Page 61 of Queen of Sherwood

The fucking fool. The Sheriff came up with the plan, hoping to lure the Merry Men into Nottingham if we announced we were hanging their leader. It wasn’t a bad idea on its face, yet it was nearly impossible to sufficiently plan because of the sheer influx of people I knew it would bring. The throngs of execution-watchers would make it hellacious, and they had.

Yet George wouldn’t back down from the plan no matter how logistically foolish or logically idiotic it was, and then he spent all day raping Jonathan Little instead of actually attending the event. Taking his years-long, pent-up anger out on a prisoner in shackles.

It was disgraceful. I still didn’t forgive him for that debacle, though we hadn’t spoken of it since.

I shoved down my disgust and crossed my arms again, staring down Marian.

“Tick’s friend, Bucktooth Jimmy as he’s called, showed up here after roaming the streets alone for months,” Marian continued. “Friar Tuck’s almshouse had been deserted by this point, so he had nowhere to go. He only remembered this manor as one that Robin of Loxley used to own, and he vaguely knew Robin through his guttersnipe group. I’ve been having Jimmy work as a serving hand—bringing clients their drinks, cleaning the rooms, the hallways. That sort of thing.”

I wrinkled my nose. “And you’re reuniting Tick and James out of the goodness of your heart?”

Marian shrugged and glanced away, showing a rare sign of discomfort. “I figured it won’t hurt me. There are plenty of other whelps I can find to do the work I need done.”

I tilted my head, narrowing my eyes. “Then you’re bringing back Tick and James to the Merry Men . . . where they will be in your debt and think well of you.”

“I don’t know if they’ll ever think well of me, Sir Guy. But, yes, I am doing what I can do mend my tarnished reputation with the Merry Men. I’m—”

“Brilliant,” I cut in. With a sinister smirk, I nodded. “I approve, Marian. What else can you report?”

Her face seemed surprised at my compliment. For a moment, she stared at me, slack-jawed. Not only had she not expected me to agree with her plan, but I also knew she wasn’t telling the whole tale. And she knew that I knew.

Marian was going to get a boosted reputation from this among the Merry Men . . . yet I could see the change in her green eyes. The doubt and shame that danced in her irises.

No, Marian was also doing this out of the goodness of her heart, as I suspected. She just didn’t want to admit it to me because she only knew me as a bloodthirsty murderer.

Best to keep her thinking that way.

“What about Bishop Sutton?” I asked. “You’ve told the Merry Men about his duplicity, commanding the operation with the slave girls?”

“Aye.” She nodded succinctly. “I’m not sure if they believe me, however.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s a man of the cloth, Sir Guy. He’s well-respected in the community. They can’t imagine him doing something so vile.” She wrung her wrists in front of her belly. “Neither can I, truthfully.”

“Oh?” I sauntered in front of her, towering over the woman, and tilted my head to scrutinize her with my deadly gaze. “After the debacle with Abbot Emery and nearly getting cut down in front of Rufford Abbey? Emery mysteriously found broken underneath a high window? I find it difficult to believe the Merry Men hold holy men in high estimation, Marian.”

“You forget, they have one in their ranks.”

“Aye. The chaplain. Father Tucker.”

“He doesn’t like being called ‘Father,’” Marian pointed out, and it sent a wave of annoyance through my veins. “He’s my favorite of them, in fact.”

“Why?”

“Because he . . .” She trailed off, gulped, and looked to the ground. “Treated me how I wanted to be treated, back before we fell out.”

I paused. “An interesting way to put that, Marian. One might think you’ve started to grow fond for these wicked men all over again, if one didn’t know better.”

Doubts started to fester inside me. Not of my own ambitions, but of Marian’s willfulness to carry out what needed to be done.

Is she growing soft on me? This hardened, blade-sharp whip of a woman? Perhaps it was a mistake sending her into the belly of the beast—reuniting her with her former lovers—when she is clearly a vulnerable, lost woman, no matter how haughty and high-class she tries to pretend to be.

Perhaps I should have expected this outcome.

She explained with her hands circling, trying to provide a picture for her justification. “They’ve changed, Sir Guy. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. They’re different than they used to be.”

“How so?” Any information was good information, at this point. It wasn’t enough to simply know where they were hiding away, I needed to know how they thought and operated. Marian was the best liaison for that.

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