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“His name is Peter Fisher.”
Chapter 19
Robin
“Peter Fisher,” Little John repeated, rolling the name over in his mouth. He paused for a beat. Looked over my shoulder at the Merry Men behind me.
He was frightening—on-edge and tense. Dangerous with the tilt of his chin, the way his dark eyes drilled into mine.
“Any relation to Sir James Fisher?” he asked.
My shoulders bobbed. “Peter Fisher is a noble boy. A squire. He could be related to the man you mention.”
“And this noble boy,” he spit the words out like they tasted sour. “What was the justification, in his mind, for attacking you?”
Anger clawed at me. “Does it matter? You—”
“No, it doesn’t matter,” John interjected. “He will pay.”
I gulped. That wasn’t what I was trying to say. He didn’t hear my point, so I tried again. “You attacked me, too!” My hand flew to the left. “Will Scarlet ripped my tunic in half! He violated me.”
Will Scarlet did not look ashamed. His eyes gleamed darkly. “And I’d do it again, little thorn. We don’t take kindly to liars.”
“Well . . .” Alan-a-Dale started to say.
John put his hand up. “There is a difference. We do not hurt women and children. Will Scarlet did not know you were either of those.”
“Or both of those,” Alan-a-Dale said.
My neck whipped over to the musician. “Are you simply here for biting commentary, minstrel, or do you have anything useful to say?”
The men . . . chuckled. Alan loudest of all. A crooked smile tilted his beautiful face. “Your bite is most enjoyable, little songbird. I find your backbone refreshing. Not many noble lasses have it. Or lads.”
“If only the feeling were mutual,” I snapped back.
My words only made him smile wider. For some reason, he appreciated the vitriol coming from my lips. All these men did.
Little John wasn’t wrong: These Merry Men were a strange bunch. First they abducted me, tore me from my family, and now they were busy deciding how to defend my honor. I couldn’t make sense of it.
I tried to reclaim my train of thought, steering us back to the conversation at hand. The way these men stared at me made me forget myself, which was something I’d never contended with before.
“Peter Fisher didn’t know I was a girl, either. At first.” I became uncomfortable as I remembered the woods. How he reacted . . .
Little John lifted his palm again. “Say no more, lass. I understand. And . . . did he?”
“Did he get what he bargained for?” I said angrily. “You could say that. He didn’t get me, but he got something else unforgettable.” I straightened my posture, standing tall, trying to take myself seriously in this huddle of nude men. “The man is missing an eye.”
Little John’s severe face broke into a smirk. “Excellent. That’s a good girl.”
My heart slammed in the wrong direction, like it was beating into my spine. I’d never been called . . . that. It made me feel warm. Full. Special.
Opening my mouth to fill the silent void, no words came out. I clamped my lips shut to try again.
John beat me to it. He pointed at Alan-a-Dale and Friar Tuck. “You two, with me. You know what we have to do.”
The men nodded curtly.
My eyes followed them. “Wait—what?” Fear enveloped me. I pointed at Will Scarlet, whose gaze didn’t leave my face. “You’re going somewhere? And leaving me with him?”
