can’t come to some agreement about the annoying vagaries of parents.”
Robin grinned even as he looked up from his work in surprise. “Are we to stay in the Hall then? Even though you and Lady Guinevere are at odds?”
“Lady Guinevere has invited us to do so.” Hugh reached over and ruffled Robin's nut-brown curls. “Even when one is at odds, one can behave in a civilized manner as you and Pen will no doubt work out for yourselves. I see no reason to sleep upon the hard ground when there's a soft bed on offer. We’ll have enough of tents on the journey back to London.”
He rose to his feet. “Finish the belt and then wash yourself for dinner. If we’re to sit with the ladies we must make an effort to be presentable.”
6
M agister Howard, would you mind giving the girls leave this afternoon? I have need of your counsel.” Guinevere spoke softly from the door of the small chamber that served as schoolroom.
The magister looked up from his book. “Indeed, my lady. My wits are as always at your disposal.”
Guinevere nodded. “Aye, Magister. Your wits and your learning. I have need of both at present.” She smiled at Pen, who was sitting across from the magister. “That's a pretty kerchief, Pen. I don’t recall seeing it before.”
Hot color flamed in the girl's cheeks. She touched the kerchief that she wore pinned to her sleeve. “ ’Twas a present, Mama. A birthday present from Robin.”
“And a very handsome one,” Guinevere said warmly. “The lad has an eye for color it would seem.”
Pen's blush deepened but she avoided her mother's smiling look.
“Pippa tells me you and Robin have quarreled,” Guinevere said. “It's close on noon and perhaps we should talk about it before Robin and his father sit at table with us.”
“You would receive them
again,
Mama!” Pen exclaimed,jumping to her feet. “Last night it was my fault, I know. I invited them because I didn’t understand properly why they’d come. But I
never
want to talk to him again.”
Magister Howard rose somewhat stiffly from the table and left the chamber, a book beneath his arm.
Absently Guinevere picked up the small knife the magister used for mending pens and began to sharpen the quill that lay beside the inkwell. “It's uncomfortable, my love. But we must be courteous. It serves our purpose better to be so.”
Pen said hotly, “Why would they lay claim to
our
land?”
“Because they believe it is theirs,” her mother answered simply.
“But it's not.”
Guinevere heard the sudden hesitancy, the questioning note behind the declaration. She said carefully, “At present it's debatable, Pen. At the time my first husband ceded it to me, he believed as did I that it was in his gift. But as yet I haven’t been able to produce absolute proof that it was. I see no reason to hand it over without a fight just because Lord Hugh comes out of nowhere to claim it.”
“But is it
ours?”
Guinevere repeated gently, “Sweeting, at this point I can’t discover a legal way of proving to whom it belongs. But I
am
trying.”
Pen stood up, her hazel eyes intense. Both her daughters had their father's eyes, Guinevere thought, the shadow of the old grief touching her anew.
“But why won’t you just give it to them, Mama? You have lots of land,” Pen demanded.
“Why should I, Pen? Just because they come with great trumpets blaring and a show of arms, should I meekly yield something that legally could as well be mine as theirs?”
Pen chewed her lower lip and Guinevere saw by the ragged condition of her lip that the child had been chewing and nibbling for several hours.
“Magister Howard is good with the law,” Pen said finally.
“Yes. He taught me what I know.”
“I wish he hadn’t!” Pen said suddenly. She pushed a stool aside and ran from the room, brushing past her mother who still stood at the table, the knife and quill in her hand.
Guinevere laid down the knife and quill. She couldn’t blame Pen. The child
Robin grinned even as he looked up from his work in surprise. “Are we to stay in the Hall then? Even though you and Lady Guinevere are at odds?”
“Lady Guinevere has invited us to do so.” Hugh reached over and ruffled Robin's nut-brown curls. “Even when one is at odds, one can behave in a civilized manner as you and Pen will no doubt work out for yourselves. I see no reason to sleep upon the hard ground when there's a soft bed on offer. We’ll have enough of tents on the journey back to London.”
He rose to his feet. “Finish the belt and then wash yourself for dinner. If we’re to sit with the ladies we must make an effort to be presentable.”
6
M agister Howard, would you mind giving the girls leave this afternoon? I have need of your counsel.” Guinevere spoke softly from the door of the small chamber that served as schoolroom.
The magister looked up from his book. “Indeed, my lady. My wits are as always at your disposal.”
Guinevere nodded. “Aye, Magister. Your wits and your learning. I have need of both at present.” She smiled at Pen, who was sitting across from the magister. “That's a pretty kerchief, Pen. I don’t recall seeing it before.”
Hot color flamed in the girl's cheeks. She touched the kerchief that she wore pinned to her sleeve. “ ’Twas a present, Mama. A birthday present from Robin.”
“And a very handsome one,” Guinevere said warmly. “The lad has an eye for color it would seem.”
Pen's blush deepened but she avoided her mother's smiling look.
“Pippa tells me you and Robin have quarreled,” Guinevere said. “It's close on noon and perhaps we should talk about it before Robin and his father sit at table with us.”
“You would receive them
again,
Mama!” Pen exclaimed,jumping to her feet. “Last night it was my fault, I know. I invited them because I didn’t understand properly why they’d come. But I
never
want to talk to him again.”
Magister Howard rose somewhat stiffly from the table and left the chamber, a book beneath his arm.
Absently Guinevere picked up the small knife the magister used for mending pens and began to sharpen the quill that lay beside the inkwell. “It's uncomfortable, my love. But we must be courteous. It serves our purpose better to be so.”
Pen said hotly, “Why would they lay claim to
our
land?”
“Because they believe it is theirs,” her mother answered simply.
“But it's not.”
Guinevere heard the sudden hesitancy, the questioning note behind the declaration. She said carefully, “At present it's debatable, Pen. At the time my first husband ceded it to me, he believed as did I that it was in his gift. But as yet I haven’t been able to produce absolute proof that it was. I see no reason to hand it over without a fight just because Lord Hugh comes out of nowhere to claim it.”
“But is it
ours?”
Guinevere repeated gently, “Sweeting, at this point I can’t discover a legal way of proving to whom it belongs. But I
am
trying.”
Pen stood up, her hazel eyes intense. Both her daughters had their father's eyes, Guinevere thought, the shadow of the old grief touching her anew.
“But why won’t you just give it to them, Mama? You have lots of land,” Pen demanded.
“Why should I, Pen? Just because they come with great trumpets blaring and a show of arms, should I meekly yield something that legally could as well be mine as theirs?”
Pen chewed her lower lip and Guinevere saw by the ragged condition of her lip that the child had been chewing and nibbling for several hours.
“Magister Howard is good with the law,” Pen said finally.
“Yes. He taught me what I know.”
“I wish he hadn’t!” Pen said suddenly. She pushed a stool aside and ran from the room, brushing past her mother who still stood at the table, the knife and quill in her hand.
Guinevere laid down the knife and quill. She couldn’t blame Pen. The child
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