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"Robin."

I grinned.

He shook his head, then leaned down and kissed me.

His amusement came through our mating bond, warm and familiar.

He'd spent the first few months of our life together pretending that happiness was something he merely tolerated.

These days, he didn't bother quite so much.

"You're going to be late," I murmured.

"Hugh can manage without me for another quarter of an hour."

"How generous of you."

Guy kissed me again.

Then he headed toward the stables, leaving me with my tea, a basket of clean laundry, and a chicken who had somehow managed to win an argument with the most stubborn Alpha in Nottinghamshire.

A year had made an extraordinary difference to Locksley.

The northern wing had finally been rebuilt.

It had taken nine months, three arguments with the mason, and most of the restitution awarded by the Crown.

The new stonework was a slightly lighter shade than the original walls.

The mason kept apologizing for it.

I told him I liked it.

There was something reassuring about being able to see where the repairs had been made.

The west pasture now supported sixty head of livestock. The fences were sound, the lower fields drained properly, and the south stable no longer threatened to collapse whenever the wind picked up.

Wat, who had turned eighty-two that spring, inspected the drainage at least twice a week.

He'd recently announced that the lower field was satisfactory.

Little John nearly fainted.

As my steward, John had developed an impressive talent for managing the estate's finances while frightening merchants into offering reasonable prices.

He rarely raised his voice.

He didn't need to.

He simply remembered every promise anyone made to him.

Merry ran the stables and our riding school.

Thirty-one village children attended lessons on Thursdays without paying a penny.

On Tuesdays, she taught the children of wealthy families from Nottingham and the surrounding countryside.

The fees were outrageous.