Page 88 of Queen of Sherwood

From the open apertures of the two local taverns, I heard raised voices. Ladies of the night, being set upon by hungry soldiers. Drink was already flowing, and I was sure these men paid less than they drank.

Righteous fucking bastards.

My old life swarmed back to me. The one that told me to pillage and rescue and fuck. To show these pricks that they couldn’t just do whatever they wanted in this town, even if they had swords strapped to their hips.

I had a sword, too, and it was fucking useless.

I made a step for the tavern door across the road.

More soldiers entered, and I stilled.

The townsfolk were frightened. I could see it on every face I passed. They didn’t want trouble, yet trouble had been brought to them.

I was only one man. The Nottingham militia was at least forty. There was no chance I was rescuing anyone here . . . I had already rescued one little girl, and that was more than enough.

I couldn’t be a hero like from one of my songs.

So I made the tough decision to leave Ravenshead, feeling guilty and awful for it. Sick to my stomach, I turned away from the needy peasants, because I had a duty of my own. I needed to return to camp and tell Robin my findings.

Tell her that Ravenshead was a fire in the middle of the forest, on the verge of blooming and burning down everything around it.

Chapter 24

Robin

Iwas in over my head.

We had Bishop Sutton tied to a tree, arms pinned to his sides. Ropes bound him, cutting into his robes, and he faced outward at the half-circle of Merry Men standing over him.

I wasn’t even sure what questions to ask him. I was dead tired from a long day. Troubled over the dark, vicious sensations that had flared to life while slaughtering those Nottingham guards.

We had killed each and every one of them.

Once upon a time, I might have tried to parley. Negotiate a trade for Sutton to keep men from dying.

But our numbers had been nearly equal. We had used our bows and the trees to our advantage, so we came out on top. It could have easily gone the other way, and I knew no soldier would have ever handed over a bishop of England to outlaws.

Negotiations had been an impossibility.

Now what were we supposed to do? We had one of the most important people in the land in front of us, splayed out like a trussed pig over a fire.

He didn’t squirm or even look angry. His old, weathered face was taut, but he kept himself together.

To me, he looked like a gentle old man. Kind eyes, with lines creasing at the corners. A holy man in his white robes and splendor. We hadn’t even snatched the gold necklace off his person, which was worth more than all of our belongings.

It just felt . . . wrong, to steal such an item from a man of God. As if God would smite us on the spot for blaspheming his chosen priest.

I had little to go on. Only the words of Maid Marian, as told from the mouth of Sir Guy of Gisborne—a notoriously sly, cunning individual. A man whose loyalties I couldn’t figure out.

Have we made a huge mistake stealing this man?

Will his disappearance bring undue pressure to the Merry Men, just when we’re starting to really find our feet?

I tried to tell myself we’d taken him because of the crimes alleged against him. Namely, that he had been the mastermind behind the sex slaving operation.

In my heart, however, I knew we had also captured Bishop Sutton to tie up loose ends. Because if he went snooping in Ravenshead, and spoke to the wrong person, he would quickly learn that we were responsible for the deaths of Sir Charles and Initiate Brandt.

Which would bring a world of pain and death to our doorstep.

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