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Robert scoffed, shaking his head. “I’ll admit, the Merry Men’s infamy has given us substantial cover to work without being noticed. Yet we don’t control the narrative anymore than you do, sister. We don’t dictate who the Sheriff of Nottingham puts his eye on. And, for whatever reason, that’s you.”
I took a deep breath. “So you’re responsible for the madness in the city today.”
It wasn’t a criticism—I had been ready to engage in the same rebellion Robert did. I just needed to hear him say it, so he could stop acting like he was innocent in all this.
Lines formed between my brother’s brows. He tilted his head, looking at me oddly. “And here I thought you’d be thanking me for helping you rescue Little John. Your leader. Though it’s obvious to me now that the pale man they paraded on that stage was not the captain of the Merry Men.”
“That was Dan,” I snapped. “He helped us more than the Oak Boys ever could. Why would you think he was Little John?”
“What reason would I have to believe otherwise?” Robert snapped back. “I don’t know Little John from Little Jack. Didn’t know what he looked like up until now.”
“Why would you care about Little John, even if you knew his name?”
“Because I knew you were with the Merry Men! I knew if their leader was getting executed, you would likely be there, Robin.” He flared his nostrils, breathing heavily. “And since you didn’t want to come find me, I had to come to you.”
We were stepping closer to each other, until we were only a handful of feet apart, eyes narrowed angrily. Both of us seemed on the verge of erupting.
Little John stepped in, hands stretched in either direction to keep me and Robert from each other. “Come now,” he said, “we don’t need to get lost in semantics, you two. What’s done is done.”
“You’re taking his side?” I growled.
John put his hands up in surrender. “No, little hope. I’m simply saying we have more important things to focus on.”
“Aye, I guess we do,” I said, and thrust a finger toward Robert’s chest. “Your group caused the upheaval at the archery tournament, following your victory.”
Robert’s face sank, and I noticed a few eyes around camp turning to face me with scowls.
Shit, I thought, regretting opening my big mouth. Clearly that’s a touchy subject.
“Aye.” Robert’s voice went low. He looked away. “We lost many men and women that day. It was a mistake.”
“Just before it, you decided to gallivant around as a masked menace and show off, Oliver of Mickley?” Spittle flew from my mouth as I eked the name out.
“The Oak Boys needed the money just as badly as the Merry Men. I didn’t know you’d be there, competing, Robin. But I won’t deny the pride I felt seeing you—”
“You attacked the city before the winnings could even be dolled out! You caused—”
“I said it was a mistake!”
We were back at each other’s throats.
As children, we had occasionally gotten into arguments. Never anything like this. We had always been agreeable as younglings, and I had stuck to Robert’s side like a sheep-hound.
Now I was seeing a new side of him—the soldier who had been changed by years of war, struggle, and strife. The biting young man who had become disagreeable in his older years. Still a young man by all accounts, not more than twenty-five summers old, and yet his disposition had changed from warm and summery to cold and wintry.
I didn’t like what I saw. I wasn’t about to hide that fact from Robert.
As we seethed, lips peeled back in snarls, more of the Oak Boys were rising from their campfires to investigate the goings-on—their leader arguing with a stranger he called “little sister.” We must have been a peculiar sight to them.
“The archery tournament, the Merry Men,” he listed off, shrugging. “What’s wrong with a little healthy competition, sister?”
His words tipped me over the edge. I yelled, “Competition?” in a snide, accusatory voice. “There’s nothing healthy about what you did!” I was no longer talking about the tourney, as my mind whirled to the past. I thrust another finger at him, jabbing it into his chest this time. “I thought you were dead for nearly a year, Robert! You killed Mama!”
Gasps from the onlookers. Silence soon after. Even the cracking flames seemed to die down, hiding against my wrathful words.
Robert blinked, looking struck. He stumbled back a step.
My face sank. Sorrow gripped me tight all over again. I couldn’t seem to escape it these days. “You didn’t kill her,” I said, shaking my head, regretting my words. “I’m sorry. You broke her heart, though. You broke all of our hearts.”
