brow, slightly impressed with her forwardness. It was a bit disappointing, however, because the more people who knew of our meetings, the more likely chaos might arise. Marian put our entire operation in jeopardy by bringing a stupid, hapless boy with her on her trek back to Nottingham, and she didn’t even realize it.

Perhaps she’s not as cunning as I believed.

I second-guessed that idea, asking, “He’s not a hostage, then?”

“No, he’s not.”

I frowned. “Where is his friend you speak of?”

“Here. Tick and a couple others fled the almshouse years ago. Took to the streets. They were separated during the execution of Dan the Dove and the ‘Merry Men.’ You might remember.”

My lip twitched at her snide tone. Of course I remembered. I’d been there. I’d been on the stage with the gallows and the prisoners when the real Merry Men attacked us. Nearly took a fucking arrow in the chest because of that ill-conceived, poorly timed mess of an event.

The riot that ensued during that day still reverberated through the city today, months later. It set us back far more than it helped, in pure cost and social currency with the townsfolk, and yet it had been George’s idea.

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