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My hand moved from John’s head, and his face slowly emerged from under the surface of the water, soggy hair plastered to his scalp, directly in front of my hips.
“. . . something.” Robert grunted, crossing his arms over his chest. “Oh.”
Mortification burned my face like the heat of a thousand suns. “Aye—Oh!” I squealed. “Now, will you please leave? Whatever you have to talk about, can’t it wait for breakfast?”
He cleared his throat, his cheeks tinting pink. “Well, it seems Little John has already had his. And here I thought you had a desperate need to see your Merry Men, posthaste.”
My nostrils flared. “Sometimes one Merry Man at a time is enough.” When his brow lifted, I added, “I know. I can’t believe I’m saying it, either.”
A small smirk played on my brother’s lips.
How could he stand there so defiantly, arms crossed, and just watch this? I wondered if he had been as desensitized to sex, violence, and nudity as I had, during his short time as an outlaw rebel.
“See you at camp to break your fast,” Robert said, turning around with a dismissive flap of his hand. “Bess has made a brilliant stew you’ll want to try. That is if you have the appetite for it.” He chuckled to himself as he left the bank.
Little John stood, looked at me, and pouted. He hollowed his puffed cheeks and spit a line of water out at me—water I had forced him to drink as I held him under.
Then we both broke out laughing. Mine was a high, nervous giggle. I felt giddy for the first time in ages. I wrapped John in a hug. “Come on, love. I’m already humiliated beyond belief. Let’s go before our absence around the campfire makes it worse.”
“Aye, we’d best not keep the voyeurs waiting, eh?”
ROBERT’S WORDS AT THE river kept cycling through my mind as I ate the aforementioned stew like a famished orphan. After the night we’d had . . . and the morning . . . and the river . . . my stomach had been rumbling like a thunderstorm.
The food was incredible. I wasn’t even sure what animal those bits of meat were from, but Bess had managed to season it perfectly with ingredients found around the forest. I was, admittedly, in awe of her skill around a fire pit and boiling pot. Friar Tuck is good enough, but we could certainly use a Bess back at the Merry Men camp.
Bess was a large, round, white-haired lady who could have been Friar Tuck’s mother. She smiled wide as she proudly watched me and Little John slurp and scarf our bowls down in seconds flat.
“Told you,” Robert said, chuckling to himself as he ate at a more leisurely pace. Like a human, rather than a goblin.
I narrowed my eyes on him.
“Bess has been a godsend,” he added. “More useful than any fighter in our ranks. No offense, Briggs.”
The captain, who sat across from me and next to some other Oak Boys, grunted and nodded as he slurped up some stew. “I won’t argue with it, boss.”
Robert chuckled, and I eyed him again. I couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d said. Will, Tuck, Alan. They have to be all right. I need to know that they all made it out of Nottingham.
I felt like a horrible mate for not thinking of them sooner, but I had been so wrapped up in Little John—quite literally—that he had stolen all my focus and desire.
Now I was back to my normal self, with a full belly and a determined mind.
“I need to go back to my men,” I announced.
“I understand,” Robert said, putting down his bowl. His face took on that serious battle-hardened expression I had become used to seeing recently.
It made me sad, because I knew it meant the boy I’d known back in Wilford and Loxley was gone. Then again, that teasing at the river was exactly the kind of thing younger Robert would have done . . . if not a bit lewder than a prank he would have played in his youth.
By the slightly amused look that flickered across his serious face, I could tell Robert knew I meant more than “going back” to the Merry Men as a whole. He understood I had specific men I needed to see.
“Come find us when you’re ready to make this alliance work, sister. You know where to find me.”
I was a bit surprised at his immediate acceptance over what I’d said. With the Merry Men, someone would have fought me tooth and nail, just for the sake of arguing. Probably Will Scarlet, or Crisp, or Tate. Hell, maybe Tuck.
Robert’s acceptance to let us leave freely, along with giving us a tent furthest from camp, showed me he wasn’t trying to control me or take my autonomy. He knew I was a different person than the little girl he had grown up training to use a bow and running around the hedgerows with.
Robert understood his younger sister had become a woman. He welcomed the agency I demanded in my womanhood and newfound place with the Merry Men.
Understanding all that made a smile creep up along my face. Then I noticed he was staring oddly at me, head slanted, because I was staring strangely at him. “Erm, what’s that smile for?” he asked, concerned.
