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Alan smiled wide. “Little songbird . . . there’s nearly twenty pounds in this fucking bag. Twice as much as you would’ve won from the archery tournament. Probably stolen from other tournaments.” He laughed in disbelief, then faced each Merry Man in turn and threw up his hands. “We’re fucking rich!”
Everyone cheered. It was a subdued cheer because of the heaviness of the day, but it finally gave us a win we so desperately needed.
I was awestruck, and found myself laughing.
John clapped me on the back. “Christ Almighty, woman! Thwarted the Sheriff’s operation and stole his money at the same time? You’re a fucking genius!”
I couldn’t explain it. I had no idea what such a hefty sum of money would have been doing in that prisoner carriage. I supposed it didn’t matter. It was ours now.
The Merry Men could make much better use of that kind of money than Sheriff George of fucking Nottingham.
That night, around the campfire with my four Merciless Men, John asked what our next move should be.
We all knew we needed to leave this hideaway. Once news of the prisoners’ disappearance made it to the Sheriff, we’d be in trouble. He would search for us tirelessly, if for no other reason than to retrieve his stolen money.
I retreated to my tent and grabbed a map, plopped down next to them, and leaned close to the fire as I unfurled it.
I looked at every face circling the fire: Friar Tuck, Alan-a-Dale, Will Scarlet, Little John. They stared at me intently, my face their entire focus.
And I smiled.
“We have allies, boys. John and I met them while we were making our way back here from Nottingham.”
Their faces twisted with curiosity—all but John’s, who smiled at me and gave me a firm nod.
I jabbed my finger down at a specific point on the map.
“We want to take down the Sheriff of Nottingham? Get revenge for Much and Stump and Crisp and Lewis and Skiff and all the others? Bolster our ranks? Use this money so it can benefit everyone?”
They waited for my next words on bated breath. Not a word spoken from the men, just nods and widened eyes as the suspense built.
“Then it’s time we make an alliance with Robert and the Oak Boys. It’s time we weave a new thread to our family.”
Chapter 48
Guy of Gisborne
Istood perched against a pillar in the courtyard of Nottingham Castle, tapping my foot on the cobbles with my arms crossed.
I saw the messenger boy darting through before he saw me. I moved to intercept him, gliding like a wraith along the stone floor.
He gasped when he glanced up at me.
My hand moved to pluck the letter out of his hand. “What have you there, boy?”
He twisted away, shielding the missive with his arms.
My thin brow lifted. You’ve got stones, lad.
“Been ordered for the Sheriff’s eyes and ears only, sir,” the boy said.
I thought for a moment, rubbing my sharp chin. My eyes veered under the ridge of my brow at the other soldiers and workers moseying around the open courtyard of the castle.
Can’t exactly slit the boy’s throat and take it from him now, can I? Not without everyone here seeing. I stared down at the ground and frowned. And not without getting blood on my new boots.
With a sigh, I debated killing him anyway. Stuffing him into a nook in the castle where he wouldn’t be found for a few months, until the stink of his corpse started to alert rats and other rodents.
If this message was what I thought it was, then perhaps it wasn’t best served in George’s hands. Perhaps he didn’t even need to know about it.
