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Directly through me.
“Songbird!” Alan-a-Dale yelled.
Deadly hooves pounded mere feet away from me.
The minstrel’s golden mane whirred by and he tackled me out of the road, off to the side.
The carriage wheeled by.
Seconds later, a rider crashed through the trees, giving chase to the carriage.
“Lewis, wait!” Tuck called to the scout on horseback.
Lewis looked over his shoulder as he rode, smiling at Tuck.
Then his eyes bulged.
I glanced over my shoulder to follow his view—
As an arrow tore through the sky and lodged into his spine.
Lewis grunted, went rigid, and slumped off the side of the horse. The steed kept chasing, riderless.
“Fuck!” Tuck roared.
I put a hand to my mouth. Alan-a-Dale hugged me close, tucking my face into his chest so I didn’t have to see the chaos. But it was too late. I could see everything now as the dust settled. Bodies littered the road.
Will Scarlet and the rest of the Merry Men had slaughtered eight of the ten guards. We lost Lewis and one other man during the abrupt attack.
All because of me . . . and Will Scarlet’s impulsiveness when he saw me get hit to the ground.
Tears pooled in my eyes. My plan had failed. We wouldn’t get the support or allies we needed. There might be valuables inside the remaining two carriages that would satisfy the Merry Men for a few days, but my deeper plan—our purpose—had crumbled.
I wanted to save Little John. I missed him so fucking badly. And I wanted to do things without death. It’s what I staked my leadership on.
Now ten men were dead. Eleven, if we managed to get our hands on the fleeing baron, and thirteen if Will Scarlet ended up deciding to execute the remaining two guards who surrendered.
A tear trickled down my cheek, and I sniffed.
“I’m sorry, love,” Alan-a-Dale whispered in my ear as he wrapped an arm around my neck, hugged me fiercely, and ran a hand over my hair. “I’m so sorry.”
One of our men called out to Will Scarlet, who marched up and down the road stabbing the dying guards to put them out of their misery. “Got something in here, boss,” said the man, staring into the hold of the third carriage.
“Boss,” I thought. He’s calling Will the boss.
Because Will deserves it.
Let’s be honest: Will was always the leader of the Merry Men after Little John. How did I ever think I could convince these men to follow me—a woman—into battle? A former noblewoman with no leadership abilities to speak of?
I’ve been a fool to believe in myself like I have.
“What is it?” Will growled. He hadn’t come over to see if I was okay, likely because he was still so enraged, seeing red as dark as his sash.
Finally, his eyes flicked over in my direction. His brow arched sadly for a moment, seeing the tears in my eyes and the way Alan held me.
“A prisoner,” answered the man.
My heart jumped to my throat. All the pain, agony, and melancholy dimmed. Little John?!
