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Robin
The man’s grip was iron-strong. I writhed as he dragged me through the flowerbeds, over the stones. “Let go of me, you bastard!”
“Quite a tongue on you, little mouse,” he murmured. “Careful, or I’ll cut it out.”
My father rushed to the front door of the cottage as the man dragged me to it. I could hear the clanking of Father’s belt, the rustling of his pants being drawn up. He yelled at Marian, “You brought him here?”
“I did no such thing,” she answered.
“I follow the job wherever it goes,” my captor said. “And it brought me here.”
The door flew open. I couldn’t see my father yet, since I was being dragged behind this dark monster.
Father couldn’t see me, either, because of the hood I wore. “Who do you have, eh?”
“I daresay it’s your long-lost brood, Sir Thomas the Stiff.” He let out a wicked chuckle and unceremoniously tossed me at my father’s feet.
I looked up, eyes bulging. My father stared down. A sneer crossed his lips, disgusted at seeing me.
Then he cleared his throat and glanced at the man who’d found me. Father’s body language became stilted, awkward. “Erm, I apologize, Sir Guy, for what you might have heard spoken about you. Just know it was my frustrations talking and not—”
“Your silver is worth the same, with or without insults. I don’t take it personally.”
My father swallowed hard. “Yes, well, I’d be remiss if you didn’t accept—”
“I accept your apology, soldier. Now, what do you want to do with this one?”
Why is Father acting so squeamish and subordinate to this shitstain? It dawned on me moments later. Because he’s the Sheriff of Nottingham’s man. The wolf in the night. And he scares everyone.
“Would you be a gentleman and bring my wayward offspring inside, sir?” Father asked.
“With pleasure.”
Guy’s hand wrapped around the nape of my neck and squeezed. I let out a squeal and ground my teeth together, throwing my arms and elbows around like a child in a tantrum.
Sir Guy of Gisborne laughed at me. He took me inside, and Father shut the door behind him.
“I take it you brought men with you?” Father asked, once we were inside the stuffy confines of the cottage.
“Of course. Watching the perimeter of the hill.”
It wasn’t candlelight I’d seen, but a fire pit near the back wall of the room. The licking flames silhouetted my father and Guy of Gisborne from behind, making them look menacing and hellish. Maid Marian stood off to the side, rearranging her corset and fluffing her dress, her red hair disheveled and messy. She stared daggers at me, and for a moment I thought I saw a hint of pity there.
The pity angered me more than her betrayal of the Merry Men.
I had nowhere to run. All I could do was crawl back against the wall, under the window I’d been listening in from. I faced my father with scared eyes, trying to muster courage inside me but failing.
I had never been able to be brave around him, because bravery meant a swift hand across the face, or a fist in the stomach. The trauma of my life under Father’s heel spilled over, and the tears joined them.
“Don’t snivel, girl,” he sneered. “This is most serendipitous, wouldn’t you say? My daughter returned to me, at long lost.”
“Murderer!” I blurted, finally able to steel myself in the face of death. I knew he wanted me dead, and if this was my final moment, I would learn everything from him. I would bring his words to the grave, to Hell, and I would hunt him and haunt him for the rest of his miserable days once he joined me in pandemonium.
Father’s head tilted, calmness set in his features. “What’s that?”
“How long?” I growled through gritted teeth.
“How long?” he repeated, feigning innocence.
