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He considered this.

"Very well."

"Good."

"But you'll sit down during supper."

I closed my eyes.

"Everybody sits down during supper. That's generally how supper works."

"Then we're agreed."

He looked entirely too pleased with himself.

"I won't say another word about it."

He said at least nine more things before sunset.

By the time we reached the courtyard, the celebration was already well underway.

Merry had hung lanterns from the lime trees, and their warm light spilled across four long tables crowded with food and guests.

Three musicians from Edwinstowe played beside the well.

Children chased one another between the benches.

There was more ale than anyone reasonably needed.

And Little John was singing.

Unfortunately.

John had a voice like a cart rolling downhill over loose stones, and he seemed determined to demonstrate it to everyone within hearing distance.

He'd convinced half a table to join him in a song about a miller's daughter.

I sincerely hoped the children weren't paying attention.

Merry and Alana were arguing about the afternoon's archery contest.

Alana had won.

Again.

Merry insisted the targets had been placed incorrectly.

Again.

Tuck sat beside Hild of Papplewick, who had turned seventy-two that summer.

She had her own chair at every feast held at Locksley.

I'd made certain of it.

She'd also made certain everyone knew it.

Much appeared beneath the archway pushing a handcart.