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“Nothing.”
“Well, uh. Don’t do it. It’s disconcerting.”
Oak Boys and girls laughed around the campfire. I glanced over at John and he snickered beneath the rim of his bowl, then shared a knowing look with me.
“You’ll stay here?” I asked Robert, changing the subject from my unnerving, smiling face. I scanned the camp and pointed out what I’d noticed when we first arrived. “It looks well lived-in. It’s just that the Merry Men tend to move around.”
“As I said before, we’ve managed to stay out of the Sheriff’s sights. For the most part.”
“Right.” I cleared my throat. “So you think Sheriff George believes the Merry Men were responsible for all the madness surrounding Nottingham? The tournament and the execution?”
“Hard to say what goes through that wicked man’s mind. But I would say so. Which means you’ll need to tread lightly until we reconvene. I saw smoke in the city from afar, and believe the chaos from yesterday might have bought us a little time.” His chin dipped, eyes locking with mine. “Not much, however.”
I massaged my chin, nodding along, pursing my lips in a pout as I stared up at a tree.
“Uh oh,” Little John grumbled, “she’s staring off into the future again, everybody. I know that dangerous look. She’s thinking. Something dastardly, no doubt.”
More laughs from around the camp. It was nice hearing Little John be as well-received as I was among Robert’s band.
I smiled at him. “Aye, I was thinking . . . about how we can maybe use the Sheriff’s mistaken assumption about the Merry Men to our advantage. Scare him with numbers we don’t actually have . . .”
Chapter 36
Robin
Robert left us with a pair of swords and a few of Bess’ amazing biscuits to get us to the Merry Men. Uncle Gregory and a couple other scouts would join us for the first leg of our journey, until we reached the northern hills between Ravenshead and Mansfield, just above Nottingham. From there, we’d be on our own.
Little John remained quiet, head bowed, for much of the journey. I caught his jaw flexing. He was clearly deep in contemplation. Gone was the lackadaisical, dreamlike illusory evening and morning together, where we’d been able to lose ourselves in each other’s warmth for the first time in months.
Now we were back on hard ground, traipsing through the forest. When he did occasionally glance up from his reclusive expression, he looked at Sherwood Forest like it was a stranger to him.
I hated seeing it.
Rather than trying to console him—since he didn’t want to be “showered in pity”—I stayed back with Uncle Gregory. It was difficult to do, because I saw how much John was hurting.
Within a few hours of our morning travel, I understood what was happening. Without the chatter around a campfire, or running through a city, or the exploration of my body—without an immediate thing to focus on—Little John had fallen into the trap of reminiscing.
I knew what he was harking back to. What else could it be, after such an abusive, horrible experience? Sheriff George had damn near broken my stoic protector, my giant sentinel.
It incensed me beyond reason. The number of times I want to stab that man outweighs the capability of my arm to hold the dagger long enough. I will simply tire from overexertion from digging holes into him before I ever get satisfying revenge on that vile bastard.
I felt like a fool. For all my high expectations and hopes of what it meant having Little John back in the fold, one thing stuck out to me clearer than any: He was not ready to lead the Merry Men again. He may never be.
Feeling glum, I tried to busy my mind by speaking to Uncle Gregory, since it was the first time I’d gotten a chance with him, alone, in months. Ever since the Loxley massacre.
Clearing my throat and pushing through a copse of thin-branched trees, I asked, “Did the Oak Boys sent into Nottingham return last night, Uncle?”
His gray beard twitched. He nodded, peering up ahead at Little John’s back, and the two scouts flanking him along the trail. His voice was strained, filled with regret. “Aye, lass. Six of the thirty Boys—two women included—did not return, however. It will be a mournful affair burying those youths once I return to camp.”
My eyes bulged. Six out of thirty died?!
He glanced over at me, noticed my expression, and nodded gravely. “I know. That’s a fifth of the people we sent in. These middling skirmishes in the city are not sustainable, dear niece.”
“Then why continue them?”
“Because your brother is hardheaded, like you.” He offered me a wistful smile, then tightened his jaw and stood straight as he walked. “Robert has lofty goals to bring down the establishment that wronged him.”
“The . . . establishment? That means . . .”
