The Heirs of Locksley (The Robin Hood Stories 2)

“I can loan you horses,” he said. “Your enemies are looking for a group on foot. Horses will get you back faster, and they won’t suspect you.”

“That’s a good idea,” John said. “Thank you.”

They waited a bit longer, to give their pursuers more time to move on. Their host gave them a little wine to drink, and they sat silently with their worn nerves. Finally, Mary had had enough of the man looking them over and politely not asking any questions. He was being so very kind, and she was grateful. But the night was wearing on.

“Your Grace, we should go,” she said. “Get you home before anyone notices you’re gone.”

“I imagine they’ve already noticed,” Henry said. He seemed pleased about it. “Be easy, my lady. There’ll be no trouble. I’ll make sure of it.”

The young knight brought them to his picket line of horses. In the middle of the camp, there was more torchlight, and Mary got a better look at him. He was in his twenties and definitely well born. His tunic was finely made, embroidered on the edges. He had a neat beard and a ready smile. Handsome. She looked away.

He paused between a pair of good-looking palfreys, one gray and one brown. “These two, I think. One for your injured clerk, one for His Grace. We can move quickly with little notice. Albert, get them saddled, please,” he called to an hostler.

“You’ll come with us?” Mary asked, sounding far too eager.

“I think I must, to see no harm comes to you all.”

He rubbed the brown mare between her eyes, and the horse reached for him. “There, Daisy. Sorry to wake you up, but we’ve important work to do. Here now, be patient!” The mare Daisy stretched her nose to the pouch on his belt, wuffing through her nose, lips grasping, and he laughed. Sure enough, he drew out a couple of bits of carrot from the pouch. Daisy had known they were there. He also gave the gray horse a couple of treats and rubbed his ears. Mary was enthralled. She liked this man . . . but she was tired and not thinking straight and decided she should not think of him at all.

Soon enough, the wayward party was on the path leading out of the camp and to the main way to Westminster. The kind knight led the horse that carried Walter; the Locksley siblings walked alongside King Henry’s mount, Daisy. They needed to be off quickly before their pursuers returned.

“Thank you for your help, my lord,” Mary said tiredly.

“My true pleasure, my lady.”

John was the one who finally asked, “My lord, what is your name, so we know who has our gratitude.”

“Sir William de Ros, of Helmsley Castle.”

The world froze for a heartbeat. Mary thought she might faint. Or scream, only that would startle the horses. She thought of running away, but then the name burst out of her with a complete lack of propriety. “William de Ros!”

And yes, the horses startled at the exclamation, but only a little. They were very well trained.

He regarded her, brow furrowed. “Um, yes?”

“But I’ve been trying to meet you for years!”

“You have?” Even more confused.

They stared at one another. She had no idea what to say next. Neither did he, evidently.

“You will have to tell him who you are,” John whispered.

Yes, right. She shook her head, trying to clear the muzziness that suddenly filled her. “I’m Mary of Locksley.”

The man brightened, smiled wide. “You are?”

Then they were both staring again, silent, tongue-tied. He must think her stupid.

“What’s happening?” Henry whispered.

John explained. “These two have been betrothed—well, mostly betrothed—for ages. But between wars and invasions and—”

It was all too much. Mary still wanted to run away, but she did not think her legs would work just now. “And then you went to the continent to fight in tournaments for a year.” She sounded shrill. She was going mad. His horses like him . . . “Were you trying to avoid me?”

“My lady, no, of course not—”

“Are you any good?” Henry interrupted. “At the tournaments, I mean.”