His face went white. “You are an insolent bitch.”
“And I have dealt with the likes of you my entire life. If that should make me afraid for any reason, you’ve clearly been misinformed.” She glared at him. “Now move.”
Slack-jawed, he stepped feebly aside, and with the others behind her, Robin swept into the king’s receiving hall as though she were paying him a visit of her own accord instead of having been summoned.
Halfway to the throne, as she lost her bravado, Jemma briefly slipped her hand into Robin’s and squeezed. It was a small symbol, but a meaningful one, and Robin smiled gently even after Jemma moved away again.
Country-bred social etiquette only extended so far, and as Robin approached the throne—and the man on it—she didn’t know what to do. Did she bow? Did she curtsy? She hadn’t done that in years, and her body no longer knew it as muscle memory.
In the end, with the eyes of the courtiers and guards scattered around the outside of the hall on her, she did nothing but stand there with her arms hanging loosely at her sides.
Richard had a handsome, bold face, and a sturdy build. His blue eyes seemed likely to stare through a person as well as at them. He stood. Robin assessed the breadth of his shoulders and the coiled strength in his muscles, and she knew he would have made a fine archer in another lifetime.
Robin looked up at her king, and for the first time since she was a child at her father’s knee, she felt very, very small.
“Robin Hood,” he said, voice rolling through the hall like thunder. “Outlaw. Archer. Thief. Lady.”
Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.
“You have caused a great deal of strife for the Sheriff of Nottingham, have you not?”
Still speechless, she could only nod.
“Yet, you and your fellows have also done a great deal of good for the people of Nottingham.” He stepped down from the throne to the floor of the hall. Robin thought it like staring up a mountain. “And much of it without fatal bloodshed.”
At that, Robin made a sound. Richard folded his hands calmly behind his back and looked at her encouragingly.
“Much of it, yes,” she finally managed. “But not all of it.” When he said nothing, Robin continued. “There was… we had showed kindness and hospitality to the Bishop of Hereford, to show him how much we weren’t baseless outlaws who lived like heathens in the forest. Shortly after that, four of us came suddenly upon his men on the road, and we ran. We, collectively, went back for the girls who hadn’t gotten away, and we got into an altercation with him and his men.” She swallowed thickly. “We killed three of his men, and they killed one of us. It was the first and only time there have been any deaths.”
“The Sheriff’s kin wasn’t your fault?”
Robin glanced over her shoulder at Maggie, and then met Richard’s gaze. “No. What happened at The Gilded Crown was an accident. He charged me, I ducked, and he ran headfirst into the bar. Snapped his neck.”
“I was there, Your Majesty,” Maggie said, her voice high and wavering. “What she says is true.”
“Ah.” Richard stepped to Robin’s side to look at the others. “This is your merry band of outlaws?”
She nodded.
“A freed slave-servant, a kitchen girl, a baker, a tinker, a minstrel, a nun disguised as a friar, and two children.” He looked at each of them. “This is all of you?”
“We’re missing one, sire,” Jemma said. “Will Sutely.”
“Yes.” Richard smiled, eyes twinkling. “William.”
Robin, facing the opposite end of the hall, saw him first. Will appeared from between two of the courtiers lining the wall, and her breath caught in her chest when she saw him.
Most notably, when she saw the thin circlet of gold on his head.
“We have eyes and ears throughout our country, and when stories of a hooded figure robbing from the rich to feed the poor of Nottingham began trickling back, we decided it would be in our best interests to send someone to determine the truth.”
She swayed on her feet, the edges of her vision graying out momentarily until she remembered to breathe. “Your uncle…”
“Has quite a lot of money and power, yes,” Will said gently. “He is also my king.”
“Well, son of a bitch,” Lia murmured.
“I fed royalty undercooked croissants,” Much whispered, and then covered her mouth with her fingers.
“Tender and flaky, not undercooked.” Will grinned. “Promise.”
“How—how much has he told you, Your Majesty?” Robin asked, her head turning between Richard and Will.
“Enough for me to get the full measure of you, Jemma, Maggie, Lia, Elena, and Tuck.” He smiled fondly at the two youngest. “And, of course, Ginny and Graham.”
Ginny grinned.
Richard returned to his throne. Robin shifted back to stand with the others, but refused to glance at Will.
“You stand before me as a united front,” Richard said. “Though I believe if Robin had her wish, she would take the blame for everything.”
Robin swatted away the hand reaching for her side without looking. Tuck’s pinches hurt like hell.
“However, there is no such blame to be placed here.” He sat, the picture of regality. “A king always has need of the bravest, most stalwart men of his country. In this case, such men aren’t men at all. They are women. I’ve need of you in my service. You would be agents of the crown, if you consent to it.”
“Our status as outlaws?” Robin asked, her heart feeling as though it were going to burst from her chest.
“Would be nullified. You would be free and lawful citizen of England once more.”
She took a deep breath, then another, and the room stopped its slight spinning. She looked down the line at the others. Ginny’s hopeful smile, Maggie’s determined expression, Lia’s carefully blank face, Much’s slow blink, Jemma’s gentle countenance, Elena’s raised eyebrows, and the devilish glint in Tuck’s eye.
She settled further at the light touch of Will’s fingers briefly at the small of her back.
“I can only speak for myself, Your Majesty,” she said. “For these are clever girls, with brains in their head, and they have made their own decisions from the beginning. I will join your service to become an agent of the crown and a free citizen once more.”
“I will do the same, Your Majesty.” Jemma glanced at Robin. “I would follow that woman anywhere.”
One by one, the rest of them gave their consent to enter into King Richard’s service.
Richard leaned forward with a deep chuckle. “And so it shall be. I will have the papers drawn up, made official, and I will have instructions for you by this night. Now, I have other business to attend to.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Robin said, hands fisted in the sides of her coat to hide her shaking fingers.
He said not a word, just rested back against his throne with a satisfied smile.
***
“I thought we were going to be dead,” Much said. She sat on the floor, Jemma on the edge of the bed behind her, and let the other woman position her head as she saw fit so she could braid her hair. Much wanted to see what she’d look like without her hair, so Jemma had consented to putting it into the braids and coils she’d put on Robin to make her look less like a woman.
What Much hadn’t figured on, to Robin’s amusement, was how long the process took.
“How often did you sit through this?” Much asked.
“How often did I wear my hair like this?” Robin returned, stifling a giggle at how chatty the other girl was. Apparently, the thought of dying, coupled with meeting the king, being pardoned, and receiving their first orders as agents of the crown, had overwhelmed her. Instead of dropping into silence—like Maggie and Ginny did when overcome by the situation at hand—Much became highly energetic. Like a child who’d had too many sweets.
Lia and Elena hadn’t stopped smiling since they’d all retreated to Jemma’s room for the evening
, and Much’s fidgeting and babbling had gotten steadily worse.
“Do we have any honey mead or anything?” Much looked over at Tuck as well as she could.
She snorted. “That’s the last thing you need right now.”
Robin choked on a guffaw at Much’s affronted expression, and then retreated over to the quieter corner of Jemma’s room, where Maggie sat looking out the window. She’d been unnaturally silent since their meeting with the King, and Robin had the suspicion it had to do with missing Kitty.
“She’d have loved this,” Maggie murmured. “We’d have a hell of a time keeping her here. She’d want to be out there, wandering through the streets and meeting the people and seeing everything.” She rested her head against the glass and gazed out over the city at night.
“She is here, Maggie.” Robin reached out and squeezed Maggie’s hand. “She’s been here by our side all along. She loved you too much to leave you so alone.”
“The ones we truly love never really leave us,” Maggie quoted softly.
Robin thought then, not of Marcus or her parents, but of Will. They had, for a little while, been equals. Both of them outlaws, both of them fighting for what was right, even on the wrong side of the law.
They had loved each other.
Love, her mind corrected gently. You love him. Even now.
It hadn’t been a betrayal. Robin had always known there was something different about Will and his social status. She simply thought he was a few steps higher on the social ladder than she had been as Lady of Lockesly.
She’d never considered he might be royalty.
There came a knock on the door.
By the time Robin had snapped out of her thoughts, whoever it was had gone again, and Elena looked at her with an odd expression she couldn’t place.
It was a messenger, for you, she signed. William requests you meet him in the portrait corridor.
“How soon?” Robin asked, well aware of how the room had quieted.
As soon as you will consent to meet him. He shall wait all night, if necessary.
“I won’t need to keep him waiting that long.” She walked on wobbly knees to the door. Without so much as a glance at any of them—she didn’t need to see their pity—she slipped into the hallway.
It took her several long minutes to find the portrait corridor, and in the end, she had to ask for directions twice. That part of the Tower was deserted, save for Will, who stood with his hands at the small of his back in the exact middle, softly illuminated by the brazier to his right. Though the gold circlet was still on his head, he was dressed in the clothes he’d worn as an outlaw.
“I wanted to tell you,” he said when the silence grew too thick.
“I love you,” was all she could say.
He reached between them and took her hands in his, his palms warm and sure against the backs of her fingers. “Will you stay?”
“William…” She licked dry lips. “I’ve—we have our orders. We leave tomorrow morning.”
“He would make an exception,” Will said, stepping closer. “If I asked it of him, he would make an exception to let you stay here at court. I’m sure of it.”
Robin looked down and saw the same boots she’d worn in her final days as Lady Rhiannon, daughter of Sabine, Lady of Lockesly. She hadn’t felt comfortable as a lady of standing in the manor, and she knew without a doubt that she couldn’t be a courtier.
Not for Will. Not even for love.
“I’m not a lady, Will. I’m not suited to the life of a courtier.” She looked at his ear so she wouldn’t have to see his eyes dim. “I might be pardoned, but I’m still an outlaw. I’m not a lady. I never have been. But you—you could come with us.”
He shook his head. “My place is here, at court.”
She’d known what his answer would be before he’d opened his mouth.
A tear slipped down her cheek. Will gently wiped it away with his thumb.
“Even if—even if we aren’t to have more days together,” Robin said, forcing the words through the thick in her throat, “then we—this night. This night shall be ours.”
“I want to have all the days with you, Lady of Sherwood,” he murmured. “But this one night shall have to do.”
Robin took a deep breath. She could be hateful they had so little time together, or she could spend as much of it in his arms as possible, savoring each touch. The choice was obvious.
“Come to bed with me?” she asked with a sly smile. “Warm my sheets for the evening?”
“From now until the sun rises in the east,” he agreed.
Without further thought, and ignoring the heavy feeling in her heart, she took him by the hand and led him to her chambers.
“Nobody said anything about boats.”
Every head snapped around to look at Tuck.
“Scared, Friar?” Lia asked, the corners of her mouth twitching upward.
“One should always leave walking on water to the Son of God,” Tuck answered briskly.
“Didn’t Noah build an ark and take all the animals two by two?” The tinker reached out and tapped her knuckles off the wooden hull of the boat as it bobbed gently in the river.
“He had instructions from God.” She eyed the gangplank distastefully. “Who knows where the instructions for this came from.”
“The royal shipbuilders?” Maggie translated from Alan.
Tuck’s glare was both deadly and comical. Lia, Maggie, and Alan dissolved in a fit of chuckles and snorts.
Jemma rolled her eyes at the spectacle, and then joined Robin in looking up at the Tower of London.
“I couldn’t stay, Jem,” she said quietly. “I wanted to tell him yes, I could, but I can’t. I wouldn’t be happy. And who knows what kind of trouble you lot would get into without me.”
“Probably not half as much as we will with you.” Jemma grinned and dodged Robin’s half-hearted shove.
“I really do love him.” She cleared her throat and took a deep breath. “Maybe—maybe this is for the best.” She scoured the outside of the Tower, looking for any window that might have been familiar, that might have been near her rooms or Will’s, and did her best not to remember the touch of his fingers on her skin.
She filled her nose with the stench of the Thames, listened to the water lap against the dock, and tuned out the good-natured bickering that was the result of Lia heckling the hell out of Tuck.
“For the best?” Jemma asked as the boatman called them aboard. “You’re sure of it?”
“No.” Robin staggered briefly before she got her legs beneath her and moved with the roll of the boat instead of against it. “But it’s… it’s what’s right, I think. He’s royalty, and I’m—I’m just—”
“The Lady of Sherwood.”
Robin turned to find Will standing by the railing, evidently having just come up from the dock.
“You are the Lady of Sherwood,” he repeated. “Master archer, pardoned outlaw, and thief of my heart.” He went to one knee, and Robin’s wobble didn’t have a damn thing to do with the boat. “One night will never be enough. I want all your nights, and then all your days. Will you let me have them as your husband?”
She had a number of questions for him, ranging from What are you doing? to What did you say to the king?, but none of them mattered. Nothing mattered. Not when he was on his knee in front of her, as a man before a woman, waiting for her answer.
“Yes, you idiot,” she said, smiling so widely her cheeks began to ache. “Yes.”
Will stood. Robin launched herself at him, arms over his shoulders, and laughed amidst her tears. He twirled her around the deck, and when he finally put her down, Robin realized the buildings on either side of the river were sliding away.
“We’re moving,” she said, refusing to let go of his hand.
“You’re stuck with us now, you know,” Jemma said with a grin.
“I can’t think of better company to be in.” Will looked at each of them, his eyes lingering on Robin.
“You’ve no idea, I think.” Chortling, Tuck passed out cups. “Here’s to the happy couple.”
“No,” Robin said. She looked at each face around the circle, all of them there because they chose to be. All of them following her into the unknown. “Here’s to us and our next adventure, wherever that may be.”
“Amen to that,” Tuck murmured.
They drank. Lia dug out her lute, and Robin leaned against the railing, content to watch her girls teach Will the dance of the common folk. The breeze twisted the loose hairs around her face, and she breathed deep.
Listen to the wind, child, listen to the Earth. It mimics the moods of those who tread it, and, unlike them, it cannot lie to you.
She could think of no others she would rather tread the Earth with than those—the Ladies of Sherwood and Will—in front of her. With a light heart and a smile, Robin waded unafraid into the fray.
It’s been one hell of a journey, and I wouldn’t have gotten here without some help along the way.
A big thank you to Hannah F. for her endless encouragement, and to the Insomniacs for writing help, word wars, editing tidbits, and most importantly, for being wonderful friends.
Immense thanks to Cynthia, Marya, Courtney, and the rest of the Clean Teen Publishing team. Thank you for believing in me and the Ladies of Sherwood, and for giving us this opportunity. The road so far has been amazing, and I can’t wait to see where we can go.
To Mr. LeBaron, Mr. O’Kane, Mrs. Lasko, and Mrs. LaMoreaux, thank you for making me push myself as a writer both in and out of the classroom. From crafting my first query letter to dealing with plot holes, it wasn’t always easy, but you were always there when I needed advice.
And last, but certainly not least, to my parents – among all the things you’ve taught me, how to never give up is somewhere near the top of the list. Thank you for that, and so much more. I love you.
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