Page 68 of Queen of Sherwood

This isn’t good.

“Robin?” John asked. “You all right?”

I blinked at all the faces looking at me, and slowly my blurry vision became normal.

“Who gave you that message, Marian? I think it’s time you lay out your informant, for the sake of us all.”

Marian smirked at me. It was a look that told me we shared a secret—deceptive, roguish, and sinister. We both knew something no one else here knew.

“Silly girl,” Marian chirped. “I thought it would be most obvious to you, of all people. It’s Sir Guy of Gisborne.”

Chapter 18

Robin

“He can’t be trusted!” Little John wailed.

“It’s certainly a trap or ambush,” Will added.

“Just who the hell is the subject of the message, anyway? Who is he?” Alan wondered.

The groans were loud and prominent. Other Merry Men around camp started to look over at us curiously.

I took John by the arm and tugged him with me as I walked to a tent so we could talk privately. The rest of the men followed, as did Marian.

I had wanted to keep my strange history with Guy of Gisborne a secret from my mates, because I was still so confused about it and didn’t know what to make of it. What he had done for me made me doubt my own mind at times, wondering if that had all been a dream.

But no. The man named Red, who had tried to rape me and earned shackle chains wrapped around his neck, was all the evidence I needed to know it had not been a fabrication of my mind. It had been one of the realest, scariest times in my life. Partly because I hadn’t had my merciless men to help me. At least not at first.

The men were in a public uproar, yet they quieted once we made it to a tent and their eyes focused on me. They saw the hesitation written on my face.

“What is going on, little thorn?” Will asked. “You look like you’re holding secrets, and you know how we feel about those.”

My eyes narrowed into slits. “We all have secrets, Will. Don’t try to pretend otherwise.”

“Aye. But they can’t stay that way forever. Sooner or later, they must see the light.”

For some reason, I glanced over Will’s shoulder to Little John’s face when he said that. Will was right—revealing the secrets would set us free. But what about John’s case? Noticing the trepidation and shame written on his features when I looked at him and he glanced away, I wondered if he would ever tell the Merry Men what had happened to him in that jail cell with Sheriff George.

On one hand, it might bolster our hate for Sir George, which was helpful, and paint him as the tyrant we knew him to be. On the other, I knew people were ruthless and heartless, and it might show John in a weak light. Even though none of it had been his fault.

I cleared my throat, eyeing each of my men in turn. Maid Marian stood near the back, inspecting all of us, having the decency to not interject when it was clear I had something to say.

“You’re all wrong,” I began, and my voice treacherously cracked. “I don’t know why, but you’re wrong about Sir Guy of Gisborne.”

Brows furrowed in confusion. Noses scrunched.

“What are you trying to say, love?” John asked.

“When I exchanged my freedom for Emma’s in Maid Marian’s . . . care . . . I woke up shackled to a dank wall. Guy of Gisborne staring over me.”

“That bastard,” John seethed, baring his teeth. “Did he touch you? I’ll kill—”

“No,” I eked out. It was another lie, which felt horrible telling, because Guy had seen my body bare. He had kissed me—“taking something” from me while giving something to me at the same time, as he’d said.

Sir Guy had also draped my cloak over my naked body, to protect my modesty. So, in the way John was saying, no, Sir Guy had not touched me.

“You don’t understand,” I said, shaking my head wildly. “Sir Guy might have imprisoned me, but he also helped me escape captivity. He put a key in my hood, which I used with the assistance of Maria in the carriage to loosen my shackles. When I was assaulted later on by one of the guards, I choked the life out of him with those very same manacles, before he could touch me. Sir Guy made that possible.”

---