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“Here?”
I scampered forward without answering, and his footsteps quickly padded behind me.
“Wulfric?” I called out, and came to the broken-down wall at the front of the ruin. “Are you here?”
On the other side of the uneven wall, tucked in a corner, was the clear sign of a man’s camp—firewood, refuse, piles of berries and nuts—yet no sign of the man himself.
I stood tall, furrowing my brow. “We’re too late. I took too long.”
John said, “Who is—”
“I was starting to think you’d never show up, Robin of Loxley.”
We both spun around to the sound of Wulfric’s scratchy voice. John’s hand went to the pommel of his sword at his hip, and I thrust an arm out before he could draw the weapon. “No,” I sniped, “he’s a friend.”
John glanced at me like I’d gone mad. It was understandable, since Wulfric looked intense: dark skin with those long braids coiled in an odd way; bones and fetishes trapped in his gray beard; bowlegged gait that made him always seem unsteady and unbalanced.
Then there was the growling that rustled the bushes and trees around us.
“Plus, there’s that,” I said, eyeing John. “It wouldn’t end well for us.”
To John’s credit, Wulfric didn’t exactly look like a man I would typically associate with. He was more feral and wild than even the Merry Men.
Yet when he saw me, his dark lips spread into a smile and he showed those unnervingly white teeth. He had his arms under a bundle of lumber and herbs. “I see you brought a protector with you this time, too. Different than the others.”
“Different than . . . the others?” John asked.
I nodded. “Alan, Will, and Tuck have met him. If they can be cordial with Wulfric, so can you. He’s a healer. Associated with my family, if you can believe it.”
“Hardly.”
Wulfric chuckled, walked past us—John never taking his eyes off the man—and waddled to the other side of the ruin wall. I followed as he rounded the corner, dropped the bundle from his arms, and dusted off his hands.
“Have you discovered anything about what I brought you, Wulfric? I’m afraid we’re in a bit of a rush.”
A frown quirked his lips. “Here I thought you’d come to discuss the weather and keep a lonely old man company.”
I raised a brow, and when he started cackling to himself, I smiled.
Wulfric crouched and dug through his piles of refuse, finding the small leather bags. He wagged one in the air. “I managed to reduce the powders to their base ingredients, Lady Robin.”
“Powders?” John asked. “What is that, Ro—”
I put a hand on his shoulder. “You missed a lot, love. Don’t worry, I’ll tell you everything later.”
“You could have told me on the way—”
“We weren’t talking for half the trip. In case you’ve forgotten.” I gave him a tight smile.
John grunted. “Noted.” He stood in a more lax position, hands off his sword, hands crossed in front of him.
“I’m sensing trouble in the promised land,” Wulfric said, gesturing at the two of us with a thin smile.
“Please, sir, no riddles.” I gave him a pointed look. “What did you find out?”
He cackled again, then sat down next to his fire pit. His expression turned severe, brow knotting like his hair. “Fungicide and herbal maladies that should not be crossed, my lady. Blackberry nightshade meant to kill, yet not in strong enough doses to—”
“I’m begging you, sir—speak plainly.” I understood he took pride in his research, but I simply didn’t understand, or have time. “Try not to make me feel stupid.”
