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“You know he wouldn’t,” Tuck agreed, nodding to me.
I did know. How could I be so foolish—or worried—to think otherwise? Did it really matter who led the Merry Men, as long as we got what we wanted and needed?
It didn’t. If the members wanted John as their leader once he returned, so be it. I wouldn’t put up a fight.
“First we have to find him,” I muttered, finishing my thoughts aloud.
“Aye,” Tuck said. “Our prime concern. Even before saving the destitute people of this country, which pains me to say, given as I used to be a priest and it was my job.”
Alan slapped him on the back, smiling wide as water clapped off his shoulder. “Shit priest you must’ve been.”
Tuck, bashful, smiled wryly. “The worst, minstrel.”
When the three men looked at me, I nodded firmly. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention. I need to hear it, and I don’t want you being afraid of how I might react.”
“You couldn’t scare us if you tried, little songbird,” Alan said, crowding me with his taller frame, exuding heat.
I smiled at him, giving him some innuendo of my own. “I hope things won’t always be this hard.”
“Oh, they will be, little thorn,” Will said. “If the men aren’t bitching about this, it’s something else. Until we’re all kings and princes, no one is going to be satisfied.”
We all chuckled darkly at that. There was a definite ring of truth to it.
“For now,” Tuck said, following me as I headed toward the bank of the pond, “I think it behooves us to split our winnings equally among the men, and among the poor folk you hope to aid. There needs to be a balance, or else the Merry Men won’t survive long enough to save Little John or anyone else.”
I agreed. No one was saying the quiet part out loud, though—the thing burrowed in our minds, killing our spirits on a daily basis: There was a good chance Little John was dead. The fact we hadn’t heard news of him or had sight of him in a month only added to that fear.
Now was not the time to mention it. I could see on the beautiful faces of my men that they all understood. We were hanging on by a thread, wishing something would show itself that gave us some hope. Maybe we need to make some hope of our own. “If we get even more daring, perhaps we can find the clues we need to locate Little John,” I said from the edge of the bank, folding my arms over my chest.
“We’re already as reckless as we’ve ever been,” Tuck reminded me.
I shrugged. “Let’s push it a notch further.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Well, first, getting information out of those captives from the robbery. They might not know anything about John, but they’ll know something about something.”
The men nodded, closing in around me. It felt nice having their bodies so close to mine, like the protectors they were.
“Funny you should mention that,” Alan said, brushing past me to gather his clothes from a pile on the ground.
It seemed a raunchy second session would have to wait—much to my disappointment—because we had more pressing matters. A shame, especially as I watched him bend over, flex that perfect tight ass of his, and give me an eyeful of his heavy balls and cock.
“Funny how?” I asked, chewing my lip.
He sighed as he stood and threw his tunic on. “Because that new whelp of yours has been having a jolly good time wreaking hell on those captives. Leading the charge, as it were.”
“Much the Miller’s Son?” I blurted, incredulous. “He’s a child! He should be nowhere near those hardened men!”
Alan snorted. “Tell that to him, love. You have to remember, those men are likely the same ones who put him in that cage to begin with.”
Well . . . I couldn’t argue with that.
It was flabbergasting to learn Much was involved in the interrogations. I needed to see it for myself.
I started to move past the men, quickly throwing on my clothes as I walked. Will and Alan strode in front of me on either side.
Friar Tuck’s large hand fell on my shoulder, momentarily keeping me behind. His voice was low in my ear, so no one else could hear. “Another thing, lass.”
