Author's Notes

Remember when I used to post with some small degree of frequency? Neither do I.

Adventures in Sherwood Forest

"Show yourself, rapscallion!"

Darcy turned to his wife. "Rapscallion?" he mouthed soundlessly.

If he expected a reply, he was to be disappointed. Elizabeth was far too intent on smothering the bout of laughter that his bewildered expression had provoked in her to offer one.

She had hardly contained herself when Elena came stumbling upon their hiding place tucked behind the low garden wall.

"Aha!" she cried, excitement making her eyes every bit as bright as his wife's.

In moments like this, Darcy found the likeness between them staggering.

Elena had taken after her mama in more than looks. She too dearly loved to laugh, and almost as soon as she could take three steps together, there was a stubbornness about her—independence, Elizabeth liked to call it—when she put her mind to something. Though he supposed in that, he had to bear some responsibility. For all that she resembled Elizabeth, a streak of himself was there to gleam through.

"Little John, Merry Men," Elena called, "come quick, I've found them!"

An answering shout reached them just before her brothers did.

At six, Christopher was entirely his father's son in appearance, from his piercing gray eyes to his mannerisms, but he had his mother's open disposition. Even now, he was struggling to keep the wide grin which kept displacing his deliberately fixed scowl in check.

Then there was Benjamin. While his brother's and sister's hair would lay in some semblance of order, Elizabeth ruefully claimed his own ungodly mess of curls as her own doing. Of their children, he alone had inherited the Prussian-blue eyes of the Fitzwilliam line. They were Georgiana's eyes, Darcy's mother's eyes, and they were often seen peeking out shyly from behind his mother's skirts while he sucked his thumb for comfort with all the abandon a four-year-old could afford. Like his father, he was not easy in the company of strangers. At the moment, however, he was beaming, looking merry enough himself to more than compensate that he was all the band of Merry Men that Robin Hood and Little John had to their names at present.

"Prince John," said Elena, her fingers bunched and aloft as if she were wielding a bow and arrow, "we will fight you unless you unhand Maid Marian and…" Her face scrunched up in momentary confusion, but it smoothed out again swiftly as she decided, "…and her sister!"

Darcy hastily turned the beginnings of his laugh into a growling sort of sneer so as not to spoil the game. His eyes flickered to the baby cradled in Elizabeth's arms.

Not quite a year old, Adrianna had come last of all and inexplicably red-haired. Between him and Elizabeth, one or the other of them must have had Irish blood coursing through their veins from a branch of ancestry long forgotten or covered up. With the exception of her eyes, which were Elizabeth's in shape and color, Darcy swore Adrianna looked exactly as Georgiana had at that age.

The smile tugging at his lips was not to be repressed. Some days, he could not help but marvel at the strange, wonderful blend that made up their children.

Lost to tender thoughts as he was, he suddenly recollected that he had a part to play. He hardened his countenance and spat, "Traitors, all of you! I am king!" For good measure, he grabbed hold of Elizabeth's arm and pretended to draw his invisible sword from a sheath at his hip. "Kings do not fight with commoners and outlaws, and you will pay for your insolence. Off with their heads!"

It all would have been much more convincing had Adrianna not chosen that moment to gurgle and shriek at her papa's silliness.

Yet Elena was not to be distracted from her duties as Robin Hood under any circumstances, and with her holler of have at thee, she and the boys dashed forward. Grossly unbalanced as it was, the skirmish ended in short order.

Darcy fell to the ground in defeat, sending dandelion fluff scattering to the wind. He clutched at his chest and groaned his agonies before going still. After a minute of silence, he cracked open his eyes to find three little faces peering over him uncertainly.

Wide-eyed, Benjamin asked, "Papa is hurt?"

"No," Darcy whispered back conspiratorially, immediately letting his eyes fall shut again.

"We beat bad Prince John!" cheered Christopher, sending himself, his brother, and his sister into a victorious frenzy of dancing and giggling and singing.

Elizabeth knelt and leaned down over her husband then, the sun at her back making her appear dark to his eyes. "Poor Prince John," she murmured, a smirk on her lips. "Will you recover?"

Darcy heaved a sigh. "I hardly know. How does one recover from losing the crown of England and being soundly beaten by their children in the course of a single day?"

The mischievous twinkle that shone in her eyes was his only warning.

It was Adrianna's string of babbling that caught Christopher's attention mid-celebration. He looked around, only for his features to rearrange themselves into a perfectly scandalized expression.

"Maid Marian never kissed Prince John!"

End Author's Notes

Oh look, I actually managed to put some dialogue in this one.