AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Fuck,” Alan said as I stepped up beside him.
I tried to mask the horror on my face. It was becoming more and more difficult to do that. Especially when Tuck wandered over with his arms draped under the dead girl, gently setting her down next to the dead men under the tarp.
“Got three of us in the skirmish before bolting off,” Crisp said, crossing his thick arms over his chest.
Brow furrowing, I stared down at the bodies and quickly calculated a theory. I couldn’t be sure of the exact mechanics of the fight, since I hadn’t been here . . . but I knew well enough. Sheriff George fucking tricked us. Goddammit.
The Sheriff knew where we’d been camping—or at least the general area—and paraded a carriage down the road as a diversion. With Will, Alan, Tuck, and me following, he led us like mice to a tasty trap.
Dread coiled inside me. Three more to add to the tally. The Sheriff has been one step ahead of us the entire time.
The realization made me spiral. It made me doubt myself even more than before, and for a moment I drowned out the complaints and angry words of the crew.
This was a test, I thought, to see if I would chase the carriage and separate the Merry Men’s strongest warriors from the main pack in a rush of compassion.
It was a test I’d failed spectacularly. One that took my impulsiveness and masterfully used it against me. I’d been so concerned with the carriage, the abbey, and Emma, I hadn’t even thought of the wider implications for the Merry Men back at camp. This was never about Emma—other than as a decoy. It was about sewing chaos within our ranks.
And it was working.
Lanky Tate said something that made my head jolt up to listen. “Half the crew scattered in the woods, frightened with no one to lead them.” Amidst a ripple of grumbling from the five other men behind him, he added, “Plus the three you see here. They got Skiff, Will.” He spit on the ground and shook his head. “Timber Tim and Scaredy, also.”
Stout Crisp stepped forward, arms still crossed. “I can find them and get the boys who scattered, Will”—his eyes landed on me and narrowed—“but not with her leading us.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Will growled, stepping up to the bigger man.
Crisp wasn’t about to be bullied by Will Scarlet, a man half his age. Not when three of us had died. I could see the furrows in the grass and dirt now, the stampeding footsteps surrounding camp. Hell had cracked free here, with all its devilish malcontents.
Crisp’s voice softened. “Three men are dead, Will.” I noticed he had stopped calling him “sir,” as people typically did with leadership. “Their blood is on her hands.” He nudged his chin at me, then noticed Emma and Ada behind me. “And for what? Two orphan girls not worth the dung from the horses they rode in on. The only good those girls can offer are the four holes they share between their—”
Clonk—
A metallic thud sent Crisp dropping to the ground like an overweight bag of iron. He didn’t get back up.
I jolted in shock. People gasped around the fire pit.
Friar Tuck’s fist glinted silver in the moonlight. He stared down at the unconscious man’s face, which was already bruising, an indentation of a sideways cross embedded in his cheek. Tuck was the closest thing to a holy man we had, yet his stance was fiery, violent, and his teeth were bared.
He gestured at the iron knuckle-band wrapped around his fist. “That was Discipline,” he called out to the Merry Men, “to teach you not to open your fucking mouths when it’s unnecessary. If anyone wants Atonement”—he gestured to his other hand—“then by all means, keep talking like that. He’s right here for you.”
“Your forget, Edmund,” he said to the unconscious heap called Crisp, “that you were once a serving boy also. Have your senses taken leave of you? Have you learned nothing from Robin at our head? You’re no better than any of these lasses, nor the dead one at my feet. They all deserve our prayers.”
Even though Crisp—Edmund—clearly didn’t hear his words, everyone else did. Tuck’s angry message was loud and clear, and he reminded me of Little John in that moment. Taking charge. Defending the weak.
His tangent didn’t stop Tate from challenging him, stepping over Crisp. “Robin is a noblewoman with noble ideas.” I could tell it wasn’t a compliment by the tone of contempt riding through his voice. Wisely, he kept his eyes away from Emm and Ada behind me. “Face it, Tuck. All she’s done is lead us through one reckless decision after another. We’ve lost half our damn company because of her.”
“No, we’ve lost the band because of the Sheriff of Nottingham and his hunters. Don’t get confused, Tate.”
Tate scoffed, flapped a frustrated hand at Friar Tuck, and turned to walk away.
My stomach dropped. Lanky Tate’s words rang true to me, no matter how much I wanted to disregard them, as Tuck was doing. I can’t feel like this anymore. I’ve fractured the group beyond repair. We’re down to fewer men than we had before Loxley, even. I can’t continue this when I know . . .
I spun abruptly, shouldered my way past Will, Emma, and Ada, and marched to my tent. My friends called after me, but I was determined, and I came back a moment later holding Little John’s quarterstaff in my hands.
The symbol of our leadership.
A low murmur rippled through the Merry Men at the fire pit. Even Tate turned around to see what the ruckus was about.
I thrust the quarterstaff against Will Scarlet’s chest. “You lead us,” I grunted, pushing the words past a tight, constricted throat. “Tate is right. They’re all right. I’m not worthy of leading the Merry Men. All I’ve done is bring us death, sorrow, and heartache.”
