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I chuckled.
“Why are you bothering us, hmm?” Tuck asked with a hint of playfulness. When our eyes locked, his smoldered.
I gulped. If I don’t take leave of the carriage soon, I’ll take leave of my clothes. “Do you have a map of Sherwood?”
“Of course. It’s in my tent.” He waved a hand onward. “Why?”
“Thank you!” I called, already out of the door, darting to his tent nearby. Inside, I went through the rolls of hemp and found the crumpled map of Sherwood Forest—the one Maid Marian had mapped for our enemies, with little black dots signifying our individual hideaways.
I ran back to the fire, huddling up against the warmth, and presented the map to Wulfric. “Here. What did you want to show me?” My voice was excited, lilting. “Who was looking for me, Wulfric?”
He traced a finger around the map, gaining his bearings, and then jabbed at a specific spot. “There. That’s where he’s staying.”
“Who?!”
He looked me in the eye. “When you’re ready, Robin, go here. Your brother Robert would like to see you.”
Chapter 13
Friar Tuck
Robin made a good point, though I didn’t want to give her too much credit while I was trying to teach something to Much the Miller’s Son. He was still a tractable youth—he didn’t need to get ideas of paganism stuck in his head.
That being said, I understood my little heathen’s concern. Christians were being stretched thin, venturing to different coasts in Crusades to try and spread the word of Christ. There was more evil than goodness in this world, it seemed. Righteousness and charity was hard to come by. The defensive folk of Ravenshead proved that.
I still believed in the Almighty. I just didn’t believe in the human harbingers of His Word. Human greed turned everything it touched to shit. Prince John and his sycophants like the Sheriff of Nottingham were as far removed from holiness as Satan himself. They were heralds of opportunity and greed, despite however they tried to dress it up to feed to their flock.
After a short night’s rest in Wulfric’s camp, we prepared to leave for Rufford Abbey the next morning. The goods we hadn’t gotten rid of in Ravenshead would go to the abbey instead, by Robin’s orders. I noticed a few morose faces among the Merry Men, resentful they wouldn’t be able to keep the winnings for themselves.
Their complaints were more stifled than before—less profound than even yesterday afternoon. The bravado was dying, as our comrades realized Will, Alan, and I wholeheartedly supported Robin. It’s easy to voice opposition when you have a mob to back you. Once that mob loses its bluster, no single man wants to stick out like a sore thumb.
Three fire pits were set in the morning. Small groups huddled around two of the fires, while the one closest to the ruins had Robin, Will, and Alan around it. The leadership core. Now is as good a time as any, I thought, ambling up to the fire while tightening my habit.
I sat down in the open space next to Alan, putting my hands out to warm them.
Robin stared at me from across the fire, eyes narrowing as if she could read the trepidation on my face. “Morning, Tuck.”
“And you, little heathen.”
“How did your sermon with Much go?”
I frowned.
Will looked up from his bowl of slop. “What the fuck, Tuck. You’re trying to turn the boy into a priest?”
I grabbed my own bowl and shook my head. His words didn’t deserve a response, yet I noticed Robin smiling sneakily at me from across the fire. Little brat. “No, Scarlet, I’m not. Don’t let Robin corrupt your mind more than she already has.”
He grunted and went back to his food, dipping his head.
Then I cleared my throat. “Robin, remember what I told you days ago? That we needed to talk?”
She blinked. The brattiness vanished.
“It’s time.”
“Why is it time now?”
“Because I have a feeling that whatever you spoke about with Wulfric last night has something to do with it. And because secrets burn worse the longer they’re kept. We have a right to know.”
