From beyond the cottage, there came a cry from a little dark-haired girl. She rushed around the corner with gleeful yelps, tumbling across the stones on the pathway and the logs piled up beside the door. Her tartan dress was dusty with dirt and the ribbons of her apron flew out behind her, caught in the wind. For a moment she was laughing but then two boys came around the corner, their hair as red as carrots, and she gave another yelp and looked terrified again. As she dashed across the meadow before the cottage, the boys chased after her.

“Better hurry, lass!” called the first boy. “The Black Bear’s a comin’ as quick as can be! Can you hear’m?”

“You’ll never make it at that pace, Irene!” shouted the other. Several years older than his sister, he stood a full two heads above her and was able to catch up to her quickly. He grabbed her wrist and ran even faster, making her stumble and giggle as she tried to keep up. “That’s it! Come on, Irene! Knees up! Knees up!”

The children heard a scampering, then a few stomps, then a few grunts. They continued to run and cry out warnings to each other, laughing when they tripped over a stick in the path. As they steadied themselves, all three looked over their shoulders and little Irene gave a gasp. Their oldest brother had come around the corner with a black wool blanket draped across his head and shoulders. The black bear. He growled and came at them running, making them all scamper off again.

Jack, the younger of the redheads, was at the lead. He kept looking back at his brother, who was still dragging Irene along by the wrist, and shouted out at him.

“Come on, Simon!” he said. “Just leave her! She’s not fast enough!”

Irene’s face turned red and she gave off a little squeak, “Jack!”

“I’m not leavin’ her! Go on, mate! Save yourself!”

“She’s just a baby! The Black Bear loves little babies best of all, y’know! Hurry up, Simon!”

Simon pumped his free fist into the air, “I am her knight, her swain! She is my dear duchess in despair! And I shan’t leave her, I say!”

“Look at those wee little legs! She couldn’t run faster than a tortoise!”

“Look at that face, Jack! Can’t you even think of your baby sister?”

“I don’t like playing with you, Jacky,” whimpered Irene. “You’re mean.”

“I’m not mean! I’m a realist, darling! A realist! Come on now! Hurry! The bear’s coming up on your tail!”

“Oh Simon!”

Irene tugged at Simon’s trousers, trying to get him to stop running. She wanted him to perch her upon his hip, as he so often did in their games, so that she might not suffer from her “wee little legs” any longer. But just as he’d stopped and kneeled down to grab her, the boy in the black blanket came up from behind and grabbed Irene around the waist.

She screamed and screamed and clutched at Simon’s arms, but the Black Bear had a fiercer hold on her. He pulled her to his chest and buried his face in her neck, pretending to bite but really just giving her little kisses and raspberries upon the cheek. She began to giggle and Simon took off running again. He and Jack made it to the sign at the end of the road, but then turned around and grumbled.

“Come on, Liam!” they called. “You’re supposed to be the bear! Come! Come chase us!”

“I’m too busy devouring my victim!” Liam returned. Irene began to shriek and laugh harder as he tickled her waist. Her apron ties had fallen loose and her bare feet were caked in dry dirt.

“Oh you always were an awful bear!” cried Jack.

“The worst!”

“What are we supposed to do now?”

“There’s no game without the bear, Liam!”

Liam tickled Irene a few moments more, beaming at her little squeaks of laughter, and then took her around the waist and set her up atop his shoulders. His hands held firm against her sides as she lifted both her arms straight out, like a cross. Little waves of hair tumbled down her back, caught beneath her neck by a big black bow. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back. Liam smiled.

“D’you want to be a bird, Irene?” he whispered. “What d’you say? Would you like to be a little birdie for a day?”

When Irene nodded, her chin bounced against the top of Liam’s head. She kept her eyes closed as he began to move swiftly forward, letting the wind glide past them in great gusts. Her sweater, an old gray knit, hung loosely on her arms and rippled as she thought a bird’s wings might. As Liam began to spin her round and round, his fingers tightening upon her waist, Irene squeezed her eyes even more tightly closed. Her head began to feel light and airy, lost in the clouds, and she could hear the slight tune of someone whistling in the distance. For a moment she thought it was Jack or Simon, but then there came a voice too. A deeper, older voice.

“What are you all up to?” it said. “Why isn’t someone inside helping your mother?”

“Our chores are all finished so we hadn’t anything to do,” said Jack.

“Mum sent us out here ‘cause she said we were being too loud,” said Simon. “The baby’s still sleeping and she told us we shan’t wake him.”

Liam spoke very breathlessly. “Are you going into town today, father? Mightn’t I come with you?”

“No, Liam. Not today.”

“But why not? I thought you needed some more seeds from the market. Won’t we start with the potatoes tomorrow? I . . .”

“We can’t go today. I believe your mother is expecting a visitor.”

“A visitor?” Jack repeated. “Who, father? Who?”

“Cannot tell you that, my boy, but you shall meet him soon enough. Not that you haven’t met him before . . .”

“It’s Mr. Royce, isn’t it, father?” said Liam.

“It’s the yellow-haired man! Will he bring us some presents again?” asked Simon. “Will he bring us oranges and chocolates?”

“And golden trinkets too? I couldn’t say, my boy,” Peter laughed. “We never can quite say what Mr. Royce will bring, can we? Except perhaps a smile or two. Should you like a smile, Jacky?”

“I’ve already got one, father.”

“And you, Liam?”

“Oh why can’t we go into town, father? We shan’t be gone but an hour!”

Liam had stopped spinning and Irene wearily opened her eyes. Everything, even if not Liam, was still spinning within her head. The hills were still ever so green, and the sky so blue, but she saw little splotches of color beneath her too. The brown heads of her father and Liam. The red heads of Simon and Jack. The white of their shirts. The gray of the their trousers. And then, slowly, even more came into focus. She saw their old tweed caps and the brown freckles upon their faces. Although each one was slightly different, they all held a few striking similarities that had now come to characterize the name they shared. Dark eyes, crooked smiles, the squared jaws, and the slender cheeks. Irene smiled and pressed her hands down on the top of Liam’s head. His eyes glanced up to her and so did her father’s.

“And how are you, my little bird?”

“Good.”

“Good? Is that all you can say, child? How about wonderful? Stupendous? Marvelous!”

Irene giggled.

“There we are! There’s that smile! Come here, Irene. Come to your papa.”

Liam lifted Irene off his shoulders and handed her off to Peter, who held her on his hip and tickled her nose. She giggled again and he laughed too.

The boys started off toward the cottage and Peter followed behind, whistling an old tune beneath his breath. Irene reached up and grabbed the peak of his cap with her tiny white fingers. Then, with a merry little grin, she flopped the hat upon her own head and let it fall over her eyes. Peter kept on whistling.

Before they could reach the house, the sound of wheels came rumbling up the road and all five stopped. A black hackney, surrounded by dust, was rolling toward the cottage. There were no other houses within a mile, all the encircling land behind occupied by great green hills and yellow fields of barley, so Peter knew immediately that their home must be the hack’s destination.

He patted Irene’s head, which still held his tweed cap, and then stepped forward with the boys all gathered at his tail. Trying to prepare themselves, for they so rarely enjoyed the company of visitors, they each dusted off their trousers and straightened the fabric of their vests. Little brown suspenders looped over each boy’s shoulder and their shoes were still lying piled at the doorstep. While Peter stepped forward, coming to the side of the stopping hackney, Liam, Jack, and Simon sat on their bottoms in the grass and began furiously tying their shoes. From inside the house, a baby screamed and Meg could be heard cooing it back to sleep. Irene clutched at her father’s neck and reached her little fingers up to pet his scattered brown whiskers. They both watched as the hackney’s door was opened.

From it there stepped a tall man with fair hair and azure eyes. Although his manner in itself was very regal, that he couldn’t hide, he was dressed in the plain clothes of a commoner. A wealthy sort of commoner, yes, but a commoner nevertheless. Gray trousers, vest, and jacket. A black tie bowed at the neck. Hat dipped down low over his brow. At first sight of Peter and the children, he gave a bright smile and removed the hat, giving a small bow. Peter returned it and Irene clutched tighter at her father’s neck, afraid she might fall.

“Mr. Dorsett,” the man said. “How good it is to see you!”

“And you, Mr. Royce,” nodded Peter. He was smiling too and they both shook hands.

“Everything is well, I hope?”

“Very well. Won’t you come inside and sit down? You must be tired from the journey.”

“I would like that very much, Peter, but first may I say hello to your fine children, here? My, how they’ve grown! I know it must seem like I’m always saying that, but it’s true. I daresay they’ve each grown a head since I saw them last. How long has it been?”

“Four years, Anthony.”

“Four years? My, it seems a lifetime!”

Anthony shook little Irene’s hand and then gave it a kiss, as one might give a lady. Then, still retaining his majestic air, he moved to the boys just as they were finishing tying their shoes. He shook each boy’s hand and listened with a smile as they each recited their name very formally, as their mother had taught them to do.

“Simon Dorsett.”

“Jack Dorsett.”

“Liam Dorsett, sir.”

They all six headed into the house together, which Meg had been cleaning all morning for the occasion. The sofas were patched with squares of plaid, the wooden floors were clear and dusted, the windows still smelt of lemon soap, and there were several scattered toy soldiers and alphabet blocks on the rug before the fireplace. While Liam went to set another log in the fire, Jack and Simon rushed into the kitchen to get some water for their parched little throats. Peter tried to set Irene down, but she tugged harder at the collars of his shirt and his sweater and he silently acquiesced to continue holding her. There was another piercing little scream from further within the house, but this time it didn’t belong to the baby. Peter and Anthony could hear Meg darting around the kitchen, trying to calm the child.

“I’m sorry, Anthony!” she called. “I’m sorry! I’ll be right there!” And then her voice lowered a bit. “There, there, Colin. It’s alright. You’ve only scratched your finger, see? Just a tiny bit of blood. Nothing to have a fright over.”

“Would you like a bit of tea while you wait?” Peter asked his guest.

“Yes, that would be fine. Is Meg cooking something? It smells marvelous in here.”

“I believe she’s got some stew on the stove, yes . . . You can sit by the fire, if you like. I’ll just be right back.”

While Peter set Irene down and went to fetch the tea, Anthony sat down in a chair beside the hearth and pulled a bag out from under his coat. With a laugh he set his own hat atop Liam’s head, where another cap already sat, and then began rummaging through the bags. Almost immediately, a small circle gathered around him. Liam, Simon, Jack, and Irene each sat cross-legged on the floor and looked up at him as though he were Father Christmas himself.

“What have you got today, Mr. Royce?” asked Simon.

Jack bounced on his knees. “Mother says you can’t give us anymore of those whistles like you brought last time. She says there a newtant.”

“A nuisance,” corrected Liam.

“Really? Well you can tell her I’m sorry for that, but she needn’t worry. I haven’t brought any noise makers this time.”

One by one, he handed out little toys and gifts to all the children. Their laughs of delight and wide-eyed smiles rang through the house like bells. There was a pretty doll and some hair ribbons for Irene, a pair of silver swords and shields for Jack and Simon, and a box of games for Liam with checkers and chess and a deck of cards inside. Irene crawled onto Anthony’s lap and began to comb her doll’s curly chestnut hair.

“I’m going to name her Molly,” she said. “Doesn’t she look like a Molly? A dolly named Molly.”

“Very nice, my dear. That’s a wonderful name for her.”

“Is this how real knights fight, Mr. Royce?” asked Simon.

“Have you ever met any real knights?” asked Jack.

“Can’t say that I have.”

“How about pirates?”

“Nor those either, I’m sorry to say.”

“Oh father will be happy when he sees all these games you’ve brought, sir,” said Liam. “He’s been looking at a chess set at McBride’s for weeks but he said we didn’t have enough shillings to spare for it.”

“Then I am glad to have thought of it. Do you know how to play, Liam?”

“Yes, sir. My father taught me with play pieces a few years ago.”

“En guard! Allez!” shouted Jack.

“Touché!” countered Simon.

“You’re not fencing, boys,” laughed Anthony. “Those are swords, not foils.”

There was a gasp and then a softer, feminine voice said, “You brought them swords?”

And Anthony turned around to see Meg just walking into the room.

Her hair was pinned up atop her head though a great stand had fallen out on the left side, a thick wave of red falling behind her shoulder. The dress she wore was plain yellow muslin, covered in the front by a black gingham apron now softened with splotches of flour and spices. Her cheeks were still pink and her nose still freckled. A little boy around the age of two with gingery hair and black eyes was hugged to her side. He had his face pressed into her chest and held his left hand, wrapped in white cloth, out to the side. The other hand was playing with his mother’s loosened wave of hair. As Meg walked forward, the boy buried his face further into her, not wanting to meet their new guest.

“Not true swords of course,” said Anthony. “But they are some remarkable substitutes, Sarah.”

Meg smiled, “You don’t have to call me that. Call me Meg or Meggy or Margaret. Whatever you like. Only the villagers call me Sarah.”

“Really? It still seems so odd to me. Jack?” Anthony asked and turned his head to the boys. “What is your mother’s full name?”

The little red-haired boy stopped in his place and lowered the sword. “Sarah Margaret Black Dorsett. That’s why father calls her Meggy but Mrs. McBride calls her Sarah. Right, mum? Ahh!”

Simon had come up and thrust his sword beneath Jack’s arm, which immediately served to return the boys to their games. Peter came in with the tea and then sat down with Liam by the chess set. Irene crawled off Anthony’s lap and held her new dolly up for her father to see, telling him Molly’s pretty new name and showing him her violet skirts.

Anthony turned back to Meg, “No dangerous minds, then?

Meg shook her head, “All safe.”

Another smile crept across her face and the little boy held against her side slowly lifted his head. Anthony rose from his seat, taking care not the step on the children’s toys, and made his way to the side of the room. Before Meg could say anything more, he wrapped his arms around her, gave her a big hug, and then lightly kissed her cheek.

“Oh it’s so wonderful to see you again,” she murmured. “How long do you think you can stay? For dinner at least, I hope? I made stew.”

“I smelled as much.”

Meg giggled, “But before we talk of food, there are two very charming young men I should like you to meet.”

“You’ve had another baby, haven’t you, Meg?”

“Two,” Meg nodded. “And the first is right here. He’s just cut his finger, the poor boy, so please do excuse his tears.” She bounced the little boy upon her hip a little and then brushed the hair from his eyes, “Wouldn’t you like to meet my friend Mr. Royce, Colin? He’s a very nice man. Look at all the toys he brought the boys and Irene! Oh we’ll have fun with those, won’t we?”

Although his face was very red and pinched, the little boy turned his head to see this friend of his mother’s. And then, with a tiny little squeak, he held out his hand to him. Anthony laughed and shook it.

“And what might your name be?” he asked softly, but the boy wouldn’t say. He laid his head back down against Meg’s chest and held his wrapped hand very tightly.

“His name is Colin Dorsett,” Meg said. “And he’s almost two years old, aren’t you, my boy?”

Colin nodded.

“And where is the other little one?”

“Right over here.”

Meg led Anthony to a dark room just off the parlor, where a wooden crib sat resting in the corner. Upon a soft white pillow with a red quilt atop, a baby boy lay fast asleep. His eyes were just little slits, his nose a tiny button, and his hair looked like fine little pieces of red thread.

“And what might this handsome lad’s name be?” Anthony whispered.

“Michael. That’s Peter’s middle name, you know. Michael Dorsett.”

“So you’ve got quite a clan here, haven’t you, Meg?”

“I have.”

“And you’re still very happy, I hope?”

“I am.”

“And you’re not in need of any money? Because just in case, I brought . . .”

Meg shook her head, “No, that’s alright, Anthony. Thank you though. We get along well enough.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I am. And if it ever were to get too bad, you know I’d come to you. You needn’t worry over that.”

They returned to the parlor to find the others heading out the door. Liam had stolen Simon’s shield and was running through the grass with it, waving it high above his head, while Jack followed behind with his own shield and sword clutched against his chest. Peter was looking just as any old farmer might: his shirt buttoned high, his sleeves rolled up, his vest tweed, and his knees dirtied. He was stooping down a bit to be able to hold Irene’s hand, for she stood so far beneath him, and commented very awkwardly on Molly’s pretty dress. Anthony and Meg laughed.

“Thought you two might like to talk for a bit?” Peter said. “I’m going to take the children out down by the brook. Just call us in when supper’s ready.”

They left and Meg and Anthony were left alone, except for little Colin of course. The former prince and princess sat down upon the sofa together and Colin crawled between them. With his neck bent strangely, he forced his back into the crack between the cushions and the sofa’s spine. His wounded hand was still held in the air like a torch.

“So how are you?” Meg asked Anthony.

“As well as ever.”

“And Jane? How is she?”

“Good, good. She wanted to come with me today, you know,” he laughed. “I told her I was just visiting a friend and that she certainly wouldn’t want to waste so long a journey on visiting someone she’d never met, but she just kept pleading with me. It was only when I reminded her of the children that she decided she ought to stay. She didn’t want to leave them.”

“How old are they now?”

“Harry is seven and Caroline four.”

“I wish Irene and Caroline could meet. They are the same age, after all. They might’ve been friends in different circumstances.”

“We all might’ve been changed in different circumstances, my dear.”

“Do you think Harry likes the idea of becoming king someday?”

“Oh he’s in love with it. He already likes to walk around the house all day with his crown on.”

“What? And you didn’t?”

Anthony laughed.

“Did Celia send anything?”

“Yes, yes. Thank you for reminding me. I almost forgot.” Anthony stood and rummaged through his bag again, producing a letter and a parcel. “These. And she said she and Whitey will be visiting again come springtime, if that’s alright.”

“Of course it is,” said Meg, tucking the letter and parcel into her apron.

“You know, Helena and Georgiana were just talking about you the other day.”

“Really?”

“Yes. They said they’d always wondered where you’d gone off to. They asked me if I knew and I said you’d gone to the moon.”

Meg giggled.

“David took me aside afterwards. He knew I was coming to see you and wished to send you his regards. He’s getting married, you know. I believe it was in the papers back in July, but I didn’t know if you’d seen.”

Meg shook her head, “We rarely ever get the papers anymore. But oh that’s just wonderful that David’s finally found someone to marry!”

“Begged her to marry, more like.”

“Oh don’t joke of him! I’m sure they’re very much in love.”

“They are.”

“Then please do offer him my congratulations.”

“And Marie had her second daughter in January. She spoils them both rotten, but of course she won’t listen to me on such matters. Ever since I became engaged to you, my dear, she seems to think much less of me. She’s living in Hempford now, though, so I don’t see her so often anyway.”

Colin turned his head and crawled further into the cushion. His little bottom was in the air, like a dog’s, and he kept trying to push in further. Anthony chuckled.

“Are you an ostrich now, Colin?”

“No,” the child mumbled. “A worm.”

“Is that so?” And Anthony laughed harder.

Meg took Colin and set him atop her lap. Her head cocked to the side as she took his hurt hand, pressing it to her lips and kissing it once, twice, three times. Then she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close against her, resting her chin atop his head. Colin said that he was hungry and Meg nodded. Time for dinner. She stood and carried him across the room with Anthony following.

While Meg stirred the stew, the prince set the table and Colin rocked back and forth upon the books atop his chair; these, you see, stood in place of a high chair. Then Meg leaned out the back window and called very loudly, “Supper!”

The family soon crowded around the table and laughed and talked and ate their stew. Once the bowls were emptied, Michael was brought from his crib and Meg spooned him his own mushy dinner. Liam dragged in his game boards from the other room and began to play a rather rowdy game of checkers with Simon while Jack and Irene watched happily. Peter took Colin upon his lap and, while whistling a tune, bounced the boy upon his knee. And Anthony took a glass of wine and smiled as the room began to darken and warm, growing hazy with the light of the lanterns and the fire. But as the black began to grow, he knew he ought to head home, to the palace, and goodbyes were said between all. Even little Colin and Michael.

Anthony stepped inside his hackney and waved some more. Meg had Michael in her arms, hushing him to sleep, and Peter was holding Irene’s dolly for her. Simon and Jack waved their swords into the air, Liam stuck his hands in his pockets and smiled, and Irene held Colin’s hand.

As the hackney rolled away, Anthony stayed beside the window until their little cottage was fading into the great green hills and fields of barley. He could still see their little figures darting about the yard and the two swords waving. And Meg’s hair, even from this great distance, was echoed upon the heads of at least three of her children. Anthony even thought he heard Peter’s whistle, though he couldn’t be sure it wasn’t really just the wind singing at his window.

With the coming of the twilight, the cottage was soon lost and all Anthony could see was the great golden moon and the little winking stars. He gave a sigh and smiled until he, too, was lost in blackness.

(A/N) So that’s it then! That’s the end! I do hope you all liked it and I’d just like to thank you again for sticking through and reading this whole thing- it is awfully long, after all. I’ve never written a story with 50 chapters before! Please do remember to vote for me in that little contest and I hope you all will continue to read the future stories I post. The next I’m planning involves a romance in the Revolutionary War and it’ll be called “Solitaire.” I plan to post the first chapter of it pretty soon and I hope to see all you wonderful reviewers reading it! Thanks again! Bye!

-S. Renee