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“We need to be more diplomatic, Will.” I grabbed his arm so he’d turn his eyes my way. “I want the Merry Men to relearn how we approach these jobs. Otherwise none of these people are going to be able to help us . . . and we need help in order to find Little John.”
Will slowly nodded slowly, then cut himself off and flared his nostrils. He shrugged my arm off. “Those men weren’t going to help us. I could tell from the onset.”
“Then maybe tell me that next time, so we can adapt our strategy.”
“There was no time,” he growled. “Or do you forget Benoit struck you in the side of the head with his spear?”
Of course I didn’t forget. My head still hurt like a wagon had just run over it. But Will was missing my point.
“Your plan didn’t work, little thorn.” His voice hardened. “So we went with mine.”
“And now two Merry Men are dead because of it.”
“We will fill their spots.”
I let out a frustrated huff, gritting my teeth together. “There you go pretending like Lewis and Fitch were nothing more than expendable tools to be—”
“We’re all expendable tools, Robin!” His raised voice brought more attention from the men in the road. “Except you. Don’t you understand? That’s why I did what I did. We can’t let these fuckers get away with disrespecting our leader, or else it tarnishes the reputation of the entire group. More than that, I can’t let anyone get away with it.”
Taken aback, I stammered.
“About our strategy with you as leader,” he cut in, and my heart plummeted. Is he trying to revoke my title so quickly? I suppose he’d have the right to pull a vote. “I don’t like this idea of you being so close to our potential enemies.” He thrust a finger toward my chest. “Aye, you need to be able to speak with them—to work your ‘diplomacy,’ as you call it—but you’re best with a bow. Which means keeping your distance. When we get back to camp, I’m going to teach you how to fight and flee, so something like this doesn’t happen again.”
My head cocked, lips parting at the sudden onslaught of words and grievances voiced by our angriest comrade. “You are?”
He nodded once, decisively. “I am. And you aren’t going to fight me on it. Understand?”
Even though I was theoretically the leader, I couldn’t stop my lips from opening and closing in surprise. So I just nodded. “I understand.”
“Good.” He grunted. His lips were still pursed, yet they looked so incredibly kissable when he was commanding and domineering like this. He would definitely make a fine leader of the Merry Men. Much finer than me.
Yet he didn’t want that designation. He wanted to be my protector, my champion, and I couldn’t fault him for that . . . even if it meant the occasional bloodbath.
I cleared my throat, trying to hide my blushing cheeks before my thoughts got away from me. “Back to the lad.” When Will glanced over at me, his anger simmering after his outburst, I continued. “Much is not a servant worth nothing. We’re all worth something. That’s what I’ve been trying to show you.”
“Fine. But we have a place for people like that. It’s called the almshouse.”
I scoffed, throwing an arm out to the side, toward Much and Tuck. “Just listen to them!”
The lad and the chaplain were still engaged in their conversation on the road. Every once in a while I’d hear short bursts of laughter from the Merry Men listening to the verbal sparring.
If nothing else, Much the Miller’s Son could provide some much-needed levity in our stark camp. Something Alan-a-Dale has been struggling with lately because he was too deep in the shit, having such a close relationship with our missing giant. He understood our struggles too well . . .
But Much? He was new blood.
“He doesn’t come with the same baggage the rest of us do, Will. You told him we don’t take in strays, yet that’s exactly what we do. We’re a band of strays.”
Glancing over, Will shook his head as if he couldn’t believe I was entertaining this proposal. His arms were crossed defiantly, but his body language was loosening. “We are the Merry Men, Robin. Not the Merry Boys. We take in people who are useful to the cause. How can a green lad who’s never left his master’s estate help us?”
I swung my hood off and put my hands on my hips, opening my body so he could see my wider hips, my softer skin, the slight swell of my breasts under my leathers. “Are you really going try that argument on me, Will Scarlet? I’m not a boy or a man and I’d say I’ve done just fine. We at least need to give him a chance.”
“We do?”
“Little John would let him join.”
“And Little John would be wrong.”
I found myself smirking at Will, rather than getting angry at his defiance and defensiveness. His words brought back bittersweet memories. Yes, I can definitely see Will yelling at John in all his bluster and bravado because of a perceived mistake with the band. I fucking miss their arguing, surprisingly enough.
