Page 42 of Fair Weather Enemies
Jane chuckled again. “Why do you ask?”
“My brothers said I was to guard the castle until they return from their chores. They would be most displeased if I allowed the castle to fall to strangers.”
“I see. Well, young lady, we hold no ill intent, I assure you. I am Jane Hancock.”
The girl ventured a smile. “I will spare you, then. I’m called Margaret Givens. Although my brothers call me Mags.”
Jane nodded. “I prefer Margaret. Such a pretty name.”
The girl’s smile widened. “As do I, Miss Hancock.”
A shadow caused Jane to look aside. She found Adam standing beside her with a fond expression. He bowed to the girl. “Adam Ashford at your service, Miss Givens. May we have permission to approach the castle walls?”
The girl nodded. “Indeed. But leave your weapons outside.”
With bemused smiles for each other, Jane and Adam made a show of disarming. She nearly laughed at his theatrics. It seemed he possessed a panoply of invisible weapons, including a spear, multiple bows and arrows, and apparently a large battering ram. He wiped his brow in mock relief after setting down the make-believe log.
“There we are, Miss Givens. Fully disarmed. Now, can you tell us about this castle? To whom did it belong?”
She shrugged. “How should I know? I am only seven years old, after all.”
Adam abruptly produced a copper coin and held it before her between thumb and forefinger. Her eyes grew wide as she considered it. “My mum would know, though.”
Jane gave Margaret another warm smile. “Should we go ask your mum, then?”
“No, miss. She would tell you only that the castle once belonged to the King of England.”
Adam stepped forward to place the coin in her outstretched hand. “Thank you, Miss Givens. Now, perhaps you could tell us which king.”
“How should I know? I am only seven.”
Adam produced another copper coin. The girl eyed it. “But my mum would talk about York houses and people fighting over roses.”
He placed the coin in Margaret’s palm before offering Jane arched eyebrows, inviting. She nodded at him before addressing the girl. “Margaret, might you refer to the War of the Roses?”
“Yes, miss. That’s the one. Although I don’t understand why folks would fight over roses. They grow wild everywhere. I pick them all the time, and nobody tries to fight me.”
“True,” said Adam. “You wouldn’t happen to recall the name of the king?”
“How should I know. I am only…”
The flash of another coin in his hand stilled her excuse. Jane could not help but grin. His playful patience with the child filled her with warm surprise. She had never considered the Ashfords capable of kindness to small children. In her fantasy, she had envisioned them as more likely to use small children as footstools, or perhaps as chimney sweeps.
“What would your mum say,” said Adam.
Margaret screwed her mouth to one side and stared upward with intense concentration. “Robert? Or Rupert. Or…”
“Richard?” The suggestion from behind her caused Jane to turn. She found Barlow with Aunt Hester on his arm.On his arm? Aunt Hester!
“Yes!” said the girl. “Richard. The third Richard.”
When Adam pressed the coin into Margaret’s eager palm, she rubbed it against the other two, ecstatic. She looked up with expectation of another question. However, Adam turned away, clearly wishing to converse. The adults formed a tight circle.
“What do you think, Mr. Barlow?”
“Richard the Third was the last king of the House of York. He met his demise during the final battle of the War of the Roses against the House of Lancaster. He died a famous death at the Battle of Bosworth Field, memorialized by Shakespeare in the play named for the king.”
“Of course!” Hester blurted. “Richard lost his horse during the battle, whereupon his opponents killed him! He lost his kingdom because he was bereft of a horse.”
