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The peasants, against all odds, had likely made him pause and retreat. They had been bloodthirsty, desperate to escape the city. Sure, Guy could slay a known criminal like Dan—one of the men supposed to be executed earlier today—in broad daylight, and no one would stop him.
But butchering a crowd of destitute men and women on the fringes of town? People would see it and hate him for it. It would give the Sheriff of Nottingham an even worse reputation than he already had.
John finally stopped running once we reached the tree line. He doubled over, hands on his knees, and I went onto all fours to gulp in ragged, shaky breaths. “C-Carter . . . he was . . . a friend to the Merry Men.”
“The young guard?”
I nodded. Tears dripped from my cheeks and darkened the soil that my hands dug into. “He helped us get to you, Little John.”
John’s soft hand fell on my back. I glanced up, imploring him for answers but knew I’d be getting none.
He said, “Wrong place, wrong time, little hope. I’m sorry.”
“Little hope?” It was the second time I’d heard him call me that now.
“It was all I could think of while I was imprisoned. You. You’re the only hope I have in this world, lass. The only thing worth living for.”
His words made me want to cry all over again, yet my tears were running dry. I knew the emotions would come back with fury later on, probably once night fell. For now, I kept them at bay.
I slowly stood, wincing from my aching muscles.
I stared deep and long into John’s ragged face. His beard was bushy and unkempt. He was dirty, filthy, and yet the most beautiful man I had ever seen. His imperfections, the tilt in his chin, the scar across his cheek—that was a new one—and then I looked down.
The missing finger of his hand.
I reached out, threading my fingers through his, so I could try to feel what he felt.
Yes, the imperfections. They made the man. And they made Little John perfect to me.
John’s thick fingers squeezed around mine, and he enveloped me in an embrace, towering over me.
I went to my tiptoes when he grabbed my chin, and we kissed. It was fervent and needy. I licked his tongue and felt parts of him I had so desperately wanted for months now.
It was a perfect moment, despite the madness and the overwhelming grief threatening to topple me. A kiss of sorrow and understanding and relief.
We didn’t have Will, Tuck, or Alan with us. Hell, we had no Merry Men around, and I didn’t even know who was alive and who was dead.
But I had Little John.
I did it. The thought came abruptly as I pulled back from his kiss and stared up into the dark cosmos of his eyes. I rescued Little John, like I said I would. Like I promised.
He read my face. With a heavy sigh, he ran a hand through my sweaty hair. “God above, I missed that. I missed us.”
I put my cheek against his chest, and could hear the fast beating of his heart—the excitement of our escape still running rampant behind his ribs. “We need to find the others,” I said. “I know where camp is. I can lead us there.”
“We need rest, little hope.”
I shook my head. “No. Not until we find the others.”
Little John raised a single eyebrow. “No?” An amused expression crossed over his face.
Oh, that’s right. I’ve always been agreeable to his orders. He’s never seen me in a leadership role, because he wasn’t there for it.
I smiled bashfully at him, my face filling with color. “Things have changed a bit while you were gone, sir.”
He let out a soft chuckle. “I can’t wait to hear all about it.” Sweeping his hand out to the trees in front of us, he said, “Lead the way, chieftess.”
I smiled at him. With our hands entwined, we strode forward into the forest—our safe place. Away from civilization. Our Realm of Solitude.
