eyes flew up to meet Mother’s bland gaze. “You think someone could come in while I was sleeping?”
Mother’s gaze flicked to the dogwood branch she still held. “The possibility always exists, though the probability is low.” She handed the branch to Marian. “I shall see you in the morning. Tomorrow night we shall enjoy supper with Prince John, and I expect all of us to look our best.”
“Supper at the castle!” Anna barely waited until the door shut behind Mother before she started chattering. “Imagine! Takin’ a meal with the prince!”
“I am very tired, Anna.” Marian cut her off. “Could you please help me into my night dress?”
“Oh. Of course, ma’am.” Subdued, Anna helped Marian out of the lime green gown and into a long cotton shift.
“Good night.” Marian crawled into bed, not waiting for Anna to blow out the two flickering candles on the end table. The double bed creaked slightly when the other girl slid under the coverlet, but Marian was already sliding into sleep.
Breakfast was an array of what Mother referred to as ‘peasant fare’, but Marian loved it. A thick, vegetable soup served with a slab of crusty bread and a large mug of still warm milk was placed in front of her as soon as she sat down.
The sheriff, seated across from Marian, grimaced. “I cannot wait,” he said, “for supper tonight. Lady Marian, have you ever eaten larks tongues soaked in honey mead?”
Marian shook her head, grateful for the swallow of soup she had just taken, which prevented her from having to answer the question.
“I never cared for that dish,” Mother dipped her bread into her soup. “It always reminded me of maggots swimming in sauce.”
Laughter bubbled up in Marian’s throat at Mother’s description. Before it could escape her lips, she forced it back and began coughing.
“Mari, are you all right?” Father patted her on the back.
“I—yes.” Marian coughed again.
The sheriff pushed his chair back from the table. “Larks tongues are a rare delicacy,” he said. “I am sorry, Lady Beatrix, that your palate is no longer refined enough to enjoy them.” He bowed abruptly. “Enjoy the rest of the meal. I shall leave six men here to escort you the rest of the way to Nottingham.” Before anyone could respond, he stalked out the inn door, slamming it shut behind him.
“That was interesting,” Mother said, dipping her bread into her soup again.
“Yes, it was,” Father retorted.
Mother pushed her soup bowl away. “Are you quite ready, Mari?”
Marian pushed her own bowl away as well, having just finished her own soup. “Yes, Mother.”
“Anna has already taken care of your sundries,” Mother continued. She turned to Father. “What about the chest?”
Father nodded. “The chest is under our seat.”
The wave of relief crossing Mother’s face did not escape Marian’s notice.
“What is so important about that chest?” She asked.
“Never mind,” Mother said. “It is nothing for you to concern yourself with.”
“You keep telling me that,” Marian complained. She scooted her chair backwards and rose.
“Because it is the truth,” Mother snapped. “Leave it alone, Marian.”
Father held up one hand. “Beatrix, Marian, we are all under a tremendous amount of pressure. Let us just get to Nottingham, do what the prince wishes of us, then we can return home and sort everything else out.”
Marian clenched her jaw, and then forced herself to relax it. Father was right. Nothing would be gained by pushing Mother for answers she was not willing to give. She placidly followed Mother and Father out to the waiting carriage, stepped inside and seated herself next to Anna.
“Just think!” Anna squealed in delight when the carriage lurched forward, “by tonight you will be supping with Prince John!”
Marian could hardly think of something less exciting, unless it was being seated next to the sheriff for said meal.
Mother glowered at the small maid. “I
Mother’s gaze flicked to the dogwood branch she still held. “The possibility always exists, though the probability is low.” She handed the branch to Marian. “I shall see you in the morning. Tomorrow night we shall enjoy supper with Prince John, and I expect all of us to look our best.”
“Supper at the castle!” Anna barely waited until the door shut behind Mother before she started chattering. “Imagine! Takin’ a meal with the prince!”
“I am very tired, Anna.” Marian cut her off. “Could you please help me into my night dress?”
“Oh. Of course, ma’am.” Subdued, Anna helped Marian out of the lime green gown and into a long cotton shift.
“Good night.” Marian crawled into bed, not waiting for Anna to blow out the two flickering candles on the end table. The double bed creaked slightly when the other girl slid under the coverlet, but Marian was already sliding into sleep.
Breakfast was an array of what Mother referred to as ‘peasant fare’, but Marian loved it. A thick, vegetable soup served with a slab of crusty bread and a large mug of still warm milk was placed in front of her as soon as she sat down.
The sheriff, seated across from Marian, grimaced. “I cannot wait,” he said, “for supper tonight. Lady Marian, have you ever eaten larks tongues soaked in honey mead?”
Marian shook her head, grateful for the swallow of soup she had just taken, which prevented her from having to answer the question.
“I never cared for that dish,” Mother dipped her bread into her soup. “It always reminded me of maggots swimming in sauce.”
Laughter bubbled up in Marian’s throat at Mother’s description. Before it could escape her lips, she forced it back and began coughing.
“Mari, are you all right?” Father patted her on the back.
“I—yes.” Marian coughed again.
The sheriff pushed his chair back from the table. “Larks tongues are a rare delicacy,” he said. “I am sorry, Lady Beatrix, that your palate is no longer refined enough to enjoy them.” He bowed abruptly. “Enjoy the rest of the meal. I shall leave six men here to escort you the rest of the way to Nottingham.” Before anyone could respond, he stalked out the inn door, slamming it shut behind him.
“That was interesting,” Mother said, dipping her bread into her soup again.
“Yes, it was,” Father retorted.
Mother pushed her soup bowl away. “Are you quite ready, Mari?”
Marian pushed her own bowl away as well, having just finished her own soup. “Yes, Mother.”
“Anna has already taken care of your sundries,” Mother continued. She turned to Father. “What about the chest?”
Father nodded. “The chest is under our seat.”
The wave of relief crossing Mother’s face did not escape Marian’s notice.
“What is so important about that chest?” She asked.
“Never mind,” Mother said. “It is nothing for you to concern yourself with.”
“You keep telling me that,” Marian complained. She scooted her chair backwards and rose.
“Because it is the truth,” Mother snapped. “Leave it alone, Marian.”
Father held up one hand. “Beatrix, Marian, we are all under a tremendous amount of pressure. Let us just get to Nottingham, do what the prince wishes of us, then we can return home and sort everything else out.”
Marian clenched her jaw, and then forced herself to relax it. Father was right. Nothing would be gained by pushing Mother for answers she was not willing to give. She placidly followed Mother and Father out to the waiting carriage, stepped inside and seated herself next to Anna.
“Just think!” Anna squealed in delight when the carriage lurched forward, “by tonight you will be supping with Prince John!”
Marian could hardly think of something less exciting, unless it was being seated next to the sheriff for said meal.
Mother glowered at the small maid. “I
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