Page 91 of Queen of Sherwood

I let out another low moan, closing my eyes to accept his love. “Even for capturing Bishop Sutton?”

“You acted on good information. Well, as good as information from Sir Guy of Gisborne could be. But you were also in that carriage with those girls, Robin. I don’t blame you for wanting vengeance against your attackers.”

I smirked. “Isn’t vengeance unbecoming of a priest?”

“I’m not a priest.”

“Then why do you care what happens to one?”

“Because Bishop Sutton once aided me. He was a good man when I knew him.”

“How?”

I leaned close to Tuck, wanting to bury myself in him and listen to him talk. His voice was calming, deep, and magnetic. I could listen to it all day—preferably when I was more wakeful.

“After I caught a priest molesting a boy in his charge, and then I nailed that priest’s severed hands to the doors of the cathedral, I found myself in dire straits. Sutton helped me keep my head, even if I was excommunicated. He all but helped me escape my predicament, because he knew the truth about what had happened, when no one else wanted to believe me. He knew the misdeeds and ugliness that festered in the Church just as well as anyone, and he didn’t shy away from it.”

I nodded slowly. “Which is why you can’t see him doing something like what he’s been accused of . . .”

“Aye. It’s not in his nature.”

I opened my eyes and lifted my head a fraction from his side. “Is it possible, though, that he was corrupted somewhere along the way, in the time you’ve been gone from the Church, Tuck? That he lost his way and became the very thing he was trying to fight against?”

“I have trouble believing that.”

“I know, love. What has he done in the years since you last saw him as a contemporary?”

“He’s become a bishop.”

I stared into Tuck’s dark eyes, both of us trapped in the blackness of the tent. It was safe and warm in here, even if it was chaotic and dangerous outside this tarp.

I wondered if he could read my eyes to see what I was trying to say without saying it.

After a beat, I gave up the nonverbal attempt.

“He became a bishop, Tuck. That’s exactly it.”

“Exactly what?”

“He’s shown ambition.”

Tuck reeled. “Ambition does not equal—”

“He’s also read off the crimes of falsely accused men, in front of hundreds of commoners. You were there to see it. With no qualms, he condemned Dan the Dove as if he was Little John. He saw it fit to hang those men he accused of being Merry Men, all for the cheers and love of the populace.”

Tuck fell quiet. He steepled his hands on his belly again, staring up at the softly shaking tarp ceiling. “I had a chance to kill him during that riot, you know.”

My eyebrows perked up.

“I let him go. I was so damned angry. Since he had saved me once, I was repaying my debt.”

“So you owe him nothing now.”

Tuck nodded.

“And you know what he did was wrong.”

“It still doesn’t make him a slaver, Robin.”

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