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Will ground his teeth together, then bared them in a snarl as his fingers wrapped around the staff. “He isn’t right, little thorn. Don’t do this.” His voice was low and menacing.
“He is, Will. You know it’s true.” My eyes softened, drilling into his brilliant blue orbs, and I arched my brow helplessly as I leaned forward. “Please,” I said in a low, choked voice, “don’t fight me on this.”
Then I walked away, clawing back tears, turning from my lovers and friends before they could see me break in front of them. I retreated to my tent to drown myself in grief, leaving the situation outside in Will Scarlet’s hands.
At least with him at the head . . . the Merry Men might have a fighting chance to survive.
Chapter 17
Will Scarlet
This wasn’t what I wanted. Not by a long shot. I cradled John’s quarterstaff in my hands and tried to envision what he would do in this situation.
He would find empathy and search within himself for the answer. He would give a short speech that would start slow and end with everyone on their feet, cheering him. Even if it meant guiding them to a decision they had been against before he started.
Unfortunately, empathy and introspection were my weakest qualities. Speeches weren’t my strong suit, either.
My little thorn was hurting. That, I knew. She felt the weight of the world on her shoulders, and believed she couldn’t share the burden with anyone. I can’t let her think like that. She can’t shut us out and lose herself to anger and grief. I’ve been there all my life. It can only lead to greater misery.
The last thing on this earth I wanted was to see Robin wilt and lose her flame. Because if her fire went out, the candle wick would burn out for the rest of us, too.
I only realized once she wasn’t in my presence that the world around me felt so empty and pointless without her in it. She had been the key to keeping us together for months now, even if she didn’t recognize it.
Little John would be the first to admit that.
Tate stood by and watched me, giving a stern nod as the rest of the Merry Men clamped their jaws, made eye contact to acknowledge their acceptance of me taking on the leadership position, and started to wander away.
Crisp was beginning to wake, sitting up and shaking his head with a lost, dazed look in his eyes.
Tate said, “It’s settled, then.”
I narrowed my eyes on him.
“It’s the right move, Will. You know it is.”
I said nothing, letting my glare speak for me.
Once he wandered off, I sensed the presence of two people behind me, shivering like winter branches.
I turned to regard Robin’s handmaid, Emma, and her friend Ada. Their eyes were dewy. They rubbed their red noses as they sniffled. Ada couldn’t stop looking at the dead girl, Liz, and by the haunted expression on her gaunt face, and the similarities in their sunken eyes, I wondered if they were sisters.
They were looking to me for direction. Scared, cold, lost, and exhausted. “Stay by the fire,” I ordered. “Warm up.”
Emma’s neck tightened as she gulped. “I should go speak to Lady Robin. She shouldn’t be alone, and I know her well. Perhaps I can—”
I grabbed her arm before she could move away. “You don’t know her as well as I do, girl. Not anymore.”
She blinked at me, mouth opening and closing. “So you’re going to talk to her, brigand?”
The way her nose wrinkled made me recoil. “Is that such a surprise?” I asked.
She looked me up and down. “You just don’t seem the type to elicit confidence when someone is down.”
A flare of anger swept through me . . . then a slow smile curled my lip as I recognized how similar to Robin she was. She didn’t call me “sir” or care one whit how intimidating I might be. She stood her ground, and I respected that.
“Maybe not, Emma, but I can elicit confidence in other ways. I’ll speak to her.”
“Fine. Suit yourself—Will, was it?”
