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“What a fucking shot,” Alan-a-Dale whispered, elbowing Friar Tuck. “I know who I’m voting for to represent the Merry Men in the archery tournament.”
Little John’s baritone voice set my mind at ease. “You did what you had to, Robin.”
I sniffed and looked down at the bow, my features twisting. It was a shortbow. Like I was used to. Brand new, it felt, yet so comfortable in my small hands.
Alan smiled at me. “I whittled it while you were away, little songbird. It’s yours.”
Tears came to my eyes. A gift? When I thought they might be angry at me—hate me for betraying them with the map scheme I had no part in, and for leaving them in the first place?
Maid Marian was wrong. She had never planted a seed of doubt in their minds, because unlike myself, the Merry Men had never doubted me at all.
My father was on his knees, fire crackling behind him, arms tied behind his back with a thick rope. His face was bloodied from Will Scarlet “accidentally” stepping on it while wrangling him from the grass.
He sneered and spat on the floor in front of me. Raised his chin, the very picture of defiance. He reminded me of Peter Fisher in a similar situation.
The tables had turned. I was no longer the prisoner. For once in my life, I felt free in truth. Free from this . . . monster.
But I knew that feeling wouldn’t last. I would never feel completely liberated until . . .
My shoulders sagged. I had the Merry Men surrounding me for support, as well as my uncle. They stood back and watched, hands on the hilts of their weapons in case Sir Thomas tried anything.
He wouldn’t. As much as he puffed his chest, I could see the defeated expression in his eyes. Defeated at the hands of the people who had robbed him—the people who had been hired, unwittingly, to get rid of me.
But he had underestimated the Merry Men, and me.
“What is it you want with me, girl?” he snarled.
“Nothing, Father.” My voice was tired. I was tired. “You cannot give me anything else, Father. You can’t take anything else, either. That time has passed.”
“I’m still your sire, Robin—”
“No. You’re nothing. You’re a cold-blooded killer. I heard everything you said to Maid Marian.” I looked to Uncle Gregory, whose face had twisted beneath his gray beard. Wrinkles creased his forehead.
“He poisoned Mama Joan,” I explained. “Long and slow.” My uncle looked aghast. Before he could do anything, I continued. “I met Wulfric. You were right, Uncle. He’s a great healer. He could have saved her. I’m certain of it.”
Uncle Gregory bit down on his teeth so hard I could hear the grinding. His leather gloves audibly tightened as he forced his hands into fists. He was ready to let his madness go loose.
I turned to Little John. “He also set up the robbery on my family’s carriages. The job you took from Marian, with its shadowy beginnings? He commissioned that job. You were supposed to kill me, while my mother died a slow, agonizing death from the poison.”
John’s shoulders fell. “But instead of killing you, we fell in love with you.”
My breath hitched. He’d never spoken those words to me. I had only recently thought of that word for the first time, in respect to the Merry Men. Now I saw the rest of them nodding slowly, fixing me with hungry, daring expressions.
I returned my focus to Father.
“You know my reasons,” he said, sniffing loudly. His voice was weaker now. Blood trickled from his shoulder wound down to the ropes binding him. “This is the romantic solution to your affairs, daughter? Not the noble suitors I sent for you, but these fucking brigands?” He scoffed. “You’re no better than I imagined.”
“The suitors you sent me, Father, were far from noble. These men, these merry, twisted fucking men, are five times as respectable as the sniveling brats you sent to my door.”
“And what will you do? The Wilford estate will not go to you. You’re an outlaw after Peter Fisher’s death.” When he saw me flinch, he smiled. “Oh, yes, I know all about the poor sap’s death at your hands.”
“She didn’t kill him,” Little John blurted. “I did.”
Father’s frown wavered. He lifted his chin haughtily. “All the same. She’ll take the blame after taking out his eye. Why did you not just give him what he wanted? Wilford could have been yours!”
I wanted to slap him across the face, but I resisted the call. I wouldn’t give in to his baiting. “You truly never knew me, Father. You thought I’d let a spoiled miscreant like Peter Fisher win my heart? Take my body?”
“Well, I’m glad you found your savage jaunt with this lot, daughter. They are perfect for you.” Sarcasm dripped from his words. “At least until they grow bored of you, toss you to the wolves. And then what?”
