The Heirs of Locksley

By Carrie Vaughn

Carrie Vaughn follows up The Ghosts of Sherwood with the charming, fast-paced The Heirs of Locksley, continuing the story of Robin Hood's children.

"We will hold an archery contest. A simple affair, all in fun, on the tournament grounds. Tomorrow. We will see you there."

The latest civil war in England has come and gone, King John is dead, and the nobility of England gathers to see the coronation of his son, thirteen year old King Henry III.

The new king is at the center of political rivalries and power struggles, but John of Locksley—son of the legendary Robin Hood and Lady Marian—only sees a lonely boy in need of friends. John and his sisters succeed in befriending Henry, while also inadvertently uncovering a political plot, saving a man's life, and carrying out daring escapes.

All in a day's work for the Locksley children...

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Macmillan Publishers
• Release date: Aug 4, 2020
• ISBN: 9781250756619

Carrie Vaughn

Carrie Vaughn survived her air force brat childhood and managed to put down roots in Colorado. Her first book, Kitty and the Midnight Hour, launched a popular series of novels about a werewolf named Kitty who hosts a talk-radio advice show. She is also the author of Voices of Dragons, her debut novel for teen readers. Ms. Vaughn lives in Colorado.

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For Claude and Basil

MARY OF LOCKSLEY WAS not important enough to have a very good view of the coronation, but she had a better view than most, halfway down the nave in the church at Westminster. So much finery, so much gold, blinding wealth and pomp, a great stone hall full of arches and pillars and a soaring timber roof. The cathedral at Canterbury was larger, she’d been told, but she wasn’t sure she believed it. In the center of it all, the king, surrounded by bishops and councilors and all the great lords of England. Mary’s father was only a baron and one of the former rebel barons at that, so she stood with the rest of the crowd to look on. Eleanor, her youngest sibling, stood on her toes trying to see until their mother put a hand on her shoulder and she settled. John, the middle child, stood shoulder to shoulder with their father.

John had turned more serious these last couple of years. The recent war had come almost to their doorstep. Many of the rebel barons had supported the French invasion in an attempt to depose King John. For once, their father hadn’t picked sides—he hated King John, but a French king wouldn’t have been any better, he insisted. For a time, they thought they would have to fortify Locksley Manor against one army or the other. Then, in the middle of it all, King John died.

How is it possible I outlive him? Robin of Locksley had murmured when the news reached them. The two had been enemies all their lives, yet somehow the news of the king’s death had made Robin sad. Mary hadn’t understood.

He can’t hurt you now, Lady Marian had reassured him.

Oh, but he can, Robin answered with a harsh laugh. We’ll see what the son is like.

The war had ended, the invasion had been thwarted, and a second, formal coronation was held to establish the young king’s rightful place on the throne. King Henry III was now thirteen years old, thin and somber, overwhelmed by the azure mantle on his shoulders and gleaming crown that the Archbishop of Canterbury settled on his head and straight reddish hair, neatly trimmed. His voice was small as he made his oaths, but unwavering, serious. So serious. He never once smiled.

He’s so young, murmured Marian. I knew he was young, but to see it. I want to feed him biscuits and make sure he has a warm cloak.

Robin smiled and hushed her.

Despite a thought that she should pay close attention so she could tell the story of this to her children, assuming she ever had any, Mary’s attention kept wandering to the attendant gathering, the lords and ladies of England, looking for a young man of about the right age, but since she had no idea what he looked like, she couldn’t know if he was here.

Then it was all finished and the gathering broke apart, the sea of people pushing back toward the doors. The councilors and great men clustered around the king, who vanished behind a sea of finely dyed wool and glittering trim.

Is William de Ros here? she asked her father, trying not to sound too interested. Merely curious. Casually curious.

No, I don’t think so. The de Roses must have been delayed, Robin said. Mary blew out a sigh. Don’t worry, you’ll get to meet young William this time. In just a few days, I’m sure.

He’d been saying that for years, since she was sixteen. She was twenty now. William de Ros was the man her father wanted her to marry. Hoped she would marry. Something. She had said she would agree to it if she liked him, but she would have to meet him first. Not that she knew how to tell whether she would like him or not. Did it even matter? She would have to marry someone, wouldn’t she? She simply wanted to be able to decide, one way or another.

It was all very frustrating, like walking a dark forest path with no idea of the destination.

Marian touched her shoulder. Mary, will you take Eleanor outside? The crowd is too much, I think.

Her sister’s gaze was downcast and she rubbed her fingers together as if she spun wool, but she’d left her spindle behind and so had nothing but the movement. It was a sign she was getting nervous and unhappy. She’d been fascinated with the proceedings right up until she wasn’t, when the ritual and ceremony, and thus the order of it all, ended. Mary offered her hand, which her sister took with both her own. The elder sister made herself a shield to push through the crowd until they reached the side of the church, which had fewer people, and from there they could flee out the transept doors. Some of the clergy gathered there raised their eyebrows at them, but they moved quickly and with purpose and no one stopped them. Besides, one veiled woman looked much like another. They could pretend they were nuns.

Suddenly, they emerged to sunlight, fresh air, and relative quiet. Mary hadn’t realized her own shoulders ached from holding herself so formally for so long.

Well then, is that better?

Eleanor sighed and leaned into Mary, but she still would not look up and went back to rubbing her hands nervously.

On this side of the church, an herb garden and walkway led to the cloisters. Beyond the church, moving away from the confluence of the Rivers Thames and Tyburn, was the palace and village of Westminster, where a great fair had sprung up as an excuse to celebrate the coronation. Musicians played, acrobats performed, women sold mulled wine and meat pies from carts. The day had been full of ceremony for the high-born, but for everyone else it was a festival. And a bit further down the river, London, with all its noise and bustle, tall buildings and tangles of streets, and so many people. There was no escaping the people. They’d have to go miles to find a forest.

It was all so different from home.

She found a low garden wall to sit on while they waited for the others. Finally, Eleanor was herself enough to look up.

I suppose being left at home would have been harder for you than coming here and putting up with all this, Mary said absently. I’m not sure I like it. It’s well enough to visit a town, but I miss Sherwood. Eleanor nodded. She never spoke, not a word. People ignored her, discounted her, thought her stupid. But Mary was sure that her sister saw everything, noticed everything. Sometimes, she’d give much to know what Eleanor was thinking. She looked over the abbey garden behind them. You might like a convent. No crowds, little noise. Eleanor wrinkled her nose and shook