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“Fine. Then tell me.” Robert crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ve been searching for Father and Mama Joan ever since returning from war. You apparently hold all the answers, and it sounds like Mama is dead.”
My shoulders sagged. I desperately wanted John to hold me, but I had to make it through this, first. “She is, brother. And she didn’t die of heartbreak losing you. That’s only what I thought at first.”
“So what killed—”
“Poison.” My words made his face go slack with shock. “A slow death . . . wrought from the hands of . . . our father.”
He put his palms on top of his head, threading his fingers together. He spun away, shaking his head, muttering to himself unintelligibly. When he turned back around, his face was a mix of rage and grief. Like he couldn’t believe what I was telling him—that our father could be so cruel. “You can’t be right,” he begged.
“I am. I heard it all myself, while hiding. He spoke of the vitriol of having to live in Mama’s shadow all those years, while she became famous and adored.”
“What about Father now? Where is our fa—Thomas—after these heinous crimes?”
“I killed him.”
My voice was flat. Unwavering. My eyes stern as I stared deep into Robert’s trembling orbs that reflected mine. Tears welled in the corners when he realized that both of his parents had died while he was gone, and there was nothing he could do to change it.
He went through the same rapid-fire cycle of grief and pain that I had. Except, then, when it had happened, I did not have a brother to share that grief with.
I wasn’t sure if he was going to strike me, scold me, or hug me. It could have been any of those. Little John’s body was rigid and coiled as he made ready to act, just in case. Robert’s features were hard to gauge.
“I . . . I wasn’t here to stop any of it,” he whispered. His eyes were glassy now, two thin rivers of tears trailing down his grimy cheeks.
I put a hand on his heart to try and calm him and explain things. “Father went mad once we received news of your death. He beat me, brother.” At that, John stiffened, letting out a low hum of a growl. “He poisoned Mama, and then colluded with a hellish bitch to try and steal Mama’s hard work and our estate. He tried to kill me for the same reason, so I had to act first. That is why none of this was your fault, brother. It was Sir Thomas’ resentment, jealousy, and anger that caused this. Your ‘death’ was simply a jumping off point for him to use as an excuse for his terrible deeds.”
My lengthy monologue made Robert grimace at parts, and hiss at others when I described the deviousness with which our father lived his final days.
“. . . Yet me being gone instigated all of this,” he said.
My palm on his chest wrapped around the rest of his body, and I drew him into a tight hug, sniffling. “No, Robert. No! I understand, now. I don’t blame you after what you’ve told me—knowing what I know.” I pulled myself away and stared up at his face, then gently swiped his shaggy hair out of his forehead. “I don’t want you blaming yourself, either,” I said with a sad smile. “Okay? I don’t know you like I used to, and I don’t know if we’ll ever get back to that. But you’re still my older brother. I still need you.”
“And I need you, Robin.”
We embraced again.
“An alliance between the Oak Boys and the Merry Men, perhaps?” he muttered in my ear.
My smile widened. “That would be lovely.” Honestly, I had been hoping he’d suggest something like that ever since I first stepped foot in this camp. “You’ve done incredible things with your, erm, commonwealth since returning, brother.”
“I suppose there are some things the rigid structure of the military taught me, which are useful even outside of war. Assembling groups of people together is one of them.”
I clicked my tongue and shook my head. “We could use some of that.” I glanced over at Little John. Our leader.
John smirked beneath his beard, his cheeks growing pink in the silvery moonlight. Except the smirk died immediately once he looked away. It hurt me to see him in pain.
“Oh, there was another thing,” Robert said, pulling back and furrowing his brow. “Last time I visited Wilford in search of Mama and Father, there was a woman I’d never seen before staying in our family home. A rude, contemptuous—”
“That’s Maid Marian,” I interjected. “The hellish bitch I mentioned earlier.”
“What?” Little John blurted.
I nodded gravely. “The other Merry Men don’t know yet—there have been too many other pressing issues to take care of. I only recently discovered Marian was taking residence in our family home, as if it were hers.”
Robert’s lips thinned. He glanced at John, then at me. “Then I think it’s high time we evict that cunt. Don’t you?”
Chapter 33
Robin
