Page 80 of Queen of Sherwood

“He’ll be fine, little thorn. The man can talk his way out of anything.”

I rolled my eyes. “Aye. Talking. That’s what I’m worried about.”

Will chuckled.

We continued on in silence, with only the steady drumbeat of our hooves keeping our minds company.

It took us nearly two hours to reach the bend in the road where Will had found the scrap of cloth. It was an advantageous spot for an ambush, but I was sure Sutton’s guards would also know that. They would come in force.

“No fires,” I told the Merry Men as we made camp inside a ring of thick trees and foliage. Faces were painted black with tar. Hoods were drawn, including my own, giving credence to my moniker of Robin Hood.

Tonight, I had only brought our veterans. The whelps weren’t ready for such an important mission. The women stayed back at camp, preparing a late-supper meal. Hopefully a celebratory one.

I had been tricked before into leaving my camp unguarded, and it ended in disaster. I wasn’t going to let that happen again, so I had begrudgingly left Uncle Gregory behind. Together, with the other Oak Boys fighters, I knew he’d defend our camp with his life.

We weren’t the poorly manned gang of thieves we’d once been. There were over eighty Merry Men and Oak Boys at camp, all of whom were ready to defend themselves and their loved ones.

With me, I had the usual suspects—Little John, Will Scarlet, Friar Tuck—as well as Robert, Briggs, Tate, Jamie, Griff, and even Wulfric because he was too excitable not to join, and he seemed able to command the very forest around him. Low growls met us on all sides, his wolves hidden beneath the undergrowth. Ten other fighters, lesser known but just as important, joined our company.

We were no less than twenty warriors, coming fully armed and ready for battle. We didn’t know what to expect from Bishop Sutton’s entourage, but given his importance in this part of England, and the weight of his holy task, I imagined he would come bringing similar numbers.

If he came at all.

We waited for what seemed like hours. The night grew cold, nearly unbearable without any fires to heat our bones. We couldn’t give ourselves away, so we weathered the chill, like stalkers of the night, peering out from wreaths and under branches. Some men perched high up in trees, bows drawn. Others tapped their feet and bounced their knees nervously on the ground, waiting for any sign.

I thought it would never come—that we had either mistimed our approach or were wildly misguided about what was going on here.

I started to worry. Of course. I had my uncle back at camp, knowing he and his best wouldn’t be able to stop an army. What if they don’t send a single company to raid our camp while we’re gone, and instead bring an entire regiment?

What if Maid Marian has played us all for fools, as I’ve been warned she might do?

What if the sign was wrong, and Sutton is already in Ravenshead after having gone easily down the western path?

There were too many things that could go wrong. Too many variables. Even our best laid schemes weren’t foolproof, and I’d be a damned jester to think otherwise.

I started to wonder if I should turn around, expecting a messenger from the western road or from camp to meet us.

Then, three hours in, when the moon was at its highest point in the sky and cast a murky glow on the land . . . it began.

I sat up on my log, rigid as I’d ever been. A rustling sound echoed softly, from far away, whistling through the branches like a hesitant ghost. Just barely reaching my ears.

Then the soil and roots beneath my feet began to rumble. Gently, at first.

Will Scarlet’s sinister voice was the one that perked everyone’s ears and made our blood run cold.

“You hear that creaking, boys? Feel that shaking?” He licked his lips. “Sounds like dinner is on its way.”

Chapter 22

Robin

Three carriages tore into our sight through the branches and foliage. They were rounding the bend at a fast pace, horses whinnying as their drivers urged them with slaps of their switches. Trying to make good time under the cover of darkness.

They hit the turn and slowed in a groan of creaking wheels and slicing voices.

An overturned tree was in their path. Courtesy of us.

Trees falling across roads were common occurrences in Sherwood Forest, to be sure. Yet it was an occurrence that deserved more caution when you took the inhabitants of the forest into consideration: outlaws, and the staging grounds for thieving gangs.

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