Hi! So you know, I'm ignoring the worst of both Guy (infanticide) and Marian (impulsive liar) because I can. There is also no Nightwatchman arc. Enjoy chapter 3!

Services

Sir Edward nodded to the priest and patted the familiar stones of the chapel at Knighton. He tucked his fingertips into the pitted groove he'd discovered in a pillar at the age of nine and had not passed it without doing so since.

Even the day he buried his wife, he'd done it. Unthinking, his hand had sought the ritual comfort of that ridge.

Marian's bowed, veiled head by his side was a comfort in these dark times. He'd long known she would not marry here as he had, but at Locksley.

Despite all, she would still.

Sir Edward led Marian to kneel, watching her silent prayers. They would need them all.

The priest had become a dear old friend through the years. A man who oversees so many joys and sorrows in a flock must, in time, become one of them. Father Mayson ministered to those in need while maintaining his careful allegiances. The sick and injured were always comforted, and circumstances were never asked.

A quick glance over his shoulder. Black leather.

Sir Edward bowed his head and prayed for a swift mass.

…

Marian adjusted her veil and took Sir Edward's arm once they left the church. They were not ten paces from the door when the waiting rider dropped from his horse.

"My lord, a message."

Edward took the scrap and read. Marian waited expectantly.

"We will have a guest later. Sir Guy will stop on his way to Locksley."

She unpinned the veil, her face as unreadable as when it was covered. "I'll speak with the cook. He'll expect hospitality." She glanced towards the trees.

Edward nodded, but held Marian's shoulder. "Do not risk it. I will warn him."

She nodded. "Please." Marian gave a shaky smile and kissed his cheek before setting off on the path back to the manor house.

Edward bowed his head and turned back to the church.

A soft step fell in at his side. "Sir Edward, is anything amiss?"

"No, Father. I feel the need for prayer, and the stones comfort me."

Father Mayson nodded carefully. "Of course. I will keep the candles lit."

As Sir Edward crossed the threshold once more, he rolled the scrap into a thin tube. When he passed the column, he slid his hand along the ancient groove. When he knelt, his hands were empty.

…

Marian's cheeks glowed pink in the firelight and those sparkling eyes, just like her mother's, danced when she smiled. Sir Edward knew her conflict- torn by loyalties, her upbringing, her sense of righteous anger, and divided by her emerging understanding of the larger game around her. It was not so black and white a conflict as some would have her believe.

She wanted to work from the inside. There was no further inside the circle than this.

Sir Edward sighed. Marian did so much good as she was, but she could do more. Worse matches had been made, though he was hard pressed to think of them.

She still dreamed of the life she was supposed to have. Sir Edward envied her that. So many of his own dreams had died years ago. Died and buried in the grounds outside the chapel.

Sir Guy looked at Marian the way he imaged he once looked at his own wife. The King himself could have passed by and not received half so much notice as Guy paid Marian.

"Sir Guy?" Sir Edward held out the flagon. Guy took it and ignored his own cup.

"Marian, may I?"

She allowed him to fill her cup with watered wine. Not too watered, Sir Edward had ensured.

Marian wanted adventure, but starving in the woods or narrow escapes from the noose was not what he wished for his daughter. He did not particularly wish this either, but Sir Edward could no more recall the King to his throne than turn back time.

Edward excused himself, pleading his age with a delicate nod towards the flagon. Guy would waste no time moving closer to Marian, perhaps even testing his unpolished charm in low whispers by her ear.

After relieving himself (he was getting on in years after all), Sir Edward tarried, peering out the windows and checking in with the men performing their duties. One man milled about, always nearby but just in the shadows.

Sir Edward paused and waved, then walked back inside. He closed the door and, from a small glass, watched the man linger for a moment longer before he melted into the darkness.

When he returned to the hall, Sir Guy was not looming over his daughter as Edward worried he might, but was seated on a footstool by Marian, quietly engrossed as she spoke. Sir Edward bit back his greeting and withdrew quietly, intent on waiting another few minutes.

Neither of these men was what he wished for his daughter, not anymore. The times had changed them all. The best a father could give his daughter was security—food, shelter, and safety. She'd have to be smart to be content, but Edward could rest knowing she would be provided for.

Edward chanced another glance into the hall. Guy slipped a delicate bracelet on Marian's wrist and kissed her hand. The man may be a brute, but a brute who worshipped his daughter. A father could wish for far worse things.