Page 38 of Barely a Woman
“The locals call it Great Yews.”
Morgan smiled. “What a clever name. How did they ever think of it?”
“I haven’t the foggiest notion.” He chuckled. “What the name lacks in imagination, it makes up for in accuracy.”
She removed her hat and cut dark eyes at him. He studiously avoided her gaze, as he might avoid staring into the sun.
“This place is as magical as you promised.” Her husky voice was soft, like velvet. “A favorite of yours?”
“Yes, since boyhood. It was here that I developed my penchant for playing Robin Hood. As my band of Merry Men was imaginary, they always did as I told them. I miss them, if for nothing else than their reliability.”
He looked again Morgan’s way to find her studying the interlocking branches overhead, hat in hand and lips parted in wonder. Her wavy hair fell back to gather on her coat collar, hinting at the glory she had surrendered to save her family. For an instant, he envisioned her as Maid Marion, a denizen of the woods and intrepid partner of Robin. The thought ignited a startling warmth in his chest. Befuddled by his reaction, he yanked his eyes away and began to walk.
“Come, Morgan. I wish to show you something.”
A few dozen steps brought them to the largest of all the yews, the bishop of the cathedral. One side contained an immense hollow large enough to conceal a standing man. He motioned toward it. “This was my fortress. I held off thousands of desperate foes from this hollow and remain undefeated.”
“Thousands, you say?” A single brow arched playfully. “And of what ilk?”
“Bands of cutthroats, swarms of pirates, Roman legions, and the like.”
“And you withstood them all? How brave and efficient you were. A regular William Wallace.”
“Are you mocking me?”
“Of course. Mr. Wallace was executed most gruesomely.”
He laughed. “Well, I don’t suppose you entertained such flights of fancy as a child.”
She shook her head and avoided his eyes. “I did, but of a different nature.”
“You don’t say?” He lifted his chin. “What nature?”
“It is nothing.”
“Oh, no, Morgan. I have divulged my childhood fantasies to you and accepted your deeply wounding taunts for my efforts. I insist you give me satisfaction by returning the favor.”
She looked up at him with those startling but wary eyes, the debate behind them palpable. Then she knelt to pluck a yew seed from the ground to examine. “If you must know, my childhood speculations centered on my origin. I always fancied that I belonged to another family, one that treated me kindly. Or perhaps even a noble family. And that they were searching for me still.” She tossed the seed to the ground and looked up at him again with a sad smile. “As I said, it is nothing. I await your best taunt.”
Despite the open invitation, Steadman failed to dredge up even a light-hearted set down. Her large eyes invited something other than teasing.
“Well,” he said. “I will pray they find you.”
His response clearly surprised her, for she turned from him to sweep her gaze across the grove and stumbled to change the subject. “Who…who owns this wood?”
“Lord Radnor. Longford Castle lies near, just a brief walk.”
She turned slowly to engage him again, her eyes narrowing. “Is that your family? Your home?”
Her arrow struck too close to the heart. Instead, he did what he always did when running away. He climbed a tree.
“What are you doing?”
“Climbing a tree, clearly.”
“Clearly.”
When he reached a large branch, he looked down at her. She approached the trunk and tentatively lifted her hand. “May I?”
