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“Disappeared?” Little John said. “I just saw that bastard Thomas the other night!”
Gregory shrugged. He hadn’t lifted his dagger from Tuck’s side, even as we spoke, making sure we understood our chaplain was his captive. It was the only leverage he had and the only thing keeping us from killing him, so I couldn’t fault the old man.
He had some balls even coming back here.
“Robin has my copy,” Gregory added.
Heads snapped over to him.
“How?” I asked.
“Long story. I saved her from Guy’s men. She thought I had ordered them to find her and your band.”
John stroked his bushy beard. He towered over the rest of us, his huge shoulders slumped. “So she knows Guy is after her. And after us. Which also means she might run into Guy at the witch’s cabin. If she’s not careful . . .”
“I say it again,” Will cut in, “we need to find her!” He sounded desperate.
We had too many conflicting opinions on our next plan of action, and no real leader to make the choice. Voices rose in unison, arguing.
Maid Marian raised her hand. “Hold, hold. Aren’t you louts forgetting something?”
“What?” John asked. She dampened everyone’s nervous excitement with a single motion.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Marian continued, sighing loudly as if she couldn’t believe how stupid we all were. “Maybe wondering who made this fucking map? There’s a traitor in our midst. None of us will be safe until they’re discovered. We will always be on the run.”
“Us? We?” Will said snidely.
As much as I agreed with him for criticizing her, Maid Marian was right. The voices died and I could only hear the chirring of bugs in the bushes. Suspicion fell over our faces as we glanced at each other, making sure not to lock eyes. One of us has betrayed the Merry Men. Perhaps it was someone killed during Guy’s ambush. If so, he got what he deserved.
A full minute passed.
Marian sighed again. “You people can’t be this blind or foolish . . .”
I tilted my head at her.
“It isn’t Tuck. That makes no sense. He’s the only one of you who doesn’t have a bounty on his head due to his shadowy connection to the church. He has no need for secrecy: Tuck goes into Nottingham whenever he pleases, and could easily hand-deliver this thing.
“. . . But who sewed the dresses with him? Who has the motive—the only one among us—to call for help? Maybe the fucking hostage? Can it be mere coincidence the map landed in the arms of her handmaid?”
I hated what she was saying. I also couldn’t argue with the logic of it. The others shook their heads. For as much of a fantasist as I was, I could only see the threads connecting. The logic in what Maid Marian was spouting.
Will, John, and Tuck were vocally doubtful, muttering unintelligibly. The other three lads looked confused and suspicious.
Marian put her hands on her hips. “Robin is your culprit, and you all know it.”
“No,” John growled.
Marian frowned at him. “You can’t argue with—”
“NO,” he repeated, emphatic, furious. “I’ll not stand for you besmirching her like this, Maid Marian.”
“You say that because you care for her,” Marian replied calmly. “I understand the heartache this causes, John. How could someone who seemed so invested in you—so attached—rip your heart out like this?”
She was right, again. It was tearing my heart into pieces with every word she said. Robin . . . our betrayer? I could hardly fathom it.
Will Scarlet said as much a moment later. “That’s not our little thorn. She wouldn’t do that.”
Marian opened her mouth to speak again, to shut him down, but Friar Tuck interrupted first. “Wait,” he said, shouldering Sir Gregory next to him. “You said you protected her from Sir Guy. That you fought off his men to allow her to escape. That makes no sense if she was seeking his aid to find us.”
