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He snorted. “Fine. Suit yourself.” He tossed a thumb over his shoulder. “You know where to find me if you change your mind. Don’t be scared to be adventurous.” With a wink, he wandered off.
Leaving me there . . . alone. Unwatched. I looked left and right, behind and forward, and though a few Merry Men worked on things, none of them paid me any attention.
Before he got out of eyesight near a hill, I said, “You trust me out here by my lonesome?”
He laughed, not bothering to look over his shoulder as he called back, “Where would you go, dear Robin? You’re lost!”
I flared my nostrils and opened my mouth to blurt a retort, but then he was gone. A bit frustrated, hands balling into fists, I spun around and tried to find something to occupy myself with.
Out the corner of my eye, the carriage called to me. I hummed to myself, trying to be discreet, and slipped into the open door, closing it behind me.
It seemed this had become my own personal home in the wilderness. A lavish, creaky carriage filled with pillows, finery, silks, and ornamented chests—though much fewer now than earlier.
I frowned when I sat. It certainly didn’t make me feel part of the Merry Men. It made me feel . . . superior.
And I hated that. I debated leaving the carriage, so I could find a stranger and find a chore to do. Make myself useful.
I thought, This was part of my plan, though. Stow myself away in a chest again once Tuck leaves. Get back to Nottingham so I can see Mama and look for clues about Uncle Gregory’s whereabouts.
In the meantime, I needed to bide my time. So I waited. And waited . . . and my thoughts drifted.
They went to Alan first, and his soft hands. His elegant stride, his cheery tone. The man’s voice was cinnamon. He was a shit archer, but a good man.
Likewise went for Friar Tuck. A good man in a shit circumstance. Oddly, I tried to imagine what his body would feel like under that habit of his. The thought alarmed me, because I could see Friar Tuck as a father figure . . . so why was I thinking such torrid things?
“Because you’re alone and wanting,” Robert said.
I shook his voice away and daydreamed about Little John and Will Scarlet. What were those devious vagrants up to? They’d left quickly after I lied and told them Peter Fisher had punched me in the face. Fisher had assaulted me, but it had been Father who struck me.
I’d never seen men angrier than in that moment when I told my lie. Unlike with Father, my words had consequences with these men. The men had been so filled with potent rage and vengeful eyes.
Vengeful eyes . . . for me. Protective champions with hate in their hearts for anyone who lays their hands on me.
A girl couldn’t ask for more than that. Even if I didn’t trust it to last. They had said as much: I was their property, and anyone who harmed what belonged to them needed to be dealt with.
Can I really consider the Merry Men my captors and protectors? The thought was baffling, yet strangely arousing.
Biting my lip, I curled up on the bench. My legs lifted, knees bending, and I placed my feet on the edge of the bench. My chin dipped and I watched as my hand trailed down my belly, under the waistband of my pants, and between my legs.
I was wet and warm in the middle. Stifling a whimper, I glanced fearfully out the window and dipped two fingers inside my cunt at the same time. The heel of my palm worked my clit, rubbing slow circles that brought a thrum of excitement and relief shooting through me.
This isn’t so bad, I told myself, closing my eyes. Being at the mercy of men like John, Will, Alan, and Tuck might not be the worst thing for me.
I already liked it better than being at home. At least this was exhilarating.
The idea of excitement made my body jerk. My fingers came away sticky, a strand of my arousal stretching from my fingertips to my seam.
I gasped and shook my head. This was so wrong. Men were cutting wood, chatting around campfires just outside, while I was stuffed in here like a pampered princess, fucking my hand and—
Three fingers curved in this time. My body jolted and I smacked the back of my head against the wall of the carriage. Wincing, the pain only made the pleasure that much grander.
My eyes clenched shut. I was losing track of my thoughts. In, out, in, out. My fingers were moving fast now while my hips bucked against my palm and wrist.
With my free hand, I lifted my shirt and pinched my pert nipple, cupping my breast, fondling myself. I bit my lower lip harder, harder, grinding, exploring my depths. I wished I had one of those men’s callused hands doing this to me, teaching me, showing me absolute pleasure, but I didn’t know how to ask them because I had no experience and—
I unraveled, the slow pressure mounting and building like a horrible tidal wave. Cresting high through my body, ready to crash on my grand estate and fucking destroy it and I’d love for Wilford to just be washed away in a heap of snapped timber and floating tapestries!
The door to the carriage flew open.
