Kingless. Hopeless. Lawless.

“We are kingless. Hopeless. Lawless.”

This was Robin speaking; not speaking, brooding. John hated when he did that.

“But we are not powerless,” John Lyttle said quickly, in an effort to snap his friend out of the darkness. “Nor loveless.”

“I am not entirely sure ‘loveless’ is an actual word,” a new voice said. Will Scarlet. Always ready with something completely idiotic to say, that one.

John cleared his throat. “If it’s not, it should be,” he said. “I am making it one.”

“Even so,” Robin went on, having paid no amount of attention to any of his friends’ words, “I promise you, by the green leaves surrounding us: We shall not be mirthless.”

“Mirth?” Will sputtered. “Is this the time to speak of making merry?”

“It is,” Robin affirmed.

“We are in the middle of a war,” Alis pointed out—as if they were not all aware of the fact.

“We might die any day now,” Tuck helped. He really should stop helping.

“We are in the middle of a war,” Ru said drily, “which no one knows we have declared. And, might I add, we are losing.”

Robin pursed his lips. He did not look at her—he never did. Not any more. Not since her secret was out. “So far,” he said finally. “We are losing so far.”

“We are—”

“Be that as it may,” Robin pointedly interrupted John, “I swear in front of you all, that we shall laugh in the face of danger, be merry under the threat of death, and make fun of those who hunt us like beasts of the forest.”

Silence met his words.

Then, slowly, chortling.

“Laugh?” Will sputtered, unbelieving.

“Merry?” Alis gasped.

“Make fun?” Tuck scoffed.

“This,” Robin said, picking up his bow to resume his training for the day, “shall be our biggest power. We have forged weapons and amassed some gold…”

“Stolen some gold,” Will corrected him. Robin sent him a murderous look.

“Naturally,” Robin said. “And we have made ourselves into weapons.” His eyes found Ru, and he quickly looked away.

Coward, she thought at him. Look me in the eyes while you speak of what you have made me. Of what they have made me. But he couldn’t. If he did, he would find the past staring back at him; and he thought he would no survive the memories.

“All of this is our power,” the outlaw went on. “But, above all, by God, when they come to kill us, we shall die with a smile on our faces. We shall not give anyone the satisfaction of taking pleasure in our defeat. They have taken everything from us, our dignity, our titles, our lands, our possessions. Even almost taken our lives.” He looked at Ru again. Looked back down. He is ridiculous, she thought. Even with those cheekbones. “But they shall not take our laughter.”

Everyone considered this for several minutes. Finally, it was Scarlet who broke the silence:

“Did you say ‘when they come to kill us’?” he said.

“I did,” Robin threaded a feathered arrow between his bow, long, skilled fingers expertly finding their way around the steel with no effort at all, and took aim.

“Not ‘if’,” Will pressed him. “You didn’t say ‘if’.”

“No,” Robin said, “not ‘if’. They will come to kill us, Scar.” He let the arrow fly. Its aim was true, even though the target was on a tree so far away, one would have to squint to see it properly. “But, dear friend, we shall be ready for them.”

“We can only hope,” Will said, seemingly forgetting how Robin had called them ‘hopeless’ mere moments ago.

Robin passed him the bow with a friendly clap on his back. Will nearly doubled in two from the force of the ‘friendly clap’.

“One more thing,” Scarlet said, as he prepared to take his own shot, Robin’s arrow in the middle of the target already mocking his own lacking abilities. Will was a scout, not an archer, but Robin was dead set on making sure everyone in his camp was trained in every single combat skill.

“What now?” Robin asked.

“If you ever call me ‘dear friend’ again,” Scarlet said, practicing that smile Robin had talked about, “I shall murder you myself. No need to wait for the sheriff’s goons to do it.”

And then he laughed at Robin’s astonished expression. Will Scarlet’s face was transformed by the smile, and, as he took aim, he looked positively lethal.

Who would have thought? Ru thought, observing him. The outlaw had been right. Laughing at the enemy was a weapon in itself.

And as they all watched Robin walk away, mumbling something in annoyance, and proceeded to crumble to the forest floor with laughter, she thought that maybe, just maybe, laughter could save them after all. God knew they had nothing else in their favor.

They were indeed kingless, hopeless and lawless. Some days she felt completely powerless. But maybe she could try to be merry as often and as much as she could, while she was still breathing. She had not tried it before, of course; it was a wholly foreign concept to her. But, if anything else, it was much better than any of the things that had happened to her in the sheriff’s dungeon.

“Come back, Robbie!” Will was shouting at the outlaw’s retreating back. “Come back, dear friend!”

The others collapsed on top of each other, dissolving into more laughter.

Will dropped dramatically to his knees. “Oh, my dear friend.” He was nearly wailing—an effect somewhat ruined by the bubbling laughter threatening to burst out of his chest.

Robin turned on his heel, ran straight at him, and tackled him to the grass. They proceeded to wrestle for several minutes in a most comical way, until neither could catch their breath for laughing. They then lay on their backs, gasping for breath, quite undignified.

“Look at the state of us, England’s best and only hope,” Will gasped. “Its finest, last remaining warriors.”

“We definitely are its merriest warriors,” Robin gasped back with a wink.

He stood and reached down to pull Scarlet to his feet. They both had grass on their hair, dirt on their green clothes. So did everyone else. They looked a sorry lot indeed—and they were.

“Kingless,” Will said.

“Hopeless,” Robin added.

“Lawless,” Will’s voice was soft, quiet.

“Definitely that,” Robin said.

“But.” Will said, and then stopped, waiting for Robin to finish the thought.

“But,” Robin obliged, “this I promise you, by the mighty oak in the middle of the forest: No one shall ever say that we were not merry.”

copyright @2025 M.C. Frank

Excerpt from the new Outlaws book.

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