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Alan-a-Dale’s eyes swiveled from my face to hers. “I’m sorry. What are we talking about?”
“The man at the archery tournament,” I said, having a stare-off with Robin. “The one who saved our girl.”
She broke first, turning away with a wince. “You’re right.”
“Take your time,” I coaxed, and set my bowl down. The other two men were all ears. The three of us stared at Robin, leaning forward eagerly.
“There’s not much to tell,” she said, bobbing her shoulders. “The man who rescued me from assassins, who called himself Oliver of Mickley, was actually my brother Robert.”
I tensed. Will hissed. Alan gasped.
“You’re sure?” I asked, stupidly.
She furrowed her brow, tilting her head. “Are you daft? Of course I’m sure. I know my brother. It was him.”
“I thought—”
“Aye, I thought he was dead, too. Turns out he wasn’t killed in the Crusades, as he made my family believe.” She clamped her jaw shut, staring into the fire, and seemed to grow more distant and brooding, likely recalling memories from her past. “I’m so furious at him,” she said at last, looking up. “His vanishing act killed my mother. It broke her heart. And to find him . . . alive? After all this time? Competing for the same prize I sought?”
“I’m sorry, Robin.” I bowed my head. “It must have been traumatic to witness.”
Even Will saved his snarky comments. He frowned, looking awkward, while Alan put a comforting hand on her knee.
“Since that is the case, we have to ask ourselves why he was there,” Will said.
Robin started, eyes roving between us. “You aren’t angry with me?”
We scoffed in various degrees of disbelief.
“Angry? Why would we be angry?” Will asked.
“Because you’re always angry.”
Alan and I laughed. The minstrel nudged Will’s shoulder. “She has you there, little badger.”
“We don’t like secrets,” Will said, shrugging off Alan, “but even I can understand why that would be difficult to speak of. Your brother Robert betrayed you. He betrayed your trust and your memory of him.”
“Aye.”
“I’m just glad you chose us, instead.”
Alan and I didn’t laugh this time. We nodded solemnly. I recognized we could have easily lost Robin that afternoon—not to death or illness, but to the memory of her brother. A memory she had coddled and nurtured for many months, only to discover it was built on lies.
“It took great strength,” I muttered, and everyone turned to me, “to choose us over your flesh and blood. Your only flesh and blood remaining. Instead of choosing your past, you chose your future . . . with a ragtag gang of strangers and bandits.”
I had hoped for levity with that last comment, but the ambiance was too severe to garner any laughs. Everyone was deep in thought.
Then Robin said, “You aren’t just strangers and bandits, Tuck. You three, and Little John, are the men I love.”
Our eyes widened at our brat princess.
“I didn’t choose the future over the past,” she said with finality, swallowing hard. “I chose love over lies.”
Silence fell over us like a heavy noose choking our air. The fire crackled and snapped. The low din of conversation around the other campfires trickled around us.
“. . . So Robert is your enemy, then?” Will asked, lifting his head.
She shrugged. “I don’t know. No? I’m not sure.” Palming her forehead, she tried again. “Tuck was right. Wulfric showed me where Robert is located on the map. He said that when I’m ready, my brother would like to see me.”
