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“We aren’t about that anymore,” I yelled to the men. My eyes swiveled, taking them in as they faced me one by one. Almost every single person was taller and broader than me, yet I didn’t back down. “There has to be a new way in how we do things, men. Continuing down the old path is only going to end up getting us all killed.”
“You mean like last night almost did?” a voice chirped up. He was followed by a few grunts of “Aye!” in support.
I put my hands up in surrender. “Last night was my fault. I take responsibility. I won’t let something like that happen again. If we keep killing every guard and man of higher status than us, there will be no one left to help us! No one to help us find Little John, or point us to jobs worth doing. Nothing to stop Sheriff George from throwing his weight behind the idea that we’re the bad guys.”
“We are the bad guys, Robin!” said another.
“That’s it!” yelled the captive, Carter, snapping his fingers. “Robin.”
Much the Miller’s Son kicked him in the side, shutting him up.
“No, we aren’t, Skiff.” I recognized the man’s voice, though I couldn’t see him from the other dozen men circling me. “What’s the one thing we hear everywhere we go? The Sheriff of Nottingham is ruining everyone with his tariffs and impossible taxes. He is the villain here. The criminal and swindler. We are simply trying to take back what is ours—what is right.”
“She’s correct, you know,” Friar Tuck added, taking over when the response to my monologue was a lackluster grumbling from the Merry Men. He moved in a slow circle, trying to look each man. “Rufford Abbey will help us,” Tuck said, counting off on his fingers. “They won’t fight for us, but we can find fighting men who are willing to risk everything for freedom and justice. These guards think we’re the shit-heels?” He scoffed, throwing his head back. “We’re freer than they’ve ever been. They call Mansfield their home? I call it their prison. The forest is our home. If we do this right—how Robin is saying—we can amass enough people to make a difference. We can make sure the Sheriff can’t ignore us or our plight. We can change things for everyone.” He punched a fist into an open palm. “You know it’s what Little John would want, too. So why the fuck aren’t we doing it?”
Silence. Dead, cold silence.
“Who is with me? Who is with Robin of Loxley, our damned leader?” Tuck’s voice echoed, drowning away in fragments.
Another long pause.
Then, “Fuck . . . I am, after all that.”
My head swiveled in surprise to the young soldier sitting tied up at the carriage. Carter. I barked a laugh—involuntary and sudden.
I smiled down at him. Other Merry Men joined in. Before long, the camp was alive with cackling and bellowing laughter.
Carter’s father scowled and tried to speak over the voices drowning him out. “You idiot boy. What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
“Oh, come now, Da. You think Baron Easton has our best interests at heart?”
His father looked struck. I had a feeling this was the first chance Carter had ever been able to tell him what he truly thought. Probably because his Da’s hands were tied behind his back and he couldn’t use them to beat him.
Carter nudged his chin toward Much, off to the side. “How many times did Easton made me sleep out in the stables with the slaveboy when all the rooms were filled with his rich friends? Don’t seem right to me, Da.”
“Out here, Carter, we all sleep in the stables,” I said. “Under the starlight. Together. No man is better than any other.”
“No woman, either,” came a chide remark from Alan-a-Dale, with a wry smile on his face. It brought a bit more chuckling from the Merry Men.
Will tried to join in on the fun, in the only way he knew how. He raised a hand, brow furrowing in a mock expression. “So, wait, I don’t get to kill anyone right now?”
As he sheathed his sword, Alan clapped him on the back and brought him in a half-hearted embrace, arm draping over the shorter man’s shoulders and neck. “Come now, little badger, I’m sure we can find something for you to beat.”
Alan-a-Dale led Will away from the carriage, deeper into camp. Other Merry Men were beginning to disperse, apparently deciding this was the end of the interrogation. I hadn’t gotten a firm answer from any of them. At least they ended the morning laughing.
Tuck and I were the last ones left, besides Much the Miller’s Son standing next to the two captives, glaring down at them.
The way I eyed Tuck made him flinch. “Sorry, lass,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to overshadow you. I just thought the boys needed a harder message delivered and—”
I lunged, went to my tiptoes, and slammed a kiss on his silly mouth. Pulling back and staring up at his widened, befuddled eyes, I said, “Thank you. I couldn’t have done that without you.”
“You . . . aren’t angry with me?”
“It’s not a competition, Tuck.”
“You’re our designated leader.”
I shrugged. “My advisors are just as important as I am. It’s why we need Little John back so badly.”
