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“Because you’re dull. Though you might need a bigger size soon if you keep eating the way you do.”
Tuck flared his nostrils and bunched his hands into fists, advancing on me.
John pushed me aside and stepped between us. I laughed, stumbling back from his strength.
The lordling between us stared wide-eyed, eyes darting with a confused crease to his brow. Clearly he’d never met anyone quite like the Merry Men.
John said, “That’s enough, knaves. Don’t want to sway the young lord’s opinion of us, do we?”
Tuck and I both chuckled.
As if we gave a damn what a shitstain like this boy thought of us. We’d already killed his guards and knocked out the best of the bunch.
Whatever the boy thought, I hoped it filled him with fear and trepidation. I hoped he pissed himself when he slept tonight, wondering if his supple throat would be cut next.
If I got my way, it would.
John said, “We’ve got a pretty boy to make Alan-a-Dale happy when we return, and enough linens for you to swim in, Will. What’s there for you, Tuck?” As he asked the question, he pulled out a length of rope and tossed it to me.
Friar Tuck shrugged. “The almshouse will be well-stocked if I get my way.”
“And what about you, boss?” I asked John.
“A payday.”
I grunted with agreement. “Victory’s never bad, but a payday’s always better.”
We all chuckled, and then I grabbed the boy’s wrists.
My laugh died when my fingers circled those thin sticks he called wrists. That first touch did something to me. My cock flared to life, and it had nothing to do with the finery I had tied around my head.
I tilted my head. “My, but aren’t you soft?”
He swallowed, staying mute. His bright eyes locked with mine. It wasn’t long before he turned away. I reached for the hood covering his face and he reeled, struggling with his wrists to break my hold on him.
Noticing his bared teeth and snarl, like a feral child, a rare tinge of sympathy ran through me. I lifted my hand, letting him keep the hood pulled. “Fine, brat,” I murmured, feeling strange about myself. “You’re a queer lad, aren’t you?”
He said nothing.
My hands worked fast, tying his wrists and binding them together, before dragging him away from the carriage to the campfire.
Little John, Friar Tuck, and two fellow brothers were waking the stunned old man out of his haze. They tied his arms behind him as he groaned and wobbled upright.
Then his eyes found the lordling’s, and fear rifled through those orbs.
It was another peculiar moment. I wasn’t sure if the others caught it. Perhaps the lordling is lying, and this really is his father. If that’s the case, who was that in the carriage?
Perhaps I’d never know, since Little John had given the order to stand down. He was too soft at times.
We had to be happy with our prize. Lord knew I was—if I believed in that fucked-up menace they called God, that is.
John led our troop into the forest. I dashed out the fire before we left, in case other highwaymen wanted to get greedy.
This territory typically did not belong to the Merry Men. We were encroaching on Derbyshire’s forest, yet it was close enough to Sherwood that I didn’t suspect any problems. Still, you always had to be careful about who you crossed.
As John dragged the old bearded fellow through the woods, the knight finally spoke up. His voice was raspy and angry. “Let the lad go,” he said. “Take me instead.”
“I’d rather take both of you,” John said.
