AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Robin’s brow leaped up her forehead, clearly shocked Will had backed down. “Good God,” she said. “You two really did hammer out your disagreements, didn’t you?”
Chapter 11
Robin
The Merry Men couldn’t stay in our current location. We knew we were compromised after letting Baron Easton ride away last night. Especially if he was headed to Nottingham to do business with the Sheriff, where he’d surely tell Sir George of our whereabouts.
Still, they didn’t seem too enthusiastic about returning to the witch’s cabin, either. It made sense. Last time we’d stayed there, Sir Guy of Gisborne had ambushed us and many of our men had been killed, including our barbaric favorite Brandon, called Stump. He had defended the Merry Men’s escape and fought valiantly until the end. With his dying breath, Stump had warned me about the trap Guy had laid out for me in the ruins. He had saved my life.
After some deliberation, we decided to make our first errand to the nearby village of Ravenshead. It seemed the least likely to get us killed, and we had goods to drop off for the villagers. It was a good idea to knock off the simplest errands first.
With the remaining afternoon hours of sunlight, it was going to be a whirlwind day of traveling. I forewent staying in the cushy carriage because I didn’t want to give the Merry Men the impression my prim and proper ass deserved the cushions and pillows of the cart.
I let Much the Miller’s Son ride in the cart instead. He’d probably never had that feeling of prissy nobility before.
I rode Mercy in front of the group, at a walk. We didn’t want to tire the horses before the sun even reached its zenith, because today was looking to be a hot one.
I tried to stuff down what I’d seen in that glade. It became impossible once we hit the road and I had nothing to occupy my mind except the droll clopping of hooves and creaking of wheels on the trade road.
I’d always known Alan-a-Dale was different that the others—he admitted as much when he snuck into the tent with me and Friar Tuck and joined in our tryst. But I never expected him to hold so much power over a man like Will Scarlet, our surliest, angriest member. The man closest to the position of chief than anyone besides myself and Little John.
To see the way Alan had rolled his hips against Will, molding his body to bring them both to ecstasy, had blown my mind and awoken me to the possibilities. The arousal of seeing such a vulgar display of sex ignited once I pushed through those bushes and spied.
The clap of their flesh. The grinding and grunting. Their half-clothed bodies, tight and flexing with muscle and sweat. The primal need to release.
I hadn’t been lying when I told Alan-a-Dale I wasn’t angry at what I saw. Merely jealous. They both cared for me immensely, in their own way, and I couldn’t hold it against them for wanting to fuck each other.
Hell, I wanted to do that on a daily basis with them. How could I try to hold claim over all the Merry Men at once, when they had known each other for years before I ever showed up? That would be quite presumptuous, conceited, and unfair of me.
Even now, the thought of their taut bodies made me want to do some hammering of my own, with one or both of those men as the hammer, and my cunt as the anvil.
I squeezed my thighs against Mercy and she nickered, apparently unpleased with the tightening of my body on her. “Sorry, girl,” I muttered, biting my lip. “Got carried away for a minute there.”
By the time we reached the quaint village of Ravenshead, nestled deep in the heart of Sherwood Forest, the sun was reaching its pinnacle. It bore down on the red- and bronze-tinged leaves as our carts and horses pushed through the main road of the hamlet.
We hadn’t alerted the villagers we were coming. Now they eyed us skeptically as we meandered down the road.
“Not looking too friendly,” Alan-a-Dale muttered from his horse beside me.
“It’ll be fine,” Tuck said. “These are good, honest people.”
“The Barnabys are anything but honest,” Will scoffed, spitting on the ground from his horse. “There are more like them than unlike in this place.”
Michael and Paul Barnaby, I recalled. The twins stealing honey right from under William Elder’s nose while working for him.
Months ago when we’d been here, our journey had nearly ended in bloodshed. Will had wanted to take me here to show me why he was the way he was . . . yet it only solidified my understanding that he lacked self-control when it came to his anger. Especially when his bloodline was involved.
Now, we approached the small cottage near the back of the village, and the wide meadow where Will’s father had set up his bee farm. A handful of men worked the hives. It looked like business was booming. Last time, there had only been two men working. Now there were four, and twice as many honey bees buzzing around.
“Seasonal changes calls for more employment,” Will explained, noticing my impressed expression. “Don’t think my senile old Pa has suddenly become a more adept businessman or sharper judge of character.”
I frowned at him. “You shouldn’t talk about your father like that. He’s trying his best.”
“My father is one of the only people I love on this damned soil, little thorn. That doesn’t change the fact he’s not long for this world, and every month becomes more challenging.”
I nodded, not wanting to fight with him. I would never bicker with someone when it came to their blood family, because I had arguably the worst blood relations of the lot.
Instead, I gave Will a small smile. “Maybe the gifts we have will help him some.”
