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With a collective gasp, we reeled to the left. The rasp of steel snowballed through our ranks, until nearly every man had their swords drawn. I had my bow in my hands in an instant, an arrow close to the string.
Then I saw who had spoken. A low growl surrounded him, unseen but certainly heard and felt. The growling was a feral harmony coming from numerous jaws. The strange, ominous, dark-skinned healer stood in the shadow of the ruins, in a corner where he had set up a small tent.
My heart leapt—first to my throat in fear, then a bit lower as I smiled in recognition. My hunch was confirmed. “Wulfric,” I said fondly, raising a fist. “Lower your weapons, men. He’s a friend.”
Friar Tuck was to me first, my other two mates close behind to encircle me. “He is?” asked the friar, skepticism lining his voice.
“Who the hell is this creature?” Will asked. “And how the hell do you know him?”
“He looks worthy of a song, honestly,” Alan-a-Dale muttered.
“I thank you,” Wulfric said, baring that brilliant-white smile of his.
“It wasn’t a compliment,” Alan added.
“Alan!” I scolded, and the minstrel simply shrugged.
“It’s fine, Lady Robin of Loxley,” Wulfric chuckled, waving a hand at me. “I’ve been expecting you.”
A chill ran through me. “Are you a soothsayer, sir? Can you see the future?”
He blinked. “What? No. I didn’t mean I was expecting you today. I just meant in general.” He waved a hand vaguely in the air. “Some time in the future.”
“Oh.” I felt a bit disappointed.
“I apologize if that sounded more ominous and mystical than I’d intended.”
“What about my name? How did you know it when we first met? I never gave it to you.”
“Astute, Lady Robin.” He took a step forward and my champions raised their weapons in unison.
I sighed and shook my head. “I told you, he’s—”
“If he’s a friend, then what is that constant growling I’m hearing, and where the hell is it coming from?” Will asked, his voice tense and threatening.
“Ah. Apologies.” Wulfric let out a high-pitched whistle, and I winced. No fewer than five shadows scampered out from the nooks and crannies of the ruins to join at his side.
His pet wolves. Except there were more than I remembered. They stopped growling, instead lolling their tongues like domesticated hounds. It only worked to make the Merry Men rigid with worry again, but when he muttered something to the wolves in a low voice, they padded away.
It was a marvel to me, the power he held over them. “You told me they weren’t your pets.”
“They aren’t. Like I told you before, Robin, I bribe and feed them well.” He winked at me.
All right, I’ll accept that one. And the fact he claims not to be a prophet. “What were you saying about my name—how you knew it?”
“There’s an easy explanation for that, too. Sadly, I can see your hope in me dwindling by the second. I was acquaintances with your uncle, years ago. It is how he knew of me, and why he recommended taking your mother to see me. He had seen me work before. You were just a bundle of a thing, but you were there, too.”
Lines wrinkled my forehead as I gawked at the man. “I was . . . there? With Uncle Gregory?”
He nodded and flung one of his long white braids over his shoulder. “Aye.”
“Still, if I was a baby, you couldn’t have recognized me as an adult . . .”
“I’m good with faces.” He smiled wider, throwing his arms out. “Given our location, and the story you told me of Wilford and your mother . . . I put it together swiftly enough.”
“And the potion you gave me to heal my wound?”
“A concoction crafted from herbs and ingredients found around the forest. As I told you then.”
