Page 15 of Rogue of the Greenwood
She stayed as she was and he admired her over his shoulder. Something about her eyes—the expression in them—gave him hope that just maybe she wouldkeep his secret.
“It was good to see you again, Miss Maidland.” He hoped she knew that his words—and his smile—were quite genuine.
She paused just a heartbeat before giving reply. “I’m glad you’re not dead.”
He could have suddenly broken into song. That she should be glad for anything that he’d done seemed instantly the most momentous achievement. Did this mean she would not tell Gisborn of seeing him? He almost didn’t care.
Giving the slightest bow yet not quite ripping his eyes away from hers, he could not even be bothered to hide the foolish grin on his face. He wanted to believe she returned his smile, but it was probably wishful thinking. With one last parting glance, he took off for the safety of the dense forest. His men were waiting for him, probably watching this entire interlude and ready to chide him for it.
What did it matter? Marianne Maidland was all perfectly grown up now. Even better, she was glad that he was not dead, and he fully believed she would not mention his presence to Gisborn. Best of all, though, she had not shot him.
Chapter 5
“What the devil was that?” John asked when Robert made his way back to join them where they had hidden to watch Robert’s exploit.
“You could have been killed, leaping onto that team,” Will said as he pushed aside a branch that nearly snagged his coat.
“But it’s lucky you did, eh?” Alan said, nudging him. “We were all expecting to see that saucy miss offer you up a reward for saving her the way you did.”
Robert grumbled his reply. “I’m sorry you were disappointed.”
John howled with laughter. “It was a treat! She nearly offered up your head on a platter, Rob. Who was that hell-cat? I gather that you knew her.”
“And we all gathered that she knows you!” Alan chuckled. “I daresay there’s a story there. Care to enlighten us?”
“There’s no story,” Robert said. “Come along. We’ve still got a way to go to reach the hunting box.”
He pushed past his friends and led them deeper into the forest, back toward the way they had come. The lone road that wound through the trees out to the lodge his father had used for hunting parties was long overgrown. They lost their way more than once and he was quite convinced they’d been going in circles. There was no way their carriage could have carried them through the dense brush, so the coachman took them as far as he could on a slightly more maintainedroad before helping them unload their things. He’d been hired in London and no doubt was anxious to get back there. Robert gave the man his fare, and a bit extra to ensure he made no mention of where he left them off, just in case.
The men had been hand carting their things—it wasn’t as if they had much—through the wood when they’d heard Miss Maidland’s screams. They’d dropped their things and run, but Robert was the lucky one who’d reached her first. Perhaps it was because he knew these woods better than the others, or perhaps because he’d felt the most sense of duty to anyone in trouble here. Either way, he wasn’t yet sure if it was a good thing he’d found Miss Maidland, or decidedlynotgood.
It would all depend on what she would tell Gisborn.
They finally made it back to the overgrown path where they’d left their things—such as they were: packets of clothing, items for shaving, their weapons, of course, and Alan’s assortment of musical instruments. Men who had lived the way they had these past few months were not likely to amass many possessions. War did not offer many comforts. Robert hoisted his bag onto his shoulder and winced as his muscles ached from recent exertion. How he hoped he had not damaged himself for the sake of that ungrateful hoyden!
“Come on, Rob,” John said as they brushed through a deep carpet of bracken fern. “We’re traipsing through the woods with you, the least you could do is give us the story. Who is that top-lofty lass?”
“Her name is Maidland. Marianne Maidland. Shetried to kill me when we were children and I see that she is little changed in any of the years since.” He hoped that would be enough of a story, but of course it was not.
“I daresay she didn’t look quite so, er, formidable when you were children,” Alan teased. “But why should she want to kill you? What dreadful thing did you do?”
“I existed,” he grumbled. “Her family has something against mine. She informed me her uncle is the new magistrate, so it’s a fair guess we won’t be seeing any more of her.”
“That’s a shame,” John sighed. “I rather liked her spirit.”
Will laughed. “I think that we all liked her… spirit.”
“I liked the way her spirit filled out her gown,” Alan joked.
“Very well, that’s enough about that,” Robert ordered.
“Ah, so that’s how it goes,” John said with a nod to the others.
“It does not go at all,” Robert snapped. “Now here is the old cart path again—we’re back on track. Take you minds off Miss Maidland, lads, and think about what we might hunt up for supper. The hunting box should be just through the next thicket.”
As he had hoped, the mention of food took the men’s minds right off Miss Maidland and set them onto their empty bellies. Robert had expected to provide them a sumptuous meal once they reached the manor. It was more than disappointing to realize that would not happen, but they’d been in worse spots before. The sun was still high and if they were lucky there would be fish in the stream that flowed nearby,running into the Trent. Another day of field suppers would certainly not kill them.
“After we get some rest, we’ll make up our plan,” he informed. “Tomorrow perhaps two of you lads will be kind enough to go into Nottingham for supplies. No one will recognize you and I’m sure you can craft some Banbury tale to explain yourselves there—travelers, merchants, as you like. When you report back to me what you see, then we’ll know better how to proceed.”
