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“But it’s so fun and easy,” I drawled, sheathing my blades in the scabbards at my hips. Little John’s acceptance of people boiled my blood. He avoided shedding blood when he could. He was our de facto leader, though he didn’t always make the best decisions for the band.
Why would we not hang this nuisance from the highest tree to leave a warning to the rest of the noble shits rolling through these woods?
Little John gestured vaguely to the lordling pinned against the carriage then nudged his chin at the unconscious man he’d cracked with his staff near the fire. “Just bind the boy and help me rouse the old man so we can get things straight.”
I glanced over, inspecting the old sack on the ground. That one had been a fine fighter. He’d likely been even more formidable in his glory days. I respected that. At least he didn’t appear to come from nobility.
Still, my initial reaction was one of disappointment. As the bloodlust raged in my mind, I frowned at my tall companion. “You mean we’re not killing him, either?”
“We don’t kill defenseless old men.”
I fingered the red silk around my neck. Its softness brought my blood down to a reasonable level. “He didn’t seem all that defenseless when we fought.”
Little John pinched the bridge of his nose. I always irked him. He should’ve been used to my prodding. “At least until we figure out his place in all this, he lives. Deal?”
“Fine.”
John looked at the pretty boy in front of him. “I’m guessing he’s your father, lad?”
The boy stayed mute, full lips pursed together in a thin line. When his eyes flicked left, to the wheel divots of the escaped carriage, I blinked and understood.
“Ah,” John grunted. “That was your lovely father. Shameful.”
“The lord saw you crack that old man like a viper,” I said. “Wouldn’t you run, too?”
“If it was my son in danger? No. I wouldn’t.”
I shrugged. If Little John was nothing else, he was noble of heart. Too bad he didn’t have the ample coffers of the nobility, too. That would make our lives much easier.
I ran a hand through my hair, peering into the dark forest beyond, where the carriage had gone. “Should we give chase? Imagine the spoils in that wagon.”
“We have enough here.”
John and I spun to the voice of Friar Tuck. He exited the carriage with a shock of linens draped over both shoulders, smiling mischievously.
My mouth formed a circle. “By God, had I known that was in there . . . It’s a good thing you don’t care for earthly possessions, Tuck.”
I rushed forward before he could argue, snatched the bundle off his body. My hands roamed through the soft fabrics, pinching and teasing to check for quality.
It was fine shit. Very fine. Made from an expert.
I was in Heaven.
John poked his head in. “There’s enough in here to dress the whole gang in new garb.” He shook his head. “Lord knows we could use it.”
Tuck joined him at the open door. “Or the orphanage, Little John.”
John tightened his lips, looking ashamed. “Right. Good idea.”
I spun and twisted the fabric around my body, losing myself to its softness. I stretched it overhead, so it would block out the silver moon. The light came through the thin sheets in a dappled, muffled glow. I smiled.
I’d always had an affinity for the nicer things in life. Probably because I never owned them myself. We all want what we can’t have.
“Good God, Scarlet,” Tuck said, “only you could get a hard-on from clothes, boy.”
I tied a sheet of yellow linen around my head like a bonnet. “I’m not aroused!” I looked down to make sure I was telling the truth. I felt defensive and snapped back, “And what about you, chaplain? Pleased with your beggar’s garb?”
Friar Tuck spread his arms wide and looked down at his brown, boring habit. “Suits me just fine.”
