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“Good. Then tell him what he wants to know.”
“I . . . I can’t do that.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t know nothing. My father does.”
Will sighed, shaking his head. “What a weasel.” He bent down to pick up the chipped piece of wood he’d smacked the soldier’s father with—
And I lunged forward, putting a hand on Will’s shoulder to stop him. A few of the Merry Men sighed behind me. I tried to ignore it.
They want violence. I can give them the threat of it, at least.
I crouched in front of the young man. “Listen,” I said, tossing my thumb over my shoulder. “That curly-headed menace is going to gut you like your captain, Owen, if you don’t give us some answers. Understand?”
Two can play at this game, but might as well use words before we resort to bloodshed.
The man gawked at me. “You?”
“Me?” I asked, taken aback.
“I . . . recognize you. You’re—”
“You are mistaken, young man. What is your name?”
His face lit up. “It’s Carter, ma’am. I swear I know you from—”
“Tell the boy what he wants to know,” I interjected. Luckily, the Merry Men behind me couldn’t see my sweating face. I could hear them grumbling incoherently. It made me angry, blood pulsing in my ears.
I did recognize this young man, now that he mentioned it. He had been little more than a boy when I knew him, vaguely, as an acquaintance. Not even a soldier then, but a youngling who stuck by his mother at bazaars and trade shows Mama would take me to. The barons and baronesses of Mansfield had always had close ties with the textile trade, and thus my mother, the Queen of the Lace Market.
It shouldn’t have been a surprise I would run into a few familiar faces, having bumped shoulders with that crowd in the past. A pit of horror settled in my stomach as I wondered if any of the other men we had killed last night had been people I knew in my past life. Carter wasn’t on track to become a soldier, so who else might have been simple tailors and clothier apprentices in that mess of guards?
Carter glanced over at Much the Miller’s Son, who stood behind me. “I don’t know where they took Maria, Nicholas.”
“It’s Much, dammit, and you know that,” the lad spat back. “Shitbug.”
Carter inclined his hairless chin. “Hoy, Much. They don’t tell me nothing, you know. I’m not much older than you.”
“Aye? Well y’ain’t a servant either, are you?” For good measure, Much kicked him in the side of the leg.
I felt for the boy, but couldn’t do much about this situation. Wondering who Maria was, I knew I’d have to pry after this was all done.
“We also don’t answer to no fucking lass,” came a voice to the side, gravelly and tired. The older man had woken up, his eyes red and dreary. “Bunch of sackless maggots, aren’t you?” he said to the wider audience behind me. “Getting led around by your cocks by this . . . this harlot. What, does she open her legs to your group every night and—”
Will Scarlet’s sword rasped free and stopped a hair’s breadth from the man’s neck. “One more word, old man.”
A few of the Merry Men snickered, and my anger reached new heights. I was so damn frustrated, hearing them sniggering like children, agreeing with our damned captive.
They certainly weren’t on my side right now, and I didn’t blame them after last night.
“Doesn’t open them legs to all of us,” one of the men said, laughing. “Only three. No, four. But one of us—ow!”
A dull smack as Friar Tuck hit the lad in the back of the head. “Shut the fuck up, Griff. No one’s talking to you.”
“A-Apologies, chaplain, sir.”
I shook my head and stood. They want to do this the hard way? Fine. “Very well,” I said, shrugging nonchalantly. “Since you don’t want to talk to me, I guess I’ll let Will Scarlet have his way with you. I tried.”
