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For every line he threw at me, I batted it away defensively. I didn’t need Friar Tuck to tell me Little John was missing, or how much he was missed.
“The men are losing hope,” Alan-a-Dale said, coming to Tuck’s aid. “I should know, because I’m the one who’s supposed to inspire them with it during the dreariest hours.”
Silence fell over us. My eyes flicked from face to face, narrowing. “And they blame me for these shortcomings.”
“Accountability always falls on the shoulders of leadership, Robin,” Tuck explained. His tone softened. “Lewis was well-liked, despite his disability. Or perhaps because of it. Fitch was, too.”
I gritted my teeth. Frustration coursed through me, and beneath the surface of the water I knotted my hands into fists. “Their deaths weigh on me just as heavily as they do the others. Speak plainly, boys. Please.”
Alan tilted his head. “The men aren’t sure you can guide them where we need to go.” He waved a loose hand at Tuck, adding, “The chaplain might be too kind to admit it, but the idea that you want to now give away their hard-earned treasure to”—his wrists circled in the air, as if conjuring a magical mist—“whomever . . . does not sit well with them. They don’t like the idea of simply parting with the things two men died to obtain. Things that could help the Merry Men by growing our coffers and leading to recruitment efforts.”
Alan-a-Dale certainly had valid criticisms, and it was something I’d thought of recently. I still didn’t have an answer about how to fix this issue. Our path from rogue bandits to flowering community was decidedly lacking in specific details of how to create said community.
“What do you guys think?” I asked, eyeing each man in turn. “Am I being foolish for suggesting the idea? Are you two simply messengers of the wider group, or do you believe in what they’re saying?”
Both men looked struck, heads reeling.
“We would never harm or attack you, Robin,” Tuck spat, his voice a growl, “and you know that. Your convictions are righteous. To suggest we share the same opinions as the rank-and-file members of the band is disheartening to hear.”
“So you’re just messengers, then,” I said, not backing down.
“Certainly.”
I approached him slowly, the water splitting across my sides as I reached out and took his bigger hands in mine. “Then help me explain it to them. I’m begging you, Tuck. And you, Alan, Will. I can’t do this without you. It’s true, and I’ve known it ever since I held John’s quarterstaff: The Merry Men don’t trust me as much as you because I’m, well, not a man.”
“It’s not just that, songbird,” Alan said softly.
I bowed my head, accepting the truth written on my face. “I know. It’s my lack of experience, too. But need I remind you, it was Will who suggested I take leadership over him. You two vouched for me as well. It began the snowball of the Merry Men cheering for me as the next leader of the group.”
“And we would do it again in a heartbeat, little thorn,” Will said. He snapped to the others, “Wouldn’t we, boys?”
Alan and Tuck both nodded, though their nods were slower than I would have liked. It hurt my heart, because I knew they were torn in two directions: the good of the gang, and not wanting to let me down.
I couldn’t blame them. “I’m glad you brought this up,” I said, sighing loudly and letting go of Tuck’s hands. “I need to know what I’m up against if I am to get better at this. I’ll be the first to admit the Mansfield robbery was a complete debacle. Our execution was fucked because I didn’t read the signs and assumed I could talk anyone into joining us if I said the right things enough times.”
“The citizens of this land are struggling, lass,” Tuck said, “just as soundly as the Merry Men are. It takes a special kind of person to have the intestinal fortitude to throw aside guaranteed pay, lodging, and hot food, to take up your dream. No, our dream. Because I still believe in you, just as much as anyone.”
“We always will,” Alan said. “Changes might be necessary so we can push the message forward, however.”
“I agree,” I said, then slanted my head. “Any suggestions?”
Tuck folded his hands together, entwining his fingers. His lips pursed in a contemplative stance. “You are trying to win people over with hope and inspiration. No matter how much someone wishes to enjoy the things you’re promising, they’re still intangible.” Before I could speak, he raised a finger to let him continue. “But, if we were to promise tangible benefits to joining the Merry Men’s cause . . . perhaps we would sway more people that way.”
I nodded, furrowing my brow, trying hard to wrap my head around what he could be suggesting—if anything.
“Little John would have sound suggestions, as much as I hate to admit it,” Will Scarlet said, shaking his head. “He was always the tactician of the group.”
I rolled my eyes and clenched my jaw, growing frustrated. “Aye, of course he’d know what to do, Will. You never cease to remind me.”
He shook his head and put a hand on my tense shoulder, instantly smoothing out the knot in it with his warm touch. “I’m not weighing you against him, thorn. You misunderstand me. I’m saying finding John needs to be our top priority. The members of our band might not trust you completely, but with John as your marshal, they wouldn’t be so quick to doubt you.”
My eyes widened. Shit. He’s right.
Alan-a-Dale squeezed his wet, golden hair into a bun to dry it over his back, and I watched the water droplets trickle perfectly down his impeccable spine like an erotic waterfall. “Which circles us back to the opening topic.”
“You don’t think Little John will just take over as leader once he returns?” I asked them.
Will shook his head. “Not if he knows you’ve been made chieftess. Though I don’t always agree with Little John, I know him as well as anyone. He would not move to undermine your authority.”
