Page 78 of Queen of Sherwood

“Oh, shut it, bastard,” I scolded him, with a hint of a smirk curling my lip.

He smiled at me. “Little heathen bitch.”

For some reason, his words made me hot between the legs. I didn’t mind when my mates talked to me like that. Anyone else? They’d earn an arrow through the throat.

There was no time for any of that, however. I dragged John with me and we made our way through camp. Merry Men parted as we went north to south around tents, campfires, and shrubbery. Everyone eyed us curiously.

“Will found something while you were gone,” I told him.

John grunted. “Good. Because we didn’t find shit.”

“Other than . . . them.”

I furrowed my brow again—worried I might get stuck like that if I kept doing it—and turned at Robert’s voice.

A ragtag band of men and women were making their way through the trees behind my brother. I recognized none of them. A tight knot formed in my stomach at the sight of them: bedraggled, unkempt, and filthy.

“These are the aptly named Muddy Meddlers,” Robert explained, scratching his forehead. “Led by, uh, Armison?”

The man named Armison strode to the front of his group. He had a slight limp, a crooked jaw, and a twitchy face. Looked rather harmless, besides the mess of scars on his right arm that said he’d seen a few battles at least.

“He’s got it right, m’lady,” the man said, bowing low. “You must be the legendary woman who leads the Merry Men. The Queen of Sherwood . . . Robin Hood.”

His people behind him gasped. The two women—an older lass with graying eyes and grayer hair, and a young girl around my age—gave me confident smiles. They looked encouraging.

John folded his huge arms. He seemed content with what he was seeing from the group, the deference they showed me.

I, however, was flabbergasted. I blinked a few times, stunned, and stammered. “I, er—”

“She very much is,” John said in his deep baritone. With a dashing smile beneath his beard, he raised his fist. “All hail the Queen of Sherwood!”

A smattering of cheers rose from the Merry Men around us, fists pumped into the sky. They repeated the chant a couple times, and Robert walked up beside me.

My brother leaned in close. “Sorry, sister. I tried to talk him out of it.”

“Inviting them?”

Robert nodded. “John said you’d be remiss if we left stragglers behind. I disagreed. We have no space.”

“We’ll figure it out, brother.”

The Muddy Meddlers were all smiling now, finding themselves the center of attention in front of me.

“What say you, Robin Hood?” John asked.

Pink tinted my cheeks. My skin felt flush. I was embarrassed and entirely undeserving of everyone’s praise.

But I tried my best to do what Little John would do in this situation: lean into it. Clapping my hands, I said, “Well, as we always say, the more the merrier!”

Everyone cheered.

“We’ve literally never said that,” came Will’s voice from behind the group, swiftly putting a stopper on the merriment.

My surly warrior looked more attractive than a devil, and he could be as infuriating as one, too.

“We do now!” I shouted with a beaming smile, but the effect was lost once Will took all the wind out of everyone’s sails.

In his hands, he twirled the grimy torn fabric he’d found, holding it up to his scarlet sash as if trying to see whether it would make a good replacement or not.

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