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Emma’s face lit up, mouth falling open. She instinctively tried to run past the two priests toward me. “Lady Robin!”
Her voice sounded hopeful. Happy, even. It took some of the edge off my guilt and anger, knowing she wasn’t furious at the first sight of me. That might come later, however.
I had no plan walking up to these armed men. I knew I couldn’t make a move for my weapons. Especially if they believed they were under attack. I raised my palms instead. “We mean no harm, sirs.”
“Just who is this woman, to be speaking for the men in your little crew?” asked the front-most guard with a sneer.
“Bandits,” another snarled, eyes narrowing.
So much for diplomacy.
Friar Tuck joined my side. “Abbot Emery, you know me. You know what I’ve done for Rufford. Will you deny our good faith conversation?”
The guards gave skeptical glances over their shoulders to the white-robed priest.
“Answer my question, Tuck,” Abbot Emery spat, baring his teeth. “What is the meaning of this? You nearly scared these poor girls dead charging up on us like that.”
Abbot Emery looked more wrathful than the guards. He was a thin man with gaunt cheeks, a skeletal face, and sunken eyes. He appeared to be taking his vow of self-denial a bit too rigorously.
“Answer mine, first,” chided the head guard, “before we attack. You’re making us nervous.”
“She already told you, sir,” Tuck said. “Her name—”
“Is Robin of Wilford,” I interjected, striding forward. “Heiress to the Wilford estate. And that”—I pointed past Abbot Emery—“is my handmaid you have there.”
Emma’s lip curled, her chin lifting as she gave me a proud look. I blushed at the way she looked at me, as if I was some sort of savior and not the girl responsible for putting her in this situation in the first place.
The head guard furrowed his brow. He kept his sword drawn. Shuffled over to the back of his cart, where he picked up a ledger. “Heiress to Wilford, you say?”
I nodded curtly.
“Well, girl, that’s impossible.” He jabbed his finger at the ledger. “Because the Wilford estate is the property of the government of Nottingham.”
I struggled to keep my composure, my jaw threatening to drop to the ground.
“Which means,” he continued, staring up at me with a wicked sneer that said he knew he had me, “this girl, Emma, is also property of Nottingham and its Sheriff.”
Treacherous bastard!
It was unfathomable that Sheriff George held the power to turn the title of my family’s estate over to himself and the law. Effectively, he was working to erase the existence of my family name.
My hands knotted into fists. “That’s impossible. Emma is not property, she’s a living, breathing—”
The guard wagged the ledger in front of him, still with that smug smirk that reminded me of Guy of Gisborne. “It says it right here, woman.” He snatched the ledger back and chuckled. “Although I suppose a girl of your ilk, gallivanting with bandits, wouldn’t be able to read.”
Anger flared through me. A flash of red sparked behind my eyes, and it took everything not to shrug my bow off my shoulder and put an arrow through this fucker’s throat.
Will, of course, couldn’t contain himself as deftly. He stepped forward and drew his two blades—the first of our men to do so. “Insult her again, grunt. I’m begging you to.”
The three guards raised their weapons higher, leveling them at me.
“W-Will!” I stammered, my pulse leaping. I stepped toward him with a hand out, again finding myself mediating a tenuous situation.
“If you don’t hand the girl over,” Will said, “all three of you die where you stand.”
The guard scoffed. “Says a boy half my age, with all the hair on his chest of a mole rat.”
“Half your age and twice your skill, old man. Come on. Test your theory.”
