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Two guards marched past the front of the alley, eyes scanning the shadows where we were pressed together.
“Fucking gutter rats,” one of them muttered. “Have you no shame?”
“Come, man, we’ve got bigger shit to deal with,” the other added, slapping his shoulder.
They wandered off toward the square, shaking their heads.
Will pulled his lips off mine. “Still the reckless brat I’ve come to love.”
I breathed shallowly. My chest ached from his touch and the thudding of my heart. “Thank you,” I said, realizing his quick-thought maneuver had saved our asses.
It was all right by me, too, since I could still taste him on my tongue a few minutes later once we’d left the alley behind and darted to a new one.
“To the carriage,” I said. Our boots squelched in mud as we walked. “I’ve seen a lot of soldiers coming from the southern bridge.”
“Aye. Let’s leave that way, then.”
Toward Wilford, I thought. Again, I didn’t want to say the words out loud. I needed to remember the Wilford estate was no longer mine. It didn’t belong to my family, and I didn’t really care who owned it these days.
My life in Nottingham and Wilford was over. It was the past. For now, I had other pressing matters: finding Little John and helping Tuck and Alan escape with that mob of children. I was proud of the friar and minstrel for deciding to take all the orphans from the almshouse, rather than just Emma’s sister, which was what we had originally planned.
Perhaps my impromptu nature has rubbed off on them. Or maybe they’re trying to please me. Or they just know something I don’t, and it’s no longer safe for them there.
Whatever the reason, I was happy for it.
Our community is growing.
Our carriage was tucked away near a stable off to the side of the town square. No guards were nearby, and our driver was atop the bench, hands on the reins. Ready for a swift escape, if needed.
“To Wilford and the southern gate, Jamie,” Will said, knocking the hull of the carriage before jumping in.
I darted in after him, shuttering the slats of the window.
Will leaned over and let out a preening whistle through the door—high, loud, and brain-jarring.
A second later, Much the Miller’s Son pushed through the throng of commoners and guards and leapt atop the wagon. He threw his arms out wide, smiling wide for the audience who was paying him little attention as they divvied out goods and fought over clothing.
“Don’t say the Merry Men never did nothing for you!” he yelled. With a laugh, the boy jumped off the barrel and darted away, toward his carriage in the distance.
Will growled and palmed his forehead. “Fucking idiot. Just when I was starting to praise the job he was doing.”
I chuckled at Will’s surliness.
It wasn’t until Much had made it to the other carriage that a few of the guards standing watch at the square glanced at each other with confused expressions.
As our carriage started rolling away, I heard one of them exclaim: “Wait—what? The Merry . . . fuck!”
OUR ROUTE WAS TAKING us directly past the courtyard of the Wilford estate. There was no avoiding it—this was the only road out in this direction.
Before leaving the crowded town square, we’d met up with Alan and Tuck’s carriage in the shadows. Much the Miller’s Son was close behind, careening in through an alley to collide with our convoy and leaping into the carriage.
When I opened the carriage door, I gasped.
Little bodies were pressed in tight, shoulder to shoulder. There were nearly fifteen of them, and some of them were crying and sniffling.
“Jesus Christ,” Will said behind me, sounding disgusted at what he was seeing. He didn’t say if he was disgusted at the sight of fifteen filthy bodies pressed together, or rather the guilt and heartache you felt at witnessing such a thing.
Either way, the carriage was entirely too cramped.
