The Heirs of Locksley (The Robin Hood Stories 2)

“Mary and Eleanor. I have a boy in the middle. He’s with his father.”

“His father,” she said wryly, with a lift in her brow that told just what she thought of their father. Mary hid a smile. “And what mischief is Lord Robin about these days?”

“None at all,” Marian declared with perhaps too much force. “There has been too much trouble these last few years. We are hoping for calm.”

Ursula said, “With a boy king and so many men of power hunting around him like foxes?” She shook her head with apparent disgust. “He is a poor king, at present. We will see what he does to get money, and how much like his father he is. Though I hear that he is pious, at least.”

Mary’s heart went out to the young king. That one could never hear of him without hearing of his father, to grow up under a famous shadow . . . She understood this. Robin, at least, was not so universally hated as King John had been.

Ursula waved off the serious discussion. “You are fine-looking girls, aren’t you? Oh, Marian, how far we’ve all come!”

Mother Ursula showed them what parts of the convent she could. The chapel, of which she was very proud, and the gardens, which were bright and full of budding spring flowers. She and Marian chatted the whole time, gossiping about people Mary had never heard of. The abbey was much quieter than the town—the wall setting it apart made a difference, but it was more than that. Everyone seemed to move slower here. Even Eleanor seemed calmer.

“Are you married yet, child?” Mother Ursula asked over her shoulder at the girls.

How Mary hated that question. “Not yet, Mother,” Mary said, trying to mirror Marian’s easy, proper manners.

“Soon, perhaps,” Marian said smoothly, diplomatically. “We’ve got our eye on someone.”

Bloody William de Ros, why couldn’t he simply show himself?

She turned back to Marian. “If either of your girls decides that their paths lie with God, I hope you’ll send them to me.”

“Of course,” Marian said. Eleanor wrinkled her nose. Mother Ursula laughed.

On leaving, Marian and Ursula embraced again, clasped hands, and made promises not to wait so long between visits. The abbess kissed Mary and Eleanor on their cheeks, said a blessing over them, and then they were back to the world of noise and chaos and sin.

Marian explained, as they walked on. “We were at court together when we were young. She’s the daughter of an earl and didn’t much care for the idea of being married off as a political maneuver. Since she had plenty of sisters, she went to the convent instead. It suits her. It may not seem like a large realm, but she has power over it. She’s doing good work here, and that was all she wanted, to be able to do some good in the world, and not be a pawn.” Did Marian sound wistful?

“Did you ever think of the convent?” Mary asked.

“I did, but only when it was an alternative to marrying someone loathsome. Then your father came along.” Her gaze held a merry glint.

One of their father’s men, who had been an outlaw with him years before, had been waiting outside and fell into step behind them. He had been watching them unobtrusively the whole errand, right up to the convent doors. Just in case.

“All is well, Dav?” Marian asked.

“It is, my lady. No trouble.”

“It’s when we don’t expect it that trouble comes along, hm?” she observed, and Dav merely smiled. “So today, at least, all is well.”

Eleanor clasped Mary’s arm, and Mary kissed her little sister’s head. All was well, at least for now.

* * *

The king called his barons and knights to swear fealty before the week was out. John half-expected his father to change his mind, to deal with the young king himself. But he didn’t, so he, Mary, and Eleanor arrived at the grand hall where Henry held court, dressed in their best and attempting to behave like they knew what they were doing. The place was crowded, thick with the smell of candles and sweat, and everyone looking over everyone else in a calculating way that made John’s spine twitch. Who was in favor, who wasn’t, and how the balance of power would shift in the years to come. How did one ever learn to read it all?

John was now very glad that their mother had been so insistent that they learn French. It was the only language anyone spoke here, except for the occasional Latin. He already felt at a disadvantage, not knowing anyone. But at least he understood what they were saying.

Mary was also studying the assemblage with a narrowed gaze and thoughtful frown.

“Are you still looking for William de Ros?” John asked.

She winced unhappily. “Is he here, do you think?”

“I don’t know why you bother when you don’t even know what he looks like.”

“His family arms are red with water bags on it. Maybe he’s wearing his arms.”