I didn’t go into the monastery proper. Last I’d been there had been when Rob hurt me in his sleep, and those memories weren’t far enough away. The pains in our love were never far below the surface, like the blood in the bruises they left.

Besides, there were enough pain to face. I turned into the graveyard, and it didn’t take me long to find the new, simple stone that bore John Little’s name.

Careful of my pretty dress, I knelt down, placing the flowers on his grave. “You’re a father, John,” I told him. “I imagine you’re watching over her already, but she’s perfect. Just perfect. Even considering she looks like you, which is something.”

Drawing a slow breath, I pressed a hand to my stomach.

“I’m marrying Rob today.” I smiled. “Much is giving me away. I can only imagine that if you were here you would have insisted it be you. I hope, at least. I hope after everything we went through, you didn’t really love me the way you thought you did. I hope you didn’t die because you loved me like that, not when I didn’t feel that way for you.” I looked down, sniffing. “Not when I kissed you when I wasn’t sure if I meant it.”

A tear jumped from my eyes.

“You died because of me, John. You died because of me and I’m sorry. There’s no reason, there’s no getting around it. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I miss you, and I will always love you.”

I brushed the water off my face, I kissed my fingers, and I pressed the fingers to his gravestone.

“Good-bye, John,” I whispered. I crossed myself, shutting my eyes.

In the dark behind my eyelids, I could see him there, standing, watching me. He sat on the gravestone, rubbing his thumb over where I’d kissed it.

Good-bye, Scar, he whispered back.

The sky were just starting to glow with color when I made my way toward the clearing before Major Oak, and when I saw it, my eyes filled with tears.

All week long, we’d been fashioning ladders out of wood so that the townspeople—and me, to be honest—could get up into the branches of the old tree, stronger and healthier than ever after the fire last winter that were meant to destroy it. But my friends had gone further, and in the branches were draped long ribbons of cloth and garlands of flowers, making the whole tree alive with color and bits of things moving in the wind.

Missy and Ellie were running around, lighting candles at the base of the tree. Well, sort of candles—little stubs of things that were waiting to be melted down and wouldn’t burn long. But the whole thing started to light up, and they smiled at me from their work.

I covered my mouth, touched, as tears started to course down.

“You can’t cry on your wedding day,” said a voice in my ear. I turned round and gasped to see Margaret, who ran to me with open arms. I caught her, hugging her tight. I saw Eleanor over her shoulder and let go of Margaret, going over to her. And losing all my words.

She raised her chin and her eyebrow both.

“Scar,” Much said, coming over. “He’ll be here soon. If I’m going to give you away—”

“Don’t be foolish,” Eleanor snapped, glancing at him. “She isn’t yours, young man. You cannot give her to anyone. She is my granddaughter, and I will be the one giving her away.”

Much’s eyes damn near jumped out of his skull. “Christ!” he yelped, dropping to all-fours on the ground. “Your royal, serene, um—holy? Highness,” Much stammered.

I laughed. “Much, get up. Much, Eleanor of Aquitaine, Queen Mother of England,” I introduced. “Much Miller.”

Her eyebrow arched up again, and she watched as Much got to his feet, brushing himself off. “One of your fellow vagabonds?”

“The best of my fellow vagabonds,” I told her.

She gave him a regal nod. “You may address me as ‘my lady’ or ‘my queen,’ ” Eleanor told Much.

He turned red. “Yes, my lady. My queen. My lady Queen. And I didn’t meant to—um—steal her from you, or imply—anything. Sorry. Sorry, my queen!” he babbled.

She touched his shoulder. “Thank you for your service, young man. You have honored me and my granddaughter. Why don’t you join the rest of the wedding.”

Much looked like the Pope just canonized him, and he bowed deep to her. “Yes, my lady!” he said, turning and near running for the tree.

“He does know you’re royal, doesn’t he?” Eleanor asked.

I laughed, watching him go. “Sort of royal. How did you know about this?” I asked her.

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake, how do I ever know anything? Between Margaret and Winchester there isn’t much gossip I don’t hear.” She took my hand, and drew a breath. “I will give you away, if you’ll have me.”

I hugged her.

Townspeople were starting to come, climbing the ladders we’d made to get up to the branches and sitting in the tree. Nervous, I took up one of the candles, holding it in my hand as the sky grew pinker and he weren’t there yet.

I pushed the wax about. It were almost out. Raising my head, I stared into the forest.

Hearing someone coming, everyone went silent, and my heart stopped beating.

Winchester appeared, and he went to Margaret, taking her hand and kissing it before turning to me. “He’s right behind me,” he told me with a wink. He kept her hand and led her into the tree.

More people had come than could fit in the tree, and they just stood round the clearing, waiting. Waiting like I were waiting.