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As we passed the bodies on the path leading down the hill, it wasn’t lost on me how far the Merry Men were willing to go to protect and rescue me. On one hand, I wished it wasn’t this way. On the other, it filled me with a gruesome sense of pride and love.
Yes, my corruption certainly did seem complete.
Uncle Gregory stayed with my father’s body. He said he was going to bury Sir Thomas in the fields, and asked if I wanted to say any words.
I declined.
It was easy leaving Loxley without being seen, in the dead of night. My men had the rest of their company—about twelve more Merry Men, including some new recruits—camped in the forest outside town.
I brought Mercy and kept the horse close on the trek to camp. Little John told us we shouldn’t stay long, due to Sir Guy of Gisborne getting away and likely wanting swift retaliation for his defeat. He said we could rest for the night, which we all desperately needed.
I was allowed to sleep in the carriage. The one object still attached to my family name. Despite my exhaustion, I found sleep difficult. I tossed and turned, cried quietly to myself, and struggled with everything that had happened. Just as Uncle Gregory said I would.
It came on much faster than anticipated. The guilt, the shame, the remorse . . . the emotions flooded me like an avalanche, burying me in sleepless thoughts.
I also realized I didn’t want to sleep in the carriage anymore. Something had changed. It made me feel superior—better than the others—while inside I felt much worse.
I was no better than them. They were treating me like a pampered damsel, allowing me to sleep off the ground in a cart lined with softness, because I was highborn and the only woman in the crew.
So I left the carriage in the middle of the night. I scampered away, dressed in nothing but a nightgown most likely crafted by Mama.
I hadn’t had time to dwell too deeply about her. I knew the painful tears would come soon. My heart could only handle one bout of momentous grief at a time. For now, I needed to keep it together for the sake of the Merry Men, until we escaped from danger. I trusted Little John to lead us where he thought we’d be safest.
It was cold outside, my body tight and chilled as I snaked through the camp like a specter. I found myself venturing toward Friar Tuck’s tent. I needed to discuss things with him. Plus, being the heftiest and friendliest of the men, he would provide the most warmth.
When I poked my head into his tent, I was surprised to find him sitting up. His lower half was blanketed and he was shirtless. It was the first I’d seen him outside his monk’s habit since the river.
He was reading a book on his burly chest with the aid of a sliver of moonlight passing into his tent. He closed the book when my head popped in.
A smile quirked his lips. “Imagine my surprise, little heathen.”
“A-Apologies,” I said, rubbing my hands together. “May I come in? I was lonely in the carriage, and can’t stop thinking. I can’t sleep.”
He gestured me forward. “Please, join me.”
Inside, I immediately felt safer and warmer. He had his habit laid out as a mat. It kept my bare feet from the forest floor.
“What are you reading?” I asked, crawling next to him.
“Sometimes the Bible still interests me, strangely enough.”
“That’s not strange. You’re still a holy man.”
He wrapped an arm around my shoulder, bringing me close to his side. His body was thick and soft. I practically melted into him, curling my legs beside him.
“I’m not,” he said. His breath was warm against my cheek. “I’m a sinner. Trying to repent every day, and usually failing.”
“Oh?”
A small nod. His chin touched my forehead. He sounded comfortable, at ease with me next to him. Though he was much larger than me, our bodies seemed to fit together like puzzle pieces.
“I’m at risk of failing again,” he murmured, “with you so close to me, Robin. Your, erm . . .”
My throat hitched, and color came to my cheeks. When I looked up to see what he was glancing at, I noticed it was my chest, and I looked down to see my nipples were hard and pert against the fabric of my nightgown.
I bit my lip in shame. “Sorry. It was cold outside.”
“And in here?”
