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His smile widened. “I know you’re not the innocent highborn princess you want everyone to believe you are. You have a dark side, little thorn. Like the rest of us. You wanted Peter Fisher dead more than any of us did. Otherwise you wouldn’t have lied about him putting that bruise on your face. You knew how to get us to react. You exploited John’s gallantry and valor to get what you wanted.”
My head reeled. I stuttered, opening and closing my mouth, trying to respond. But every response was a reaction, and I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me flounder. Plus, he wasn’t entirely wrong. I wasn’t sure how to voice that without betraying myself.
I had wanted Peter Fisher dead.
I’d imagined his blood on my hands in that moment, though, and realized I wasn’t a killer. I wasn’t able to do it because I wasn’t strong enough.
Will Scarlet stepped close to me. His presence was an invasion of my space, yet I suddenly yearned for him to be near me. I couldn’t help but think, Last night really changed me.
“What are you doing?” I demanded, slowly scooting back to find my footing.
Just like he wanted. A sheep to a wolf, giving him the headway to advance on me. Just like I’d resisted doing in the beginning. Now I couldn’t keep up my posturing, my unbothered attitude, any longer.
Yes, this young man scared me. But he also enticed me. The way he talked about me to Maid Marian—defending my honor, even. The fact he apparently hadn’t slept with another woman since I’d shown up? What was that about?
“Studying you,” he answered.
He saw fear in my eyes. I knew that, because I saw perverse satisfaction in his, gleaming in those gray-brown orbs.
He saw fear . . . so I would turn it on him. Because it was how I could protect myself—projecting—and keep the shell around my vulnerability intact.
“Maybe you’re right,” I said. “Maybe I am as depraved as the lot of you.”
That caught him off-guard. His superior smirk faltered. His eyes narrowed.
Then he frowned, relegated back to his sullen self. No longer holding the high ground. His hand snapped out and he took my wrist, clenching it tight.
I resisted yelping—again to play the game and not give him the satisfaction of seeing me whimper.
I said, “What in the world, Will—”
“Come with me, little thorn.” His throaty voice brooked no argument. “I have an errand to run. You want to know why I am the way I am? Then observe, and don’t close your fucking eyes, princess.”
Chapter 31
Robin
Will Scarlet brought me to the main camp. The low din of conversation and the crack of axes cutting through timber filled the space as morning began in earnest.
My family’s carriage was nowhere to be seen, which I found odd. It had just been there when I followed Marian into the grove to spy on Will Scarlet.
Maid Marian was also strangely vacant.
In the carriage’s place, near the divots of the wheels, stood Little John. He was caught in a conversation with Alan-a-Dale.
Will stopped by his tent, throwing on a tunic, a suit of worn leather, and wrapping his red sash around his neck. It was sad to see his beautiful body hidden under the garments.
Then he beelined for the two men at the carriage site. “I’m taking the girl into Ravenshead.”
Little John glanced at me, frowning. “Is that what you want, Robin?”
Will scoffed. “Since when do we ask our captives what they want?”
John’s eyes narrowed on the shorter man.
These two were always at each other’s throats. I was curious to know why.
Will’s mention of Ravenshead made my ears perk up. My family had passed near the hamlet on our ill-fated trip to find the healer, Wulfric, in Barnsdale. I knew of the village but had never stepped foot inside. It gave me a clue where we were located: northeast of Nottingham.
