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“We haven’t been able to yet. He’s been—”
“One step ahead the entire time. I know, Will. You don’t need to remind me.”
He grunted and sat back. The carriage had been cleared of linens and comforts to make as much space inside as possible. Which meant we felt every agonizing bump and divot in the road—every rock we rolled over drilled into my tailbone and spine, and I found myself wincing within an hour of riding out from camp.
The sun was beginning to wane. A golden-orange glow trickled into through the window of the carriage. I glanced out at the second carriage rolling behind us, which held Much, Tuck, and Alan, and was decidedly less spacious.
We’d chosen an odd time to run this job—evening rather than the early hours of morning when people were still groggy, less perceptive, and less caring. There was a method to our madness, and I hoped it paid off.
Nottingham was only a few hours from where our hideaway was located. We had put ourselves in a spot close enough to read the roads and traveling merchants who used them, to gather pertinent information about the goings-on in town, but far enough that scouts and soldiers shouldn’t find us. Even though they recently had.
We were always in a race against time when it came to Sheriff George and Sir Guy, who always eventually found us. That’s what happened when one of the best hunters, swordsmen, and archers in the land was put on a specific task. He made our lives hell.
I felt good about taking the fight to them for a change. If we could embarrass the Sheriff by succeeding on this mission, it would be wildly positive for our overall efforts of driving public opinion away from him. The Merry Men acting out right under his nose, in his own stomping grounds? It would incense George, hopefully enough he’d start making mistakes.
“Luckily,” Will said, “I think your plan with Much might just work. I like it.”
I raised a brow. “You do? That might be the first plan I’ve ever come up with that—”
“You can stop right there.” His smile was devilish. “That might be the first plan you’ve ever come up with. Period.”
I rolled my eyes. “That you liked,” I finished, annoyed at his little barb. He loved to push my buttons. I let him do it until we both eventually exploded in some dire mixture of sex and aggravation. For some reason, it worked for us.
He reached out and put a hand on my knee. “I’m not moving away from John’s vow, by the way.”
“And what would that be?” I asked, playing coy.
“I’m not letting you out of my sight, little thorn. You can run, but you can’t escape me.”
“Never.” A tingle ran up my spine. I put a hand on his knuckles on my kneecap, slowly twining my fingers with his. Warmth spread through me at his touch. His eyes smoldered when mine locked with his, and I matched his smirk. “I pity any man who tries to get between us, Will Scarlet, and is forced to face your swift vengeance.”
“Well said.” Will’s signature smirk remained on his shadowed face. “You’re starting to sound more and more like me every day, little thorn.”
CARTER, THE NIGHT WATCHMAN, let us through the northern gate of Nottingham with little more than a small nod. The young soldier we had stolen from Baron Easton’s guard was already proving to be useful, manning the gate while known outlaws passed through. His father, who had been less inclined to help us, was not present at the gate.
Our carriages creaked and rolled toward the town square. The drivers were benchmen with little history in Nottingham and little time of outlawry under their belts, which meant they went unnoticed.
If any guard stopped us on the way to our destination, and demanded to look inside the carriages, we’d be fucked. Because unlike our drivers, Will, Tuck, Alan, and I were quite well-known in these parts.
Luckily, that sort of thing typically happened at the gates, where Carter had been. We stayed to ourselves and kept our limbs and eyes inside the coaches, hoping the drivers wouldn’t lead us directly to our enemies.
Putting a lot of trust in people I hardly know, I thought, biting my lip. Much, the drivers, Carter. There were so many ways this could go wrong, and only one viable option forward.
“Bite your lip any harder and it might bleed,” Will said, stealing me from my anxious thoughts.
I narrowed my eyes. “Sounds like you might enjoy that.”
“Only because I want to do it myself. A little blood never scared me.”
“Clearly.” Thoughts of last night swarmed my mind, when I had punched him in the face and he answered by ravenously kissing me, unbothered that it smeared on me.
What a night.
“Before we left, Emma told me to try and find Rosco and his little gang,” I said. “He’s an orphan guttersnipe friend of hers who—”
“I know who he is.”
“You do?” I didn’t bother pressing him on how that could be possible.
