Scarlet is a retelling of the classic Robin Hood. Because most think she is a boy, Scarlet is referred to by the gang and well most everyone in the town as Will, an assumption that Scarlet is more than happy to play a long with. Robin saved Scarlet in London, when he thought she was nothing more than a wayward pick-pocket boy, and she thought he was a regal lord and a good target. Scarlet joins Robins rag tag team and their noble cause, protecting the people from the sheriffs ridiculous laws and tax penalties. When the sheriff hires the worst of the worst, Gisbourne to catch the hood and his bandits, we find that Rob isn't the only with demons in his past.
I love retellings. There's something about them, done right, that really just speaks to me. That being said I don't know how I necessarily feel about Robin Hood Retelling's. Mostly because I guess I'm not in love with the story. More particularly, I've never read the original tale to really fall in love with it- so I guess that plays a huge part. That being said- this wasn't too bad of a read. Scarlet's slang at first bothered me, but as the story progressed I hardly noticed it. Maybe I've been reading too many books with altruistic characters that deny themselves of what they want, thinking that they couldn't possibly be worthy of something so good, because at times both Scarlet and Rob's obtuseness about each other really grated on my nerves. Or maybe I'm just that selfish to know what I want, and think myself worthy enough to have it. I loved the Idea of Rob. I would've loved Scarlet more if she had more confidence in who she was. If she understood that everything that went wrong wasn't her fault and that at times, more often that not, things have an odd way of playing out how they will without any care of your wants or intents. I enjoyed the story enough to finish the book, even eagerly so- like I was always thinking about it. Do I feel passionately enough about this read that I'll look back and feel tingles? probably not, but I will be picking up the sequel because despite all my quarrels- I really did like the story and want to see what Scarlet, Rob, and their rag tag bandit crew have in store.
Rob came out from around the building, sliding in the darkness and nodding to us. "The family is safe and calm." He nodded to me. "And grateful, Scar."
I nodded back. It were dark, so they couldn't prove I were blushing.
"Much, why don't you and I take them back over to Worksop? Scar, John--go back to the Oak. We need to be on the roads early tomorrow, and I want your eyes sharp."
"Scar has information that Gisbourne's effects are coming up through the forest. At dawn, disguised," John said.
Rob smiled. "Very interesting. We'll all meet at the archway an hour before dawn. Agreed?"
We nodded, and I took my chance to run off. And I ran. And ran. It took an hour to get to Thoresby Lake, the farthest bounds of Lord Thoresby's property far in the deep of Sherwood Forest, so I were running as hard as I could. I felt filthier than in London. It weren't the blood. He hit me and broke my knife. For one measly second I were scared, and I needed to get that off me before the dawn, before we patrolled the roads, when I couldn't be one inch of scared.
My fists were shaking as I ran, sweat pushing out the filth, desperate for the water. I jumped the big rock and dove in, braking the surface and crashing into fierce cold.
I hung there, under the water. My eyes were closed and my skin went fair numb. My lumps and slices went to ice. There were no room for nothing in my mind but cold.
When I pulled out of the water, heaving shivery breaths on the shore, I were fearless.