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“Could it be a trap?” Alan asked.
“Absolutely,” Robin replied. “Though I don’t see why he would want to capture or hurt me. Even if I don’t know who he is anymore, he’s still my brother, at the very least. We were inseparable when we were younger. He taught me how to use the bow.”
“He was a good tutor,” Alan muttered.
Will said, “It brings us back to the question of why. Why was he in that tournament, masked and hidden?”
“Well, he called the bandits who attacked Nottingham his men,” Robin said. Her hand ghosted over her chin. “It was a failed revolt, from everything I’ve heard. Yet a revolt nonetheless.”
“Perhaps we can consider him an ally?” I suggested.
“We won’t know until we speak with him, I suppose.”
It pained me that Robin’s memory of her brother had been tarnished by that single event. Even though he saved her life from a would-be assassin.
“He was likely there for one of two reasons,” Will said, counting off on his fingers. “Either to win the ten-pound reward to bolster recruits in his band, or to get closer to Robin and reveal himself.”
“He was ready to leave without revealing himself,” Robin pointed out, “until I called to him.”
Will nodded slowly, taking that in. His jaw worked. “Then it sounds like we might have a rival band in the mix, little thorn. Doesn’t it?”
“It certainly does, Will. It certainly does.”
WE DIDN’T PRY TOO MUCH more into Robin’s revelation. We needed time to think and consider our options. We were in agreement that Little John took priority. Perhaps having more allies at our beck and call—more men—can help us find Little John?
It was a suggestion I brought up to Robin once we were alone on our horses, traveling down the road away from the witch’s cabin. We told Wulfric we would be back in seven days, and hoped he would have answers about the mysterious powders Robin and Much had uncovered in the carriage.
Robin decided we’d let it lie for now and come back to Robert at a different time. “Wulfric said, ‘When you’re ready.’ I’m decidedly not ready, Tuck.”
I didn’t argue with her.
With that out of the way, we headed for Rufford Abbey. I took the vanguard position because I had the strongest standing with Abbot Emery. Robin stayed close to my side. Will and Alan rode abreast behind us, and the rest of the Merry Men followed. Will and Alan, specifically, had seemed closer over the past few days, and I wondered why that was.
By midday, we were nearing our camp northeast of Nottingham. We decided not to stay. The area was compromised, and we scanned for signs of traps, ambushes, and scouts. As our best tracker and ranger, Will Scarlet took off ahead. Much asked to go with him, but the “mean bug” Will scoffed at the younger lad and trotted off without giving him a response.
Much called him an asshole to his back, and I smiled. Robin did, too. The boy is growing on me. Growing on Robin. That’s a good sign.
We stayed a mile west of our previous hideout, waiting for Will’s return.
An hour after he left, I heard the telltale sound of wooden creaking and rustling echoing through the forest. It was coming from the road just beyond the tree line ahead.
Robin, who was sitting against the carriage picking her nails, popped her head up and stared at me across the way.
We shared a nod, and then we were all action. I hurried to my horse, Alan ran to his, and Robin took off for Mercy. We were mounted and riding away from camp in a heartbeat, with Robin telling the rest of the Merry Men to stay put.
“Skiff, you’re in charge while we’re gone!” she yelled, and then spurned her steed on with a whistle.
Alan and I struggled to keep up with the sprightly girl and her lean horse. My boy, Henry, was hefty and ate well—a reflection of myself—which didn’t translate to breakneck chases through the woods. I leaned my head low against his mane and rode with the wind. Atonement and Discipline jostled around in the pockets of my habit as I bounded down the road, the knuckle-bands itching to be used.
Robin came to a hill and slowed. Through the blurring tree branches, I caught sight of a wagon bustling down the road, parallel to us.
We tailed the wagon up the road and down the hill. It was covered, small, and looked dilapidated. Its hull was chipped, and it certainly didn’t appear to be holding a bevy of guards inside its cargo bay, waiting to find the Merry Men and attack us. No, this seemed more like a cheap merchant’s vessel.
Since we were unsure, and it had gotten so close to our camp, we continued to follow it until it exited the tree line toward Rufford Abbey, which stood pristine and tall a short distance away.
We watched from behind the line, hiding in the darkness of the foliage and undergrowth. None of us dismounted, just in case we needed to make a mad dash out of here.
“Looks like nothing,” Alan said. “Merchants, maybe, bringing stock to the abbey.”
