“I suppose it depends on what you’d call excitement,” William said, glancing at his father, shrugging as if he was afraid of giving the wrong answer. “Nothing like all the things you’ve done. I helped fortify the manor and held it for him while he went off to the war. Not so exciting, really. But it could have been.”
“I’m very glad it wasn’t. Good man.”
The young man grinned happily at the praise and gave another quick bow.
Sir Robert turned calculating. “He is a good man. I think it would be a good match for both our families.”
Marian froze, William blushed red. Robin had been making deals, it seemed.
Robin said, “We’d like to keep Mary with us for another year or so. But yes, I’m sure we can come to an arrangement.”
“Oh, of course, plenty of time to decide such things. But those of us in the north, we need to stick together, don’t we?”
Would this be a political alliance, or was he looking for money? Or simply the name, to be able to claim family ties to Locksley? Who could say; William de Ros seemed pleasant enough. Marian liked that his manner was earnest and not arrogant. She reassured herself that no one would dare treat Mary poorly, for risk of angering her famous father.
“We will speak of this further in good time,” Robin said.
“Indeed, indeed.”
“Locksley!” another lord called out. “Will you shoot something for us? Show us what you can do!” The man was clearly in his cups, laughing too loudly, too tauntingly.
Robin stiffened before turning to smile at the man. The sly smile. “I beg your pardon, sir, but I don’t seem to have a bow with me. This being a peaceful gathering.”
“Use mine!” Helmsley’s camp had all sorts of weapons, including bows. The drunk lord stumbled to grab one from a rack.
“God save us from idiots,” Robin muttered. “Alas, friend. I must decline. Doesn’t seem quite the time or place for it.”
Helmsley tried to make an end of it, stepping between them. “Now, there’s plenty of food and drink for all. Let us raise a toast to the peace, shall we?”
But the taunting lord would not quit. “Perhaps you’re not as great an archer as they say you are.”
Twenty years earlier, Robin would have taken up the bow and shot the man’s cap off. Marian felt him tense beside her. Gathering up his civility like scattered coins. For a moment, she had no idea what he was going to do.
He laughed and offered a mocking bow. “Perhaps not. You should ask the bards who sing about me, hm?” He turned to Helmsley and William. “Safe journey home, my friends. We’ll speak again soon.”
They bowed in turn and watched Robin and Marian go, walking back to their camp. Marian’s thoughts had scattered utterly. Robin clung to her hand, his touch full of nerves and anger and more.
“Robin . . .” she started. She had a hundred things to say to him.
“What did you think of William de Ros? He seems a nice lad,” he said, as if speaking of the weather.
“When were you going to tell me that you have arranged our eldest daughter’s marriage?”
“Right now.” He smiled, but it didn’t win her over. “It is a good match. She’ll be taken care of. Her children will have land and title. They get the association of our name. I like the boy’s look.”
“Will she like him?”
He hesitated, which he hardly ever did. “I think so. Marian, she’ll have to fly the nest sometime—”
“I would rather she do it in her own time, in her own way. Like we did.”
“You want some nice brave lad to come along and worship at her feet and win her love?”
She knew what a rare and precious thing she and Robin had won for themselves. Looking around, she saw no other husband and wife walking arm in arm, still gazing adoringly at each other after twenty years. One generally did not see husbands and wives together at all. That was only one of the reasons people stared after Robin and Marian. How uncomfortable it was, to have songs and stories told about their love. How lucky they were, to fall in love before they married, rather than hoping to fall in love after.
“And why not?” she said stubbornly.
“I’m trying to do what is best for her. She knows her duty—”
“What a thing to say! What if I had known my duty all those years ago?”
“Marian—”
“Little John was right; you’ve very nearly turned into what you once fought against so fiercely.” She let go of his arm and marched off before she said something even worse.
“My lady—”
“When we return home, you will tell her about this yourself.”
He winced. “I had hoped you would—”
“No.”
“Don’t you think it’s really best for a mother—”
“No!” She put more distance between them, and he followed sullenly.
Time, Mary needed more time . . . no, in just two years, she’d be the age Marian was when she met Robin and he upended her world. Maybe a quiet arranged marriage would be better . . .
They and their retinue camped like they were under siege. Apart from everyone else, a defensible space of meadow between them and the next cluster of tents, men on guard. She had felt like they were being watched from the moment they arrived; she constantly looked over her shoulder.
Worst part of it was, she often found they were being watched. And not even by the king’s men. Everyone was watching Robin, to see what he would do. It wore her out, that she must act like nothing was wrong in the middle of it all.
Will greeted her almost as soon as she came in view. He was a tall man, solid, with well-worn hands and crow’s-feet from so much watching and worrying. “Where’s Robin?” He looked over her shoulder for her absent companion.
“We’re arguing,” Marian said darkly.
“Oh. Well. We have a visitor.”
Enough, when would this all be enough, when could they go home . . . Robin came up beside them.
“What is it?” Looking around, he marked every person within his view. His left fist squeezed, holding a bow that wasn’t there.
“Visitor,” their old friend said, stepping aside to show where he had seated the man by their fire.
“Oh, dear,” Robin said, looking on the Earl of Pembroke, Sir William Marshal.
The most famous knight in England, and perhaps in all of Europe, was an old man now but as impressive as ever. His thick white hair was tamed under a cap, his tabard was pristine, and his hand rested on his sword as easily as a songbird came to rest on a branch. He stood, and he was so very tall and broad. Age had not bent him a bit. Marian glanced at Robin, wondering what he would do.
“My lord,” Robin said, bowing his head. Marian had only ever seen him show this kind of deference to King Richard.
“My lord,” Marshal replied, and offered his hand. They shook. “Well met.”
“How may I serve you?” Robin seemed a bit stunned, as if he had missed the last stair.
Marshal’s smile turned wry. “I only wish to give you my goodwill, sir. And to say I hope that this marks an end to all your talk and trouble.”
“Ah. Yes. Just so. I hope so too. That will be up to our lord and king, won’t it?”