AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Yes, yes, we know. You hate whelps. What has you ready to blast a hole in your trousers, little badger?”
I frowned at him. I didn’t like this new sobriquet of his, yet what could I say when I regularly called him ‘dandelion’?
I tipped my chin ahead, where Robin was riding her steed Mercy, and marveled at the way her ass fit perfectly on the back of that beast, swaying in rhythm with the horse’s movements. Curving just right.
Only place her ass would fit better would be on my face or my cock.
“Ah,” Alan noted, sucking in a breath. “Yes, that’s a sight to see. Is your plan to ravage her upon our return?”
He spoke so nonchalantly and formally about it that it caught me off-guard. My head whipped over, eyes widening. He had a roguish smile on his pretty face.
“Yes. Yes it is,” he answered for me. “Your face speaks volumes.”
“Not true. I plan on teaching her how to fight and how to flee and get out of a fight.”
“Might as well throw in the third F and teach her how to fuck, while you’re at it.”
“She already has that part in hand, dandelion, and you know it.”
Alan scoffed, sitting straight-backed in his steed. I’d never been able to look so elegant and regal as him while riding. Perhaps it came with experience riding other things.
“Right you are, little badger. Right you are.” He chuckled to himself after having his fun with me, and slowly trotted away. He didn’t make it far before shooting over his shoulder, loudly enough for others to hear, “If she’s not interested when we return, maybe I can help beat off your frustrations.”
I blushed like a burning bonfire and turned away at the sound of a few errant chuckles floating around from other Merry Men. Wrinkling my nose, I thought, Maybe he needs to be disciplined just as much as Robin does.
Before long, my attention was stolen by incessant chattering on the wind, punctuated every so often by the lower voice of Tuck interjecting. While we had two new carriages to bring our total convoy to three, and they could be taken apart for quick coin or used for missions, the coaches also came with dead weight that wasn’t so useful . . .
My eyes slowly rolled to the new boy, Much the Miller’s Son. He talked the entire ride home, and it brought my teeth to a grind. He had questions for Friar Tuck about everything: about the plant life we passed, the types of trees, the landmarks, our home, how we inducted a lady into our ranks, where Tuck came from, where he was going, and who he was going there with.
I wasn’t big on chatter. The argument I’d had with Robin was the most I’d spoken since Little John had been captured. I preferred action over words.
I just hoped my little thorn knew what she was doing, because tonight had not been a pleasant representation of her leadership qualities. The fear and unbridled wrath that had sifted through my body and blood when that filthy bastard Benoit attacked her . . . it was almost unfathomable. My need to protect and kill instantly overwhelmed me, and before I knew what I was doing my blade was lodged in the man’s neck and he was coughing red bubbles.
My name didn’t just come from the sash I wore. It also came from the color of the curtain that commonly draped over my mind, my eyes, and my common sense.
In less than a heartbeat, seeing Robin collapse like a sack of potatoes destroyed any logic or restraint I might have had. It was something that couldn’t be fixed—not when she was involved.
And, frankly, it didn’t need fixing. I was well aware Robin didn’t think she needed saving, and she was probably right. But I’d always be there anyway, ready to make her path easier. Because everyone could use a champion and an enforcer.
That was my place in the Merry Men. I knew it. Everyone else knew it. It was time Robin learned what her champion was capable of when pushed against the red curtain.
ROBIN WAS BLEARY EYED when she charged at me and, when I sidestepped, quickly felt the wind whoosh against her face as her momentum carried her right past me.
The flat of my blade slapped against her ass and she yelped while stumbling forward onto her knees. Her sword dropped to the ground so she could catch herself with her palms.
“Goddammit,” she growled, staring daggers over her shoulder.
I smirked. “You’re lucky we’re doing this in private, little thorn.”
With a groan, she went to her feet, snatched her sword from the ground, and faced me. “Aye, because I know how much fun you’d have humiliating me in front of the others.”
“Not humiliating you. Defiling you.”
Her nose wrinkled. “That’s not what we’re doing here.”
“Will be soon if you keep looking at me like that.”
“Like what? I’m still tired from last night. My hair is a mess. My face is ghastly. What could possibly be turning you—”
