Princess Johanna, or "Joan" to her intimates and family, carefully studied the boy who rode alongside her, as they made their way toward Nottingham, to speak with the Queen.

He certainly sat a horse well, Joan evaluated approvingly. In fact, he looked older astride a horse, just as he'd seemed to gain stature and maturity when he'd fired his bow. And he was a charming conversationalist, courteously brushing his own troubles aside to graciously amuse her with stories about the shire, as well as being a good listener.

And those eyes of his! Expressive, and blue as the sky over Aquitaine! Not to mention his straight, proud nose, nor the dimple in his chin! And his smile! If only he were a few years older!

At thirteen, Joan felt she'd already left childhood behind, and Robin of Locksley was still just a boy! Well, she wouldn't waste her time disrupting her pleasant pursuits to worry about her parents' feuds over whom she should marry! When she returned to Oxford, she'd resume her flirtation with the seventeen-year-old Earl of Leicester, and watch how lovely little Robin would grow, each time his lord father brought him to Court. Still, she felt this visit to Nottingham had somehow dampened Leicester's charms, though she couldn't explain why.

As for Robin, he wasn't so concerned for his potential troubles for having squeezed Prince John's wrist as he was about Marian's tears. Once he'd faced the queen, and his father, he was determined to hurry to Knighton, to see how Marian was feeling.

"You ride well," Princess Joan complimented him. "We left John far behind."

"Good. That should give me a chance to present my side of the story to Her Majesty, before the Prince complains of what I did to him."

"I'm sure Mother will be lenient, even though we Plantagenets are fiercely loyal to each other."

"Are you?" Robin wondered aloud, wondering how she could claim that, when the "Devil's Brood" were known to fight amongst themselves.

"It's true," she attested. "And John's the baby, understand, so he gets away with murder. But you're nearly one of the family, we like you so well, so I expect Mother will simply scold you fondly and let it go."

"I hope so," Robin said, dismounting with such grace Joan couldn't help but notice.

"Is there anything you can't do well?" she asked him, sliding down from her own horse.

Robin stiffled a groan. "Mathematics," he grimly admitted, wondering why every other subject came easy to him, but he couldn't stop the numbers from flip flopping in his head.

...

As the princess had predicted, Queen Eleanor was forgiving, letting Robin off with no more than a scolding. Robin only hoped his father would prove so lenient today, for having forgotten his math lesson.

Will Stutley, Master Bowman of Locksley, was the first to spy young Master Robin when he returned home.

Will was an old man, in Robin's eyes, just passing fifty, but he was known to be the finest archer in the shire, and Robin looked up to him for it. The gruff older servant of his father's was as fond of Robin as any of the people of Locksley, and privately considered it his special pride to have taught the lad to shoot. And only recently, the boy had surpassed his own skill with a bow, though it would never do for Will to admit it.

There were only two people with no rank in all of England who considered it their right to upbraid young Master Robin, though they did it from affection. One was the midwife Matilda, who had birthed him. The other was Will Stutely.

"You're in trouble now, and no mistake," he told the boy, sitting on a bench outside Locksley Manor. "Did you not know that fancy tutor of yours was coming today?"

"I knew it," Robin admitted. "I just forgot."

Will stood and cuffed him on the head. "Better not let me catch you forgettin' one of my lessons!"

Robin's face registered surprise. "Stute! I never would! I swear it!"

Will sank back down onto the bench and stretched out his long, bandy legs. "No, you wouldn't! But you missed the thing you most need help on, which is worse. You insulted Master Fancy Pants, and disgraced His Lordship! I hope your father takes a strap to you."

"My father's never struck me," Robin said proudly.

"Maybe he should! Aw, go along with you! And wash your face first. You look a disgrace! What did you spread on your cheeks, anyway? The entire riverbottom?"

"It's a beard," Robin explained.

Will hooted. "Wash it off before I mistake you for a ferret, and shoot an arrow through you! Then, get inside and face His Lordship! He's in his study, waiting for you."

Robin cringed, then squared his shoulders and hurried to the well, to wash his face before venturing inside to face his father.