Page 30 of Rogue of the Greenwood
“Mr. Muchleigh—the one who runs the mill—says he used to ride this mule as a boy,” the childexplained. “I think he’s too old to work now, but Mr. Muchleigh keeps him anyway. Like a really big spaniel, I guess. His name’s Clarence.”
“That seems a fine name for a mule,” she replied. “And he certainly likes that carrot!”
“Mr. Fraytuck gave it to me to bring to him,” the boy explained. “I had to run a message to him.”
“So you work here at the mill?”
“No, I work at… er, somewhere else.”
The way he paused and corrected himself caught her attention. What had the boy been about to say, and why did he not say it? Most likely it meant nothing at all, but with everything going on, she couldn’t help but be suspicious.
“You work for Mr. Fraytuck, at the church?”
“No, I was just taking him a message and then he gave me one to take back.”
“To your employer?”
“That’s right. My employer.” He grinned and puffed out his chest. He seemed to like the sound of that word.
“But your employer is not Mr. Fraytuck, and you don’t work at the mill, so where can you be going with your message to take back? We are quite outside of town here.”
Panic flashed over his young face. Clearly, he did not want her to guess his secret—whatever it was. She felt a bit of guilt for pressing him, but how could she help it? Poor Meg was home, locked in her room weeping over the man she was forbidden to marry, and the whole town seemed embroiled in some sort of scheme. Marianne owed it to her cousin to be inquisitive.
The boy seemed to think otherwise. “Say, why doyou ask so many questions?”
“Just making conversation. You look like a fellow who knows about things.”
His eyes narrowed as he studied her. “And you look like a smart lady. But why are you carrying a bow? You planning to shoot somebody?”
“No, of course not. I plan to do some archery.”
“That sounds capital! But I don’t know any ladies who do archery. Who are you?”
“I am Miss Marianne Maidland,” she said and made a polite curtsey for him.
His cheeks went pink and he returned a clumsy bow. “My name’s Henry. I’m pleased to meet you, Miss Marianne.”
“I’m pleased to meet you, too, Henry. If you are going my direction, would you care to walk with me?”
“I don’t know… where are you going?”
“Into Sherwood, of course. There will be plenty of trees and branches to aim at, without accidentally shooting someone.”
Now his eyes tripled in size. “You can’t go into the forest!”
“Can I not? As a girl I played there all the time and was perfectly safe.”
“That must have been a long time ago, miss. You shouldn’t go in there now.”
She tried not to laugh at him since he appeared utterly earnest. “And why not?”
“Haven’t you heard what people say? There’s robbers about, bad people. They hide in the forest so the sheriff can’t find them.”
“Don’t be silly,” she dismissed. “Those are just tales people tell, make-believe from the days of Robin Hood.”
He glanced over his shoulder and took a step toward her. Apparently not even the mule should hear what he had to say.
“You’ve heard about Robin Hood?”
