Chapter Six

“Daughter, we need to speak together.”

Anwyn turned her head as her father entered the chamber. A patient man, as she well knew, and often far more generous with her than she deserved, he now wore a serious expression, and his words were weighted.

She sighed. A mere four days had they been in Nottingham. During that time he had ridden out every day, with or without Lord Simon, becoming acquainted with his new duties and the country all round. And Anwyn had been left to her own devices—a dangerous proposition.

Now, as evening came on, he had returned from his day out, with the mud of Sherwood on his boots and his bow on his shoulder. He looked weary and troubled, and her heart smote her that she should be the cause, for that much she knew.

“Father,” she said. “How went your day?”

“Well enough, though there is work here for a thousand foresters and I have been given but eight. ’Tis not that which troubles me now. What should reach my ears upon my return this evening but tales of you?” He added deliberately, “Yet again.”

Anwyn’s breath caught in her throat and formed a lump of pain. She did not want to vex her father, nor to hurt him—God knew he had been hurt enough by her mother’s death.

He set aside his bow and quiver and came to the hearth where Anwyn sat. For a long moment he stood studying her, and she braced herself for what must come—an onslaught of disapproval and, worse, disappointment.

As he sat down at her side she could not keep from asking, “What have you heard? Who has been speaking out of turn?”

He did not answer but instead said, “You promised you would not do this, Anwyn. You vowed we would make a new beginning here at Nottingham.”

Her shame on his behalf made her defensive. “What have I done? What, that is so terrible?”

“Four days we have been here,” he said heavily, “and already they speak of you, the folk of the castle. The Wild Lass—that is what they call you. You lied to me, Anwyn.”

The accusation struck deep, but she managed to raise her eyes to his, which were full of sorrow.

Before he could continue, she lifted her hands and spoke, still defensively. “You cannot expect me to stay trapped here like an animal. I will go mad.”

“You could not give me four days? We are barely settled in; there is much to occupy you.”

“What? What is to occupy me? Folding away our clothing? Arranging the trinkets we brought from Shrewsbury? Nesting? I am, Father, not meant for nesting.”

“Quite plainly, and yet, Daughter, you will need to learn. Care you nothing for your reputation, or mine?”

Anwyn shook her head.

Her father’s expression hardened, yet his voice remained gentle as he said, “Then I must care enough for both of us. I love you, Daughter. You are all that is left to me of your dear mother.”

Anwyn felt her heart break. Tears filled the back of her throat. “I know.”

“But I cannot have you behaving with such abandon, running about unescorted and with your hair loose, stealing from the market stalls—oh, aye, you were seen. Speaking to strange men in a provocative manner. Are we truly to have all that ugliness again?”

Anwyn met his gaze with a combination of shame and defiance. “I have done naught I should not.”

“By the grace of God! Do you not know what would have happened at the hands of that soldier back on the borders, and likely all his companions, had you not been discovered? You promised me, Anwyn, it would not happen again.”

“It has not.”

“It begins! You play a dangerous game, as I have told you. Not every man will allow himself to be put off at your whim.”

“I know that.” Anwyn got to her feet, no longer able to sit still. “How can you expect me to remain here endlessly? Let me ride out into the forest with you, Da, as we used to do. Let me be of some service.”

“I cannot.”

She ignored him and hurried on, “You know you have taught me to shoot almost as well as you do, and I have a good eye.”

“Nay, Daughter—it would merely cause more scandal. What served on the uncivilized Welsh borders will not do here.”

“Is Sherwood not uncivilized?”

He raked her with a troubled look. “You are a child no longer, but a woman full grown. That is what makes your disobedience all the more dangerous. It is time you made your mind up to live the life available to you.”

“And what is that?”

“Marriage.” He raised a hand. “Now, Daughter, before you fly at me, only listen. There is a man among my foresters—”

“The one we met in Sherwood?” Fierce hope rose in Anwyn’s heart. Was it possible he might be part of her father’s company after all?

“Nay.” Her father’s eyes took on a rueful look. “That blackguard must rather have been one of the very miscreants we are set to hunt down—he lied to me also, it seems. There is none such among my band. But there is a man who has impressed me right well.”

Anwyn began to tremble. “In four short days?”

“Aye, indeed, for he is foremost among my men, one Roderick Havers, by name, a widower with two children half grown. I believe he would suit very well.”

Anwyn stared in horror and repeated, “Two children?”

“A son of about ten years and a daughter eight.”

“I can scarcely imagine anything that would suit me less.”

“Yet he needs someone to take them in hand and thus may be willing to overlook your...past transgressions. Anwyn, lass, you have left me little choice. I need to be able to devote myself to my work here. And you have said yourself you need an occupation.”

“Not two no doubt troublesome waifs.”

“You think too often of yourself, Daughter, your wants and needs.” His mouth tightened. “Since your mother’s death I have indulged you too much. But it ends now.”

Anwyn stared at him, mutinous.

“I want you to meet Roderick tomorrow evening. I have invited him and his children, so you will prepare a meal here in our quarters and you will make yourself pleasant and accommodating. Do you understand?”

“Father.” Anwyn laid her hand on his arm. “This is misguided. It will never suit.”

“You do not know that until you meet him. He is strong and steady—”

“Hard, you mean.”

“It becomes apparent you need someone far more firm than I. In the days to come, Anwyn, I will be much away from Nottingham. We begin a campaign to reclaim Sherwood and search out every man thieving the King’s deer. I cannot be worrying about what you will do in my absence.”

“You would rather fob me off onto a stranger?”

“Have you left me any choice?”

“There is always a choice,” Anwyn answered defiantly, though she knew choices were few enough for women. Contracted, traded, even sold—it was a miracle she had remained unwed so long, and she acknowledged her father had indulged her much. Now it seemed she might have pushed him too far.

“Only meet the man,” her father urged. “’Tis a simple enough thing and, for now, all I ask.”