Epilogue

Spring 1198

The Forest

I T WAS A GOOD LIFE , the young lord Michael Damian Montjoy decided, in a very wise and thoughtful way. He had a beautiful home—in fact, he had two that he knew well, and his mother had told him that his father had more holdings, too, in other places. He wasn't quite sure why they needed so many homes, but the fact that they had them made his father a very great baron, and he knew that well.

He knew, too, in his very wise almost-five-year-old way, that it was far more than his homes that made him happy. The people in his homes made him the happiest. There was Ari, mysterious, funny, and there to teach him things like language and history and astrology and chemistry. There was Marie, always ready to cradle him if he fell, or slip him a piece of fresh-baked bread or honeyed cake when he was sad. There was Sir James, that valiant fellow, to teach him the rudiments of swordplay, and there was, now and then, his cousin Robin to teach him what he knew of archery. Robin had been pardoned by the King—the good King Richard who had come at last—but Robin still lived something of a secret existence, because the same good King who had returned had so quickly decided to go back to France, to wage more war against King Phillip. The King of England, it seemed, did not like the King of France very much. Nor did he seem to want to stay in England very long.

But such things really didn't bother Michael greatly. As he had thought to begin with, life was very good. Because along with all the other wonderful people in his life, he had his parents.

There was his father, the tallest, most magnificent knight ever. He sometimes served the King on his campaigns, but more frequently he kept guard in the north country, ever keeping a careful watch on the Prince, who wanted to be the King. Michael was always happy when his father was home. His mother was the most vivacious at those times; her eyes seemed to sparkle the most, her laughter to softly caress them all the most. And next to his father, Michael adored his mother more than anyone on earth. She smelled deliciously of roses all the time, and she had the most beautiful eyes, and she was never too busy for him. More than anything, he loved to come for a ride here with his mother and his father, on a day like today.

They would travel the deep forest trails, trails that few men knew. Trails where the sunlight would just barely filter through the canopy created by the branches and the leaves of the high oaks, birch trees, pines, and hemlocks that interlaced and interlocked high above their heads.

It was spring, a beautiful day. The air itself around them seemed to be soft, and the scent of it was fragrant. The earth beneath their horses' hooves as they rode was redolent and rich, and it seemed that everything was touched by the green, everything that they saw, everything that they touched, even everything that they breathed. Green darkness, green light. It was beautiful.

"This is where Robin Hood and the Silver Sword—and even you, Father!—gave the Prince his comeuppance!" he announced suddenly out loud.

His father, riding ahead, pulled back and glanced over his head, smiling to his mother. "And even me? So this is the place, eh? And where did you hear that?"

"Sir Godfrey said so, and Sir Godfrey knows! He says that he rode with you, Father. Didn't he?"

"Oh, aye, Sir Godfrey rode with me. Many times," Damian agreed.

"I would be wondrous proud to be a knight," Michael said. Then he grinned. "But then I would be even more wondrous proud to be a bandit!"

"A bandit! Hush, Michael, you mustn't say such things!" his mother remonstrated.

He turned in his saddle. "Oh, but Mother! It is true. Our cousin Robin is still somewhat a bandit, isn't he? Cousin Robin is the famous Robin Hood, right?"

She looked uncomfortably over his head in turn, seeking an answer from his father. Their eyes met with both amusement and tenderness, and he wondered then if life was so good because they loved each other so much, and that love just naturally spilled over him, and over his sister, little Elyse. Elyse was just three, and she wasn't riding her own horse. She was seated before his mother on his mother's mare. Elyse was watching him with big turquoise eyes, very much like his mother's.

"The King pardoned Robin," Michael's father told him. "But the King is seldom here, you see. So Robin prefers to live a very quiet life with Marian, and so keep his distance from the King's brother—"

"John," Michael said, wrinkling his nose.

"Who may very well be King John one day," his mother said softly, "and so we must take care with him."

"But you would never bow down to him, Father?" Michael asked.

"If John becomes the rightful King of England," Damian said somewhat bitterly, "aye, then I'll help to defend England for him. But bow down before him …" He paused for a moment, then shook his head. "Never!"

"I'm so glad!" Michael said, his silver-gray eyes sparkling like his father's. Then he said, lying just a little, "You are as wonderful as any of them, Father, I swear it! You're as wonderful as Robin Hood, as noble as the Silver Sword, as valiant!"

"Well, I thank you, young sir!" his father said. His father was gazing back at his mother once more, amusement making his eyes shine like silver.

Michael turned quickly to involve his mother in his compliment, "And you, my lady mother, are truly as brave and beautiful as the Lady Greensleeves ever might have been!"

She arched a delicate brow to him, hugged Elyse against her in the saddle, and laughed. "I thank you, too, young sir!"

They had come to the cottage in the woods. Unassisted, Michael leaped down from his pony. He had a wooden sword at his side—the only type he was allowed to carry at the moment when he wasn't in training. He pulled it from his small leather scabbard.

"I shall see that all is safe!" he told his parents.

"Aye, and thank you, sir!" Katherine told him.

She watched as Michael disappeared through the cottage door. "He's a quite remarkable child," Damian said.

She looked down, for Damian had dismounted from his horse and reached up now to take their sleepy daughter from her perch forward on the saddle.

Elyse perked up as Damian took her, pressing against his shoulders. "Elyse get down!" she commanded. "Please, Papa! I go with Michael."

He laughed and set her down. She grabbed his face before he could rise from her, and kissed him loudly on the cheek, then raced off to join her brother.

Damian, his eyes dancing, looked up to his wife. "Sad, isn't it, my love? But children will love their stories more than they might their sire or their mother!"

"Alas!" she agreed with a soft sigh, her aquamarine eyes alight. "'Tis a sorry thing, isn't it?"

He lifted his arms to her, and she slipped easily into his hold. He kissed her nose. Then he seemed to sober for a moment. "Richard said it again, before I left him last. He and Queen Berengaria have produced no children—"

"Has he even seen his Queen?" Kat asked.

Damian shook his head. "Not that I know of. It is said that Berengaria lies languishing, awaiting his call. And Richard does not summon her. Richard reiterates—after all that has happened!—that John must be his heir. So we must all be prepared. John will quite possibly be King one day, and the way that Richard wages war, it may come much sooner than we expect."

"And a way of life will be over," Katherine said softly.

"A time for legends once again," Damian murmured.

"Our children will grow to live in this time of legends," Katherine said. "Oh, Damian! I do worry so about the future!"

Damian shrugged. He worried about it enough himself.

He wondered why.

Like his son, he thought that life was good.

He was more in love with his wife than ever. He had one wonderful son, and a beautiful, stubborn little daughter. At three, she was already every bit as willful as Kat had ever been. And she had her mother's glorious and radiant coloring … aye, her mother's beauty. One day, she would take some poor lord upon a wearying ride, he thought.

Ah, but that was distant. For now …

For now, it was a time of peace. A precious, rare time. He looked down into his wife's beautiful eyes, and felt the silk of her hair tumble about his fingers.

He grinned suddenly, wickedly. He swept her up into his arms. "Jesu! I smell roses on the air!"

"Damian!" she cried in protest, laughing. "The children—"

"Look around, my love, 'tis nearly night. The little ones will sleep. You needn't worry about the future!"

"And why is that?" she queried boldly, her fingers falling lightly on his chest.

"Night is the time for legends, my love. For knights in shining armor, for damsels in distress. Let's have the night, for no matter what the future brings, we will survive. Didn't you know? Legends—"

She pressed a finger against his lips. "Legends last forever!" she whispered softly.

"Legends and love," he agreed, smiling as he gazed tenderly into the blue-green beauty of her eyes. "Legends—and love!—live forever."

She smiled in turn, echoing the promise. "Aye!" she vowed. "Legends and love! So here they began—and so here they shall live forever!"