The Heirs of Locksley (The Robin Hood Stories 2)

“Are you the one who fired those arrows?” he asked, his smile crooked. “They had dirt and grass stuck to the heads. Someone fired them. No blood, at least.”

“No, thank God,” she admitted. “I just needed to drive them off, not kill anyone.”

“Ah. So, you’re pretty handy with a bow.”

Of course I am, I am Robin Hood’s daughter . . . “After last night, you must think me awful and wild and unwomanly and . . .” She ran out of descriptions.

“I think you’re . . . intriguing.”

“Intriguing.” She smiled wryly. “Like a strange horse that’s just turned up.”

They had gotten quite far from camp now, and part of her wanted to run back home, all the way to Sherwood, this was too much, he was smiling, and she couldn’t tell if he was pleased or laughing at her, if looking her over in daylight made her seem better or worse than she had during last night’s adventure. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking; she did not know him.

And she wanted to hold his hand, and more.

He stopped, turned to her so they stood face to face, and said, “Last night, I thought, this is a woman I could tell to bar the doors of the castle, and no one would ever get through. That is the kind of woman I would like to marry. If you’ll have me.”

She had the feeling of stepping off the edge of a cliff as she said, “I will. Yes.”

He offered his hand. She lay hers in it, and he kissed it lightly, just a brush of lips on her knuckles. Then, her hand still resting in his, they returned to the Locksley camp.

* * *

That same morning,

shortly before the long-awaited arrival of Sir William de Ros, John of Locksley received a letter stamped with the royal seal. He read it and turned pensive.

Then Sir William arrived and all was chaos, and Marian threatened him and Eleanor with a whole litany of curses if they tried to sneak out to spy on the couple on their walk, but John wasn’t so interested as he might have been.

Well, he was interested, and that was a problem.

“What’s this, then?” Robin asked him when the pair had gone off and everyone needed distracting to not stare after them like they were watching acrobats. Dancing bears, Mary had complained.

John showed him the letter. “The king has asked me to stay and be part of his court. To teach him archery.”

Robin smiled wide. “Well done, John.”

“Is this what you wanted?” he asked, accusing. “To throw me to that pack of wolves at court to curry favor? That’s what des Roches thinks.”

His father paced, squinting out at the cluster of buildings that was Westminster. “I wanted better for you. I could never make friends with the kings of England, but if you—” He shook his head, glanced away. “I simply wondered what it must be like to have royal favor rather than be eternally out of it. That is all I wished for you.” He sounded wistful.

“What does royal favor matter? Only right and wrong matter. Justice. That’s what you always taught us.” What the stories taught, he almost said. Nevertheless, Robin understood what remained unspoken.

“Yes. But you must realize that a man often behaves quite differently after he has children than he did before.”

John’s anger faded. “I begin to understand why Little John stayed in the greenwood all those years.”

“There were times I thought I should have followed him. Well, you can’t ignore a royal summons. Or you can, but that has . . . implications.” Robin winked.

“But what is one to do with men like Peter des Roches and Hubert de Burgh? All the other bishops and lords around him? They’ll never leave me alone. You should see the sour looks they get whenever they hear the name Locksley.”

His father had the grace to look a little chagrined at that. Then he said, “Ignore them. Well, that’s not exactly right. More like, you don’t react to them. They will suspect you, try to manipulate you, put you out of favor as much as they can. They will be jealous of you, if the king turns to you for any kind of advice, even if he only ever speaks to you of the weather. And you—well, you’re simply there to teach the king archery, aren’t you?”

Sir William and his sister were still walking, still talking. They seemed very intent on one another.

“I suppose I will have to find a wife soon,” he said.

“Plenty of time for that. Then again, perhaps not. Time does seem to be passing more and more quickly.” Robin gave his shoulder a companionable pat and went back to see to Marian, who was wringing her hands and almost but not quite crying. She would take it very hard when Mary went away.