Spunky Heroine

     As Struan benignly watched the fencing lesson that Larkin took each morning – today with Benedick as her opponent and Brother Wulf as referee -- his mother came up behind him, also studying the match before them.

     “Our Lark is fast and has an elegant finesse with her sword,” she remarked.

      “Aye,” Struan answered, “but she will never be big enough to wield a broadsword with the confidence that Ben or Klaus do.”  His mother made a small noise of contempt at him, and he added with a grin, “That is not to say she won’t try though.”

     “The Lord willing,” Minna said, “she won’t have to wield that great sword of her father’s except as a show of power…”  Struan had finally told his mother about finding the Sword of Evenlake, though the knight thought it best to keep the sword a secret from everyone else until Larkin was ready to move forward with their plans to regain Evenlake.

     They both gasped slightly as they watched Larkin lose her footing and slip.  Ever the gentleman, Benedick stopped to offer her a hand up, which she took, only to pull him down and pitch him over her head the next moment.  Wulf found it difficult to maintain order after that when a wrestling match ensued.

     “That reminds me of something I wished to discuss with you, Iain,” Minna sighed.  “I know she needs all this training in arms and combat, but I’m afraid Lark will be a sad tomboy if we don’t rein her in soon.”

     “Lark needs to be tough,” he answered, crossing his arms and continuing to study his protégé.  His mother did not refute the statement.  Still, he felt her misgivings and glanced back at her to ask, “Do you have something particular in mind?”

     “I do.”

     “And?”

     “Let’s just say that I believe Lark and Ben are coming to an age where it might be best if they didn’t spend quite so much time in each other’s company, especially wrestling on the ground.”

     Sharply, Struan asked, “Do you think those to are up to something?”

     “No,” she shrugged and added, “not yet.”

     “They’re only children…” he protested.

     “Barely,” his mother countered.  “Lark is going to be seventeen years old.  When I was her age I was married and with child.”

     Wistfully, he looked back to watch Larkin and Benedick, and he murmured, “So young?”

     “Aye,” she answered, wondering for not the first time over the past year, just how her youngest son felt about the woman-child Larkin.  “Iain, she needs female companionship.”

     “She has you and Serena… and Queen Margot…”

     “All women old enough to be her mother.  She needs someone with whom she can share confidences and laugh and…”

     “She does all of that with Ben or me or even Wulf…”

     “Iain, you’re not listening,” Minna chided him gently.  “Lark needs a girl friend.  I think it’s time we found her a lady-in-waiting.  She may need to know strategy and combat to rule, but she also needs to be a woman to be Queen.  Disposing of Stirling won’t be the end of it.  Lark will need to marry and have children to secure the succession.  She’s not you, Iain – nor Wulf.  She can’t be or live like a monk the rest of her life…”

     Sadly, he asked her, “Do you think I chose this lifestyle without any regrets, Mother?”

     She laid a hand on his arm and said, “I’m sorry, Iain – I don’t mean to hurt your feelings…”

     “I know,” he answered.  “I begin to see you point.  My life has been a lonely one.  I’ve often wished I could share it with someone, but I’ve never found a woman who would understand how complete my commitment is to Evenlake.”  He sighed, and it nearly broke Minna’s heart to see him so alone.  “I’ll start cutting back on her training and hand her back into your care to study the more womanly arts as well.  But I beg you, Mother, find her a maid who has some sense to her.  None of us will be able to bear a silly girl in our midst – least of all Lark.”

     As she approached on John’s arm, Marian took the opportunity to study the pair. King Henry seemed affable and was enjoying the match, reclining comfortably on the arm of the divan. No longer young, he was still handsome, his fair hair more silver than gold now. He clapped delightedly at an excellent shot and turned to his queen to gloat a bit and raise his wager.

     Queen Eleanor acknowledged her husband’s bet with a slight nod and then sat patiently while the targets were reset for the next round of shooting. While Henry was relaxed and garrulous, Eleanor sat up straight with a mild look of interest on her face. She came off as aloof, but Marian did notice a gleam in her steely eyes when her favorite landed an even better shot than the King’s man. Her triumphant smile was brief, and Marian could not help but grin at the Queen’s delight.

     For a moment the two women locked eyes. Marian felt herself fully appraised in an instant and quickly lowered her eyes and bowed her head. When she looked up a moment later, the Queen had already returned her attention to the archery match.

     When they reached the dais, John leaped lightly up to salute his parents. His father he greeted with a jaunty bow; to his mother he bowed more stiffly. “I have brought your new lady-in-waiting, Mother,” he announced. “Here is Marian Fitzwalter, Lady Huntingdon.”

     Henry was instantly interested and asked John, “So this is the little Welsh girl of whom you have been telling us, Son?” The King gave Marian a closer look and his expression seemed wistful for a moment. Of course, everyone knew of his long-dead but beloved mistress, Rosamund, who was Welsh, and the girl felt as if he was looking for a bit of the woman in her.

     The Queen perhaps guessed the same thing and interjected severely, “My Liege, I believe the girl’s mother only was Welsh. Her father is of good Norman stock, as is proper.”

     Under normal circumstances, Marian might feel insulted by the implication in the Queen’s description of her; yet, she felt a certain amount of sympathy for the woman. It must be hurtful not to be loved or respected as one ought by someone who had proclaimed complete devotion in the past.

     Marian also knew that Eleanor rebelled against the King with her sons and was kept prisoner for some time. She and Henry were reconciled at last, but her current liberty was always on shaky ground. The young Lady of Huntingdon did not understand all the politics involved, but she imagined that past hurts were just as responsible for the betrayals as power or ambition for her sons. She was afraid of her new mistress, but she hoped to learn to respect and care for Queen Eleanor nonetheless.

     “Well, my dear,” grinned Henry, “what do you have to say for yourself?”

     Panicked, Marian had no answer to such a question. All she could think to say is, “I think your archer is not accounting for the crosswind as he ought, Your Majesty.”

     For a moment there was awkward silence then Henry suddenly laughed and replied, “So you claim to know archery, my dear? Well, Her Majesty here is as fond of a skilled match as I, so it is no unusual thing for a woman to enjoy good sport. Have you been taught by one of your countrymen? I know from experience the Welsh are great archers.”

     Meekly, Marian answered, “They are so reported, Your Majesty, but my teacher was a good English boy of my acquaintance.”

     “Indeed,” he grinned broadly. “And was his tutelage thorough enough for you to beat my man in a contest?”

     Marian gulped anxiously, but before she could demur she heard a familiar giggle to her right. Lady Sybilla was whispering among a group of blonde, fair-skinned women just like herself –a veritable gaggle of Norman geese. Marian had put in her foot in it and there was no way out now but to face it head on and prove to that proud cow of a girl that she would not be ridiculed.

     Marian raised her chin proudly and said, “Your Majesty, I am no match for any of your great knights forsooth, but if someone would lend me a bow, I would endeavor to give your man a good contest.”

     “Now here is a girl with spirit, my dear,” the King spoke to Eleanor. “I think she will be an admirable addition to your household.”

     Suddenly, Marian was painfully aware that she had failed to do the one thing her father had asked her. Her impudence gave no thought to what her new mistress might consider a proper employment for a lady-in-waiting in her service. The expression on Queen Eleanor’s face was impassive, but the girl knew that that clever mind was working furiously behind her cool mask of aloofness. Yet, Marian had made the boast and to back down now would make her seem more foolish than she already felt. Her only recourse was to show the Court that Rob had taught her well.

     Eleanor merely said, “John, do give Lady Huntingdon a bow to use. I will wager my third best palfrey that she hits the center target at least once.”

     “I will take that bet, my dear, and answer with my new saddle to go on that horse if my man does not hit the center target all three times,” announced the King.

     “So witnessed,” John stated eagerly.

     Marian was handed a bow with a full quiver of arrows. Quickly she checked the equipment –the draw of the bow, the fletching of the arrows –and deemed it of good quality. Stepping up to the butts, the knight –Sir Reginald, by name –gave her a kind, if indulgent explanation of the rules: three arrows only. Marian only had to hit the center target once for the Queen to win her bet, but he had to hit it all three times for the King to win. It was a gallant handicap, but Marian knew she did not need it.

     Still, she gave him a gracious nod of her head and waited patiently for her turn. Reginald offered to let her shoot first, but she relinquished that right to Reginald. Marian wanted to see what she was up against before shooting.

     Reginald was a good shot, but as Marian noted before he did not always have the patience to wait for the right moment to let fly his arrow. The first two were well within the center target, but the third caught the slight breeze and went wide of the center mark. It still hit in the middle area, but only just barely. Marian had some room to best him.

     For to her, the contest was not about the wager between the King and Queen. Her reputation was at stake and she had no intention of losing now. She stepped into place and readied her bow. The draw was quite taut, more than she was used to, and it required a steady hand. Yet, she and Rob had spent all their time together out of doors, whiling away many hours practicing with their bows. Rob had the patience of Job when it came to archery and he taught Marian never to let fly until she was absolutely certain of her target.

     Marian took an extra moment to gauge the wind and then released her bowstring. The arrow sliced the air like a hot knife through butter and buried itself decisively in the center target area. An appreciative gasp was heard among the Court, though Marian doubted Sybilla’s was one of them.

     Her second arrow landed close to Reginald’s stray arrow on the edge of the center target, but her last arrow bettered both the knight’s center arrows. That match was declared a draw and all bets were nullified. Inwardly, Marian breathed a deep sigh of relief. She was grateful she did not have to start her employment with the Queen by losing her third best horse for her.

     That display of prowess definitively ended the party and Eleanor stood and addressed Henry, “My Liege, it has been an enjoyable afternoon, but I find I am tired. With your leave I would beg to retire to my apartments.”

     Formally, he replied, “I agree, my lady. It has been quite an entertaining afternoon. Do go rest and I will join you for dinner.”

     She gave him a slight curtsy, though bowed her head deeply. As she turned to leave, she addressed Marian, “Lady Huntingdon, I crave your company, if you please.”

     “Of course, Your Majesty,” Marian quickly fell in behind the Queen after giving King Henry a much deeper curtsy than Eleanor had. The young Lady Huntingdon wondered if her employment with Queen Eleanor was over before it had barely begun.