The following year found Marian as skittish as a colt. While the actual event was likely years away, the assurance of her future, as well as that of her father, extended family, the whole of her estates and her future children, would be locked as tightly as the gates on the pig pens. And that lock could close as soon as today.

It was not unusual for engagements to be announced at or soon after the maiden's feast. It was an event made to make it happen, whatever the reasons. Just last year, a girl barely older than Marian was engaged and wed within weeks of the festival. It was said that Father Mayson walked the grounds throughout the day and kept the event proper in the eyes of the church.

Marian supposed he found something that wasn't proper, and put it to rights. The girl didn't seem bothered, though there was talk amongst the men that it 'wasn't a hanging offense'. That night, Marian had to ask Bess what that meant and let out an annoyed huff at her answer.

"Oh, dear heart. Some men aren't made for it, no matter what they say. Others are, even if they deny it. Still others think they need to wait till the time's right, or when they can afford to." Bess had tugged Marian's hair into a braid for bed. "If we all waited for the right time to do something, there'd be no crops, no houses, and no babies. Sometimes you just have to do and let the world rearrange itself."

Under the bright sun, it was hard to imagine a better day or time for it. The fields were growing beautifully despite early season flooding that had cost Marian her strawberry beds. Knighton's tenants paid their rents and fees on time and with little complaint, and the market was filled with good things.

Many of which were here today. Along with the usual roasts, vegetables, and greens, there were leek tarts and pork pies, chunks of cheese, and figs nestled beside shining apples. From her window, the view was impressive even if it was missing bowls of her berries. To make up for it, platters of pear and apple tarts stood in their place, and hardly a visitor passed without pausing at the blushing fruits.

Bess arranged Marian's skirts and checked that her hair was secure. "Now, my lady. Are you well? Ready for today?"

She smoothed her hand over the embroidered silver flowers that circled her bodice. "Yes. Is it strange that I am happy? Some girls say they are afraid but I will marry my friend. How could I not be happy?"

With an indulgent smile, Bess smoothed down the last details. "And yet I met my husband three days before we wed, and I was as happy as I could be until he passed." She packed her combs and pins away and patted Marian's hand. "It's time, my lady."

Marian nodded, and headed downstairs.

The entire village and throngs of visitors erupted with applause at the announcement of Lady Marian of Knighton's engagement to Robin of Locksley, the Earl of Huntingdon. After the announcement, a red-faced, disheveled page ran forward bearing a basket lined with cheesecloth. Robin took it and held it out to Marian.

"Will you accept a gift, my lady?"

She took it and, at his urging, unfolded the cloth. A modest pile of bright red berries winked up at her from the basket and Marian laughed with delight.

"I did not think any survived the storms! Thank you!"

Around her, a troop of pages and other men of Locksley marched by, each carrying similar baskets, and stationed themselves in front of the young ladies. Cries of delight rose as they dove into the baskets.

It was quite a gesture, but Marian felt a bit… less. It wasn't kind, she knew, and she would never begrudge the other young women a sweet, but it wasn't the same. She smiled and waved at the other girls who cheered their thanks to Robin, who grinned and preened at their adoration.

Marian turned back with a smile. "Well, you seem to have wooed all the county, good sir."

"I only needed to woo you," he said with a wink. "The rest were an accident. Besides, if your strawberry beds failed, who else would I steal them from?" Like lightning, his hand snatched up a handful of her berries and he crammed three in his mouth at once, shiny juice slicking his lips. Then, at the urging and cheers from the crowd, he tugged her by the wrist and kissed her, sticky sweet and full of smiles.

Later, Marian found a juice stain on her cuff. It had darkened, and stubbornly refused to be washed out.

…

A pall hovered over the feast. There was less color and fewer decorations, and the offerings at the tables were less elaborate. A year of labor with fewer hands to get it done weighed muted the energy of the crowd.

The women and girls milled around, waiting for one of the precious suitors to bring them a meal. Marian had expected a muted festival but it was worse than she had expected. As dejected as she felt, she struggled to find a way to brighten the day, but it was not easy from her place by her father's side. Her days of playing at the feast were over.

Bess tucked loose strands of Marian's hair into coils and set them with nets fitting a woman who was almost a wife. "It seems the cheer sailed away along with the king, my lady." She paused to check fastenings and the drape of a belt. "It's a shame Master Robin chose to go, but he is a favorite of the king."

"King Richard will return next year," Marian said. She kept saying it every chance she got. "When he does, we will be married and unite the estates." Marian gave a cheerful smile. "I hope you've got a sturdy bag ready, for I expect Robin will want to marry as soon as the ship lands!"

Bess nodded. "I'm sure you're right, my lady."

There were far too many girls and the young men were run ragged by the time the music started. They soldiered on and though the day ended early, everyone had a full belly and a dance. The guards, the few that remained, had an easy time of it, for so few couples could be made that hardly any had to be shooed off.

…

Another year passed with little word from the holy land. Though anxious, Marian organized and arranged for the feast to be held as always. The young women, refusing to let the day be ruined, took ownership of the festival and celebrated themselves, despite their ragged and patched dresses. Hair was left in braids or even flowed free, and the youngest girls were allowed to join in the dancing early, refusing to depend on the lads for the chance. The girls went from table to table in groups, sometimes escorted by a lad, sometimes not. The rules shifted like Marian imagined the sands of the Holy Land did.

Father Mayson made a weak protest until he was presented with a plum tart. He meekly blessed the feast, gently reminding the girls that they were the Lord's own.

Bess chuckled. "The Lord hasn't seen a proper festival, I guess."

Marian tucked her hair back and sat near her father quietly "Oh, go and have some strawberries. The beds were generous this year."

…

Her father was nervous these days. His returns from council meetings at Nottingham, once a happy homecoming with a fresh meal and mead, were dark and brooding. Change, dangerous at the best of times, was altering the balance of the council members. With the king so long away, the instability led to infighting, and the factions that formed drew their authority from new places. More dangerous still, they offered positions based on loyalty to the faction, not learning or qualification.

Through all this, Marian struggled with her own discontent. After three years, she had trouble recalling the earl's face. A profile here or a wisp of sandy hair there set her heart pounding only to be disappointed a moment later. Fragments congealed in her mind and were swept away like morning fog burned away by the sun. Nothing but dreams.

Marian shook herself. "Bess, did the folk of Clun and Nettlestone arrive?"

"Yes, my lady. As well as Merton and Gisborne." Bess shooed others about as Marian checked the kitchen's reports.

Marian paused. "Gisborne?"

"Sorry, Miss. I meant the estate that once was the Locksley and Nottinghamshire manor grounds."

Marian hummed absently. She had no great interest in the swapped entails of the countryside when the feast tables were out.

She went to the door and looked out at the festival field. "Surely not. It's so quiet." The festival field was bland and washed out- homespun fabrics had gone without dye for so long the color was all but gone. Dresses lacked trim but the ladies had grown creative- greenery was woven into sashes or crowns, and braids were tied up with flowers and what little ribbon remained.

There were scores of girls by the trees and a fair number of young men watching as the tables were finished. The pits had been dug up and the roasts were ready to be laid out and carved. Earthenware basins of roasted apples, baskets of strawberries, and plates of figs and plums winked in the light. Everything was prepared; what was missing was the enthusiasm.

"My lady, you'll have to goad them into action at this rate."

With a sigh, Marian set her small veil into place and let Bess set it. "I don't know if I can. I'm in no mood for a lecture from Father Mayson about the duties of married women and setting examples."

"You're not married, my lady."

"I'm as good as. What would it look like if I acted like a fresh maid?"

Bess huffed. "You are a fresh maid, my lady. Last I checked, your young man is two years overdue. Good wine takes time but it sours before long."

Marian turned sharply. "I'll thank you to watch your tone."

"Someone's got to point it out. Your father is too distracted and you'll work yourself gray tending lands you won't inherit when he's gone." Bess softened with a small sigh and patted Marian's dropped shoulders. "You've got time, and you should make use of it. Over the coming year, you can slowly come back out. By the next festival, no one will bat an eye that you're taking a plate along with the others again, and by then you'll be a proper age."

Marian leaned away, indignant. "I was the proper age when I got betrothed!"

With a chuckle, Bess picked up the tray of porridge and dates Marian had nibbled as she worked. "You were old enough to get betrothed, but not to marry. But you're older now," Bess paused at the door. "The right kind of men have a hard time walking away from a woman like you."

Bess left, barking orders at the staff as she crossed the house. Maybe that was the crux of it all. The right kind of men. Robin was a good man, a loyal man. A man the king trusted and relied on- so much he took him on a holy mission. But was that the same as right?

The sun was high overhead and the feast was ready, so Marian hurried off to begin the festival on her father's behalf. It was a good festival, with much dancing and eating and carrying on and, despite the dampened exuberance, Marian felt the first twinge of jealousy at the attention and coddling the ladies enjoyed.

Maybe Bess was right. Maybe the wine was ready.