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John scoffed. “I suppose you’ll have a chance to prove it.”
Will said, “At least you’re finally doing something I believe in. Like hell you’re going to stop me.”
And what’s that—protecting me?
When we got to the top of the hill, I scanned the clearing and looked at the tree where I’d been tied up, now empty and—
Shit! My jaw clenched with frustration. These savages made me forget what I wanted to mention, distracting me with their . . . everything.
“You dubious shits,” I grumbled.
Eyes swung to me, brows raised.
I pointed down at the tree and the two piles of rope. “What did you do to Uncle Gregory? I swear, if you’ve killed him—”
“What?” Will pressed. “What will you do about it if we did?”
“Murderers!” I shrieked, earning some surprised expressions from the waking Merry Men at the base of the hill.
Little John put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed.
Admittedly, it nearly calmed me.
Nearly.
“Vagrant cock-swinging sword-stabbing killers!” I yelled, violently shrugging his hand and pushing myself away from the group. My finger thrust accusingly at their chests, one by one. Their glorious, muscled, stupid chests. “You won’t get away with this!”
Angry tears welled in my eyes.
John said, “Don’t listen to the boy, lass. We didn’t kill your uncle.”
“Then where is he?”
“Can’t tell you.”
I ground my teeth so hard I thought they’d crack. My frustration boiled over. I balled my hands into fists. “Tell me!”
I rushed Little John and punched him in his glorious, muscled, stupid chest.
He didn’t move. Like a stone wall.
“Tell me!” I wailed again, tears falling down my cheeks now.
After the third punch, he caught my wrists. “No.”
“No?” I gazed up at him, held immobile by the giant. He could control my body any way he wanted. There wasn’t a thing I could do to stop it.
Surprisingly, he let my hands go. Giving me another chance to lunge at him.
But I was too tired to do it. Too hungry. “Why won’t you tell me what you’ve done to my poor uncle?”
“Because we can’t lose our leverage, lass.” John spoke matter-of-factly, hand sweeping down to the clearing, where the rest of the band was starting to make breakfast on the fires. “It’s not just the four of us we’re in service to, Robin. It’s all the Merry Men. You offer us a way out. Understand?”
I swallowed. My chin trembled. Sadness hit me in the gut. I was still their prisoner—their leverage and prize.
A bartering tool . . . as I’d been all my life.
I wasn’t sure why it hurt so much to hear. Why the pain dug deep into my belly and made me bow my head in disappointment and sorrow.
