Page 44 of Rogue of the Greenwood
“Perhaps this was just a treat to lure them inside and keep them quiet,” he said, then paused over something in the back of the wagon. “Hold up, what’s this?”
She went to his side even as he pulled up an arrow, still stuck into a near-empty bag of flour. His eyes went directly to her quiver and she knew he recognized it as one of her own.
“Er… I shot that into the bag. I hoped flour would leak out as they drove along and then I’d have a trail to follow.”
“Apparently it worked.”
“It did, until we left the road and I tried to follow them through the brush. How on earth did he get this huge wagon through that overgrown path?”
Before Robert could answer a voice called out from the house. “Who’s there?”
Robert went to the door of the carriage house and peered out. The other voice made a cheerful whoop. Robert quickly shushed him.
Footsteps crunched over the drive, indicating someone was running this way. In a moment a man with an oddly shaped guitar strapped to his back cametrotting in.
“Rob! You’ve come back!” he said happily. “The dog’s been back for ages; we figured you got lost. But what’s this? You’ve collected someone.”
“Miss Marianne Maidland, may I present my good friend and consummate musician, Mr. Alan O’Dell?”
Mr. O’Dell presented himself with an admirable bow. He was energetic and charming, with a ready smile, and Marianne was indeed glad to know that he was a friend. She curtseyed in response to his bow, as if they had suddenly entered a fashionable drawing room. It felt rather ridiculous, and yet perfectly comfortable.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Maidland,” the man said cheerfully. “Welcome to our home. It’s noisy, the ground floor is occupied by livestock, and the food is barely passable. Will you be staying long?”
“Er, I don’t believe so,” she said, not even sure how to respond to that.
“Pity,” Mr. O’Dell replied, noting Clarence in the nearby stall. “I just cleared out the dining room for your mule.”
“The mule won’t be staying long, either,” Robert assured him.
More footsteps sounded outside and this time George Muchleigh appeared. He seemed perplexed to find his mule in the carriage house.
“Clarence?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Muchleigh,” Marianne said. “I’m afraid I rather borrowed him. When I realized Meg must have come away with you, well… Clarence was the best transportation I could find on such short notice.”
“As you see, he’s no worse for the wear,” Robert said quickly. “He’ll be back in his pasture in no time. But tell me, Much, whose cart is this?”
Mr. Muchleigh patted his wayward mule and seemed content with his condition.
“It’s the vicar’s cart,” he replied. “He was visiting a family a few miles north of here and since there were no other travelers on the forest road, he came in to check on everyone. He brought some sweets for the little ones, too, so you can guess he’s their favorite person just now.”
“I can imagine,” Robert said with a chuckle.
Mr. Muchleigh’s face grew darker and he continued. “But Rob… something you should know. As we got to unloading the wagon, we ran across… ah, I see you found it. A stray arrow was shot into my load!”
Robert nodded. “Yes, we were just discussing the arrow and how it got there.”
“It’s a miracle it didn’t strike Meg while she was hidden.”
Marianne was immediately insulted that he could think such a thing. “It wasn’t a miracle; I never would hit her!”
Mr. Muchleigh glared at her. “You shot at my wagon?”
“I shot at that bag of flour,” she clarified. “I didn’t know how else I would track you, so I shot the bag. Flour leaked out and I had a nice trail to go by.”
“When did you do that? I never once saw you draw on my wagon.”
She explained and his jaw dropped. She repeated the story and still he did not seem to believe her.
