Page 96 of Queen of Sherwood

“Aye. Which means Guy of Gisborne—”

“Had nothing to do with it!” I snapped before he could finish, feeling strangely defensive. “I’m telling you, Tuck, those bastards aren’t allies in the way we think they are. Why would Guy lead us to Sutton’s whereabouts, helping us capture him, if he just meant to terrorize our band once Sutton was in our control?”

Tuck stared blankly at me, clearly not having a good answer for that.

My voice was too loud. It carried across the field of crying, wailing men and women.

Bishop Sutton sat up where he was tied against the tree. He looked at me askance. “Ah. So it’s Sir Guy I have to blame for my predicament. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”

The priest was entirely too calm given the destruction surrounding him. As if he’d seen this type of Hell on earth before, and thought nothing of it. His true colors came to light, reflected in the fires of the pits that burned in his irises.

Inside me, the rage swelled to new heights.

I wasn’t in control of my own emotions or body. My legs carried me toward Sutton—helpless, bound, frowning at me. Lifting his chin in defiance as I stormed over to him.

I imagined all the ways I’d peel his skin from his muscles and leave him for the ravens to feast on. How I’d pluck his eyes out and cut his tongue from his blasphemous mouth before finally letting him die a horrible, painful death.

I held the bloody arrow I’d killed Armison with in my hand, gripping it so tightly I risked snapping the thing like a twig.

When I came to Sutton, I yelled my thoughts in his face. “This is all your fault, you cursed bastard!”

I lifted the arrow to stab into him, not caring about the fallout or the repercussions—

Large arms wrapped around my body from behind, lifting me off the ground and spinning me away.

Tuck shouted in my ear, “You promised, Robin!”

“Gah!” I screamed. “Get off me, Tuck!”

“He’s not worth it. Lass, we have more to take care of.”

As if on cue, painful howling filled the night.

Will Scarlet and Alan-a-Dale were huddled over Griff, who was writhing in pain on his back, lying next to poor Maria’s corpse, sickle blade still lodged in his shoulder.

Shame and guilt swallowed me whole. My entire body slumped in Tuck’s firm grip. I dropped the arrow and nodded my understanding, trying and failing to speak past a lump wedged in my throat.

Tuck let me go, and we hurried over to Griff.

He gritted his teeth in pain, holding onto Will Scarlet’s arm and pulling at his sleeve. “Tell me she’s alive, Scarlet. Tell me Maria’s alive!”

I glanced over. She wasn’t.

Will snarled, “She’s with Much the Miller’s Son now, boy. You’ve done your duty.”

Griff wailed in agony. “I’ve failed her. Oh God, I’ve failed everyone!”

Will grabbed the bleeding young man by the collar and shook him. “Shut the fuck up, lad! I’m not losing you like Much, so sit still goddammit!”

Tuck kneeled next to Will and held Griff’s body down. “We have to remove the sickle to reduce chance of infection. It got him in the meat. He’ll live if we—”

“Just fucking do it, chaplain!” Will yelled in his face.

I bit my lip nervously, watching.

Little John ran up, legs bent in a fighting stance like he’d just finished someone off. “I count six dead Muddy Meddlers.”

“One of them got away on horseback,” I said, gulping hard past a dry throat.

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