February's recommendation: The Outlaws of Sherwood, by Robin McKinley.
Of all the Robin Hood renditions I've read (and there was a period when I read quite a few), this is my favorite. Oddly, it's my favorite for the exact opposite of all the qualities you might expect, as it pretty much fails entirely on the swashbuckling front.
What it has instead is a peculiarly endearing realism. Robin, in this case, is not a high-minded outlaw who can put an arrow through a keyhole half a mile away while exchanging quips with his enemies or allies. He's a forester of middling archery skill who shoots someone by accident and takes to the wilds of Sherwood because it's a preferable alternative to hanging, killing himself, or going off to the Holy Land to fight Saracens.
The whole "merry men" thing (a phrase which I don't think McKinley uses once) comes about because of Robin's friends. Much is the dreamer Robin isn't, and Marian, for all her noble birth and upbringing, is all for fighting noble oppression, since the nobles in this case are largely Norman and she, like her friends, is Saxon. They basically drag Robin kicking and screaming (okay, fidgeting and grumbling) into the idea of forming an alliance with other people who need to get away from the eye of the law . . . and then, once they've learnt not to get lost in the forest and can more or less reliably hit their targets, into the idea of getting the coin they need to survive off nobles who have too much -- and giving some to the poor while they're at it.
It's the kind of story that gives you an idea of how an ordinary person could give rise to tales rather more outrageous. The people around Robin make him into a legend, while he relentlessly keeps them grounded, constantly worrying about questions like how to keep his people fed and where to dig the next privy ditch. Early on, McKinley says of Robin that "He did not wish to be either a king or a king-maker, and did not see that kings or philosophies kept the rain out. He said this latter so often that Much threatened to carve it in wood and hang it around his neck on a thong," which summarizes his character quite neatly.
I love swashbuckling as much as the next person, but when one Robin Hood story (or movie) after another plays up the dramatic aspects of the legend, it's refreshing to have one so practical. Which is not to say that Robin and his people never do anything exciting; they certainly have their moments, and try not to let the townspeople know how many of them were sparked by some over-enthusiastic newcomer doing something stupid. McKinley is one of those authors who can pull off the sort of dry tone that allows her to show you dramatic things without them looking silly. And, of course, all of her characters in this novel show her usual wit, which is of a flavor I've always loved.
All the characters you might expect are here (all the ones I can think of, anyway). Little John, Will Scarlet, Alan'a'dale, Much the miller's son, Marian -- oddly, the Sheriff of Nottingham is the most absent. Instead of Alan Rickman's fine scenery-chewing, you get an offstage threat, the embodiment of Norman law and persecution, but rarely a direct antagonist. There are women among the outlaws, but not many; Marian herself never joins them permanently in Sherwood, but instead serves as a kind of informant and agent on their behalf. It's a decent compromise for historical plausibility, while still having women be important in the story.
If your preference is for a swashbuckling Robin Hood, then this book might feel a little flat. But the realism is rendered with wit and energy, which makes it just as enjoyable for me as swordplay and quips.