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For a moment, he was at a loss, opening and closing his mouth. Swallowing painfully. Then his voice came out throaty. “I suppose I should have remained dead, then. The family would be better off.”
“No.” My voice was firm. “Don’t say that.”
“Then what are you—”
“You could have told us. Would it have been so hard?” My voice cracked as I finished, eyebrows arching helplessly. I all but begged to understand his thoughts. Why had he kept such a dire secret from us, his family?
If I had known Robert was alive . . . would I have ever joined the Merry Men? Mama wouldn’t have been heartsick, we wouldn’t have needed to take her to Wulfric up north in Barnsdale. We wouldn’t have been robbed, and Father wouldn’t have colluded with enemies.
All signs were pointing to a resounding No. That I wouldn’t have ever met Little John, Will Scarlet, Friar Tuck, or Alan-a-Dale.
Then again, I couldn’t base my understanding of my father on anything like logic. He still would’ve been the same power-hungry, jealous, slighted little man who saw Mama Joan as an enemy. He very well could have orchestrated exactly what happened even if Robert had been around.
Maybe none of this is Robert’s fault after all . . .
The thought came on quick, and guilt racked me.
Robert folded his lips into his mouth as he watched my face and its vying stages of grief, guilt, and anger. Then he said, “You don’t know what it was like serving in the Kings’ Crusade, sister. You don’t understand the trials, the pain . . . the horrors of the Holy Land.”
“Then tell me,” I urged. “I’m right here, brother. You said you wanted to find me. Well, here I am.”
He nodded slowly. A few of the Oak Boys—and girls—had taken seats to casually eavesdrop and listen to us argue. “When I returned, I couldn’t trust anybody. Even with knowing my identity.”
“Why?”
“Because the army abandoned me, Robin.” A scowl sliced through his handsome features as he remembered and glanced away. “Our troop was lost out there. No one was coming back for us after we failed to take Jerusalem. Oliver was killed. I knew I only had one chance of escape. So I took his name, reported my own death, and sailed back to England with the injured. Knowing I would never trust authority again in my life.”
“Just like me,” I murmured, bowing my head.
“I knew if anyone ever discovered who I was, I’d be arrested and tried as a deserter, or worse. I’d be executed like those poor lads at the gallows today, even after all I’d done for this country. Even after all the pain I’d endured at the hands of my own people. The lies I believed.”
“Why did you reveal yourself, then?” I asked softly. “What changed?”
“You.”
I reeled. “Me?”
“I learned of my family’s disappearance. Of Mama, Father, and you.”
His words sank to my bones. For a long while, I had believed I was the only living member of my family—that everyone else had died grisly deaths. And here was Robert, who believed a similar thing about himself, after the Merry Men took me and Father disappeared with Mama Joan.
“When I saw you at the tournament, and you chose those three men over coming with me . . . I knew I had misread the situation. That you trusted them. It broke my heart.”
“Seeing you there broke mine, Robert.”
Our voices were gentler now. Filled with unspoken sorrow. Gone was the initial animosity and resistance, and even Little John had backed off to let us hash this out.
“It’s why I knew you’d be at Nottingham today, rescuing Little John if you had the chance.” He shrugged. “When no one acted fast enough, I made the call to carry out our own rescue plan. Hoping I’d find you in the ensuing scuffle. Hoping you’d appreciate what we did for your leader, as a way of making amends between our groups. I didn’t, and you didn’t, of course, because that man on the gallows wasn’t Little John.”
To our side, John said, “The intention was there, lad. By all accounts, you did the right thing. You’d make the Merry Men proud, rescuing any innocents.”
I shot him an agreeing look and a fond smile, and then turned back to Robert and found my smile instantly faltering. “Thank you, brother.”
He inclined his chin, accepting my thanks. I had a feeling it was all he was looking for—acknowledgement he was still trying to remain in my life, no matter how much I resisted his reappearance. No matter how much I was confused by it.
“So . . . I’m here,” I said at last, once the weighty words between us had been spilled. I felt a renewed sense of understanding, learning what Robert had gone through to get back here. “You helped make the Oak Boys a resistance group, same as Little John and the Merry Men.”
He nodded.
