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Armed guards swarmed out of the carriages. Some buckled belts and tied armor on, evidently surprised at being attacked so late at night in such a secluded part of the forest.
Secluded parts were our specialty.
Within seconds, swords were drawn with sharp rasps. Spears came up. Ten guards surrounded the three carriages, eyes swiveling under their leather helmets.
These weren’t Nottingham elites or Guy of Gisborne’s trained men. These were hired mercenaries who needed work, and decided to take up this seemingly mundane task.
Little did they know.
I stepped out from the trees and moved close to Will, pointing my bow at the ground. Tuck and Alan appeared from the other side of the road. The four of us created a wall in front of the lead carriage.
“What in God’s name is going on out there?” a voice called from the carriage. A head popped out, covered in a floppy nightcap.
“Stay inside, sir,” one of the guards said, inching toward us. “Bandits are afoot.”
“Oh, fuck me. Just what I need. We’re on a schedule here, Owen!” The man flapped a hand at us. “Take care of them quickly. What do I pay you people for?” He muttered to himself and disappeared into the hold of the carriage.
The guard winced and pursed his lips. This was probably a former knight, used to being called “sir.” But here, he was just another grunt. A sellsword.
Owen approached with another man. My eyes scanned the shadows cast by the carriages, spotting the other eight lingering nearby. Most of them stared outward into the woods, weapons drawn.
“Do you have any idea who you’re trying to rob, vagrants?” Owen asked. He was a tall man, short brown beard, scar across his face.
“If they did, they wouldn’t be here,” said his ally at his shoulder, a mustachioed man wielding a spear.
“We’re the Merry Men,” I said, stretching my arms wide, gesturing at the forest around us. “We don’t discriminate against who we rob.”
The mustachioed men cackled, taking a step closer but then thinking better of it when Will raised his swords. “You hear that, boys?” he said, turning his head. “They’ve made a little name for themselves!”
The other guards joined in his laughter.
“Quiet, Benoit,” Owen cut in. He was clearly the more professional, serious of the guards at front. “I’ve heard of you brigands. Caused the upheaval during the shooting tourney at Nottingham couple months back.”
I raised a finger. “Actually, we had nothing to do with that. Surprisingly.”
Owen grunted. “Well, a bandit is a bandit.”
“You’re not even a man,” Benoit added, tilting his head. “How are you going to call yourselves the Merry—”
“What did I say, dammit?” Owen growled.
Will’s voice came out low. “You’d do well to listen to your superior, Benoit.” His blades inched higher.
Benoit’s mustache twitched, body going rigid at the threat. Like most men of certain status, he didn’t enjoy being talked down to.
“And you’d do well to move aside, boy,” Owen said, eyes on Will. “This isn’t a fight you want.”
“Oh, it’s precisely the fight I want,” Will said, grinning wickedly. “But it’s the lady’s call.”
Benoit chuffed. “You call yourself a man, with a woman leading you by your cock? Pathetic.”
Anger flared inside me. Owen gave Benoit a cursory glance this time, because when it came down to it, a soldier could slight a woman and not be reprimanded. He just couldn’t do it to another man.
I gritted my teeth.
Owen asked, “What are you playing at? You are four. We are ten. You’re wasting ours and Baron Mansfield’s time.”
If he expected our eyebrows to lift in shock at his announcement, we didn’t give him the satisfaction. We knew exactly who we were stealing from.
