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It nearly made me grimace.
“What is it you need, then?” Tuck asked.
“I just need . . . to be.”
I rubbed the back of my neck. That doesn’t even make any fucking sense. My girl was losing it. I couldn’t let that happen. I took a step forward—
And the flap opened, stalling me.
Alan-a-Dale waltzed in, grunting when he stood shoulder to shoulder with me. Unlike my hesitance, he wasted no time to say, “You look ready to paddle through a river of tears, little songbird.”
Robin screwed her nose up adorably and jerked back from Tuck. “Why does everyone want me to cry?!”
“Because it might make you feel better, love.” Alan’s voice was tender this time, and I wished I had that sort of control over my emotions and words.
“No, it won’t,” Robin argued. “I’m not a brittle leaf that’s going to blow away in the breeze. I’m no damsel.”
“We know you’re not,” Tuck said.
“Then stop treating me like one.”
She said the words . . . yet she hadn’t kicked us out of her tent yet. That led me to believe she wanted something more from us.
My body and mind felt calmer inside this tent, surrounded only by the woman I loved and the men who loved her with me. These were my closest comrades, and the emptiness that weighed me down outside drifted away as the familiar scents and tones of them filled the room.
I smiled, and felt a strange sense of arousal.
“And why the hell is he grinning like a dazed madman?” Robin asked, pointing up at me.
I said nothing. I didn’t want to come across as more insane than I already felt.
Tuck gently tilted her chin to stare into her face. “You said you’ve only brought us death, sorrow, and heartache.”
Her shoulders sank as she nodded, that dim glow in her eyes snuffing out.
“You need to know how wrong you are, Robin. It’s the opposite, in fact.” His hand waved at me and Alan standing near the flap. “I know these two bastards think the same.”
“What . . . what do you mean?” she eked out, her eyes imploring our chaplain for answers.
“You haven’t brought us death, little heathen. You’ve brought every man in this tent life. Before you, death was an answer. A choice. With you? It’s the furthest thing from our minds. It’s the last thing we want. And sorrow?” Tuck let out an incredulous snort. “You’ve given us purpose, Robin, and dare I say happiness. Do you know how rare that is in an outlaw’s world? Our hearts don’t ache because of you, they ache for you. Our chests swell with pride and love for you. No man here will deny any of that. Little John wouldn’t, either.”
With every sentence, Robin’s eyes widened a little more. Her brow perched higher on her forehead. Her posture became more straight-backed, until she was no longer in her hunched, sorrowful position on the edge of the cot.
The chaplain spoke good words, admittedly.
“He’s right, you know,” Alan said. “This stupor of self-pity is unbecoming of you, love. It’s not like you.”
“What would you have me do, then?” she asked, eyes moving from Tuck’s kind face to Alan’s beautiful one.
Alan opened and closed his mouth, as if he hadn’t expected that response or thought that far ahead. For the first time since I could remember, Alan-a-Dale was speechless, and it made everyone look over at him.
His silence, and Tuck’s niceties, made me realize why I was here—what I needed to do.
I strode forward, stared down at Robin’s big almond-shaped eyes and heart-shaped face . . .
And grabbed her by the throat.
She let out a surprised choking sound, eyes bulging.
