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“Careful with these lot, dear sister. You can’t trust wicked men with your secrets.”
I nodded glumly to Robert. “I know, brother. I don’t have much choice but to trust them, do I? I’m not sure how long I can keep things bottled down.”
He hummed. “You always have a choice, Robin.”
Something tapped my knee and I woke with a start, my chin popping up from my chest. I blinked bleary eyes up at Alan-a-Dale.
He reached down with his hand, to my face, and cupped my cheek. His touch was warm, soft. He might have had the softest hands in the world. I closed my eyes, falling into his touch, and wondered if I was still dreaming.
Then the pad of his thumb swiped over my chin, catching an errant strand of drool. “Looks like my melancholic tunes lulled you to sleep at last,” he said with a wry smile.
I blinked. “Where are we?” Daylight filtered in through the small window of the carriage. I’d been sleeping on silk dresses—the best sleep I’d had in ages. “How long was I out?”
“We’re at the next hideaway, and it’s morning. You were out for a few hours as we traveled.”
I nodded, swallowing hard. My throat was dry and my stomach grumbled. I rubbed my belly with a groan.
“Hungry, little songbird?”
“Ravenously.”
He reached out for my hand. I gingerly accepted the help. The calluses on his fingers were different than the ones on Little John’s. They weren’t battle-hardened—rather hardened from plucking strings. Instead of stealing life with his fingers, this man invigorated life with his.
Outside the carriage, I carded my hand through my hair. It was already greasy, though I’d just bathed yesterday. Being in the wilderness was dirty business.
I recalled yesterday—with the naked Merry Men, followed by a naked Maid Marian—and felt strangely warm and lustful. Is it my humors acting up for morning, or my lack of food? I feel ravenous in more ways than one.
Fires outside were nearly invisible in the afternoon light. The sun came down in spots, hidden by overhanging branches and leafy trees that told me we were still in the forest, just a different part of it.
The new camp didn’t appear much different than the last. It was shaped around its water source, an abandoned well that had become overgrown with gnarled vines and knotty roots. A few men busied themselves by clearing the well of weeds.
When I stepped out of the carriage, Alan-a-Dale handed me a burnt piece of hare on a spit, with a self-defeated smile. “I’m not as good a cook as Tuck, but he was busy. It’ll have to suffice.”
I took the skewer without complaint and chomped into the food in a hurry. “Thank you,” I said around the mouthful. “What’s Tuck busy doing?”
“Preparing to go to Nottingham, to distribute the clothes you helped sew to the almshouse.”
My eyes flashed wide. A sneaky idea came to me, and I tried to hide the roguish expression from Alan by wandering through the camp.
A glade of birch and beech trees spread out from the stone waterhole, which I saw drew its source from a nearby pond. Sweet chestnut grew in spiny groves around the glade, alongside wildflowers. A good spot for foraging, I thought.
The area was hemmed by foliage more than the last, with a couple hillsides for lookout points. White smoke spiraled into the canopies from at least three pits in the glade. The Merry Men had swiftly made this place their home, setting up their tents and accoutrements.
Admittedly, the outlaws were expert nomads. They’d moved their home with nary a second thought, once Alan and I came back with reports of danger nearby.
Alan saw me staring at the grizzled faces of the men, and the slack, dirtied mugs of the younger fellows. Though no one smiled, they didn’t appear discontent, either.
The minstrel stood next to me. “Our homes are not where we are, Robin. Our homes are who we’re with.”
I glanced over at him. “Sage words, sir.”
He chuckled. “I have my moments.” After a beat of silence, he clapped my back. “Now then! It’s time to bathe. Off to the pond we—”
“Ohhh no,” I said, flapping my hands in front of me. “I remember how that went last time.”
“Yes, your eyes nearly popped out of your head. Too awestruck, I suppose.”
“Aye, humble minstrel. It’s too early to go through that anxiety again.”
