Page 37 of Rogue of the Greenwood
“Your father will not be happy to find you have gone,” Robert noted.
“No sir, he will not,” she confirmed. “George told me that he has… not always been kind to your family.”
“I’m afraid, Miss St. John, that he’ll be particularly upset when he finds you have not only run away, but that you have come here.”
“May I… will you allow me to stay?”
There was no doubt in his mind that he’d live to regret it, but how on earth could he turn her away?
“Of course you shall stay. Go ahead, Much, take her inside. You’ll find Mrs. Grover and her family in there—they’ve fairly overrun the place. I’m sure they’ll be happy to help make a space for Miss St. John.”
Even speaking that name gave him a shudder, a wave of feeling from years gone by. He must be insane for welcoming her, but clearly she needed protection. At least Robert had never actually shared family ties with damned Prinley St. John. This poor girl had that ogre for a father! If anyone needed rescue, it would surely be her.
Before Much could usher the young lady to the door, it flew open and two giggling children rushed out, along with the dog. Since there was a concern that a dog running loose through the forest might attract unwanted attention, the procedure had been that one of the men took the dog out to supervise its needed outdoor time. The children, naturally, were not quite so concerned with such matters. They bolted out into the drive, their energy feeding the dog’s excitement. He danced around, yelping and greeting everyone with a sloppy tongue and eager nose.
“We’ve come to help carry things!” the children sang out.
They’d been mostly idle for days now, so Robert could understand that they were anxious to be useful. He gritted his teeth as the dog nearly tripped him and went to help the children find items from inside the wagon they could carry. Much gathered Miss St. John’s things and led her into the house.
The other men came outside to help carry the heavy items. Soon the wagon would be emptied and all the noise and excitement would move back indoors. Robert would feel safer then. Who knew how quickly Prinley St. John would notice his daughter’s disappearance and track her this way. They’d all have to be on extra alert now.
The dog, however, was already alert. He noticed a rabbit. In an instant, the young hound was baying loudly and racing off after his quarry.
“Damn it!” Robert grumbled. This was all he needed to shred the last of his nerves.
“I’ll get him,” John said, turning back to the cart to unload the bags he had just lifted.
“No, you get this all into the house. I’ll go after the dog.”
It would be good to stretch his legs. The other men exchanged worried glances, but Robert gave them no time to dissuade him. He took off into the forest, following the sounds of the dog. Hopefully he’d distract the animal before too long, before they ran across anyone else.
Marianne was in heated pursuit, speeding alongafter the trail laid by the wagon.
Well, perhapsspeedingwas a bit of an exaggeration. It had likely been many years since Clarence had done anything at all that involved speed. Unless by the word “speed” one actually meantslowornear-comatose.
Not that Clarence was lazy or unwilling! Indeed not. He had been happy to let her lead him to the carriage house where she pried the door open and found proper tack. He let her patiently saddle him—a skill her father insisted she learn but one she had not often used—then eagerly trotted over the bridge with her and even pranced a bit as they entered the forest.
But then he was done with anything strenuous. The poor old fellow simply couldn’t keep up more than a laborious walk. She wondered if perhaps she would have done better to set off on foot, leaving him back in his pasture. But here he was with her now, plodding along quite contentedly. He seemed to be fully enjoying sauntering through the countryside with her.
He kept stopping to lick up the flour that had spilled from the wagon, too. At first she tried to stop him, but then she realized he made better time if she let him have it. The narrow white line trickled over the roadway was rather like a carrot dangled before him. Onward they went. Fast as a snail.
Now here she was, riding her gallant steed through the depths of Sherwood forest, bound to rescue her cousin. If she ever found her, of course. As it was, the flour trail had led them off of the main road onto a smaller, much less well-kept lane, and now they had even left that. It seemed the wagon had turned off into the forest.
She could tell that a path had been cut through the trees at one time, but it was terrible overgrown now. A light mist was falling through the trees and covered any previous wheel ruts. It washed away flour, too. At this point, any flour that had spilled was lost in wet undergrowth and the many puddles they encountered. Aside from a broken branch here and there, Marianne honestly couldn’t say whether they were still following the wagon’s path or not.
She patted Clarence on the neck, but he was oblivious to her sense of worry. He sniffed at the foliage, grabbing bites off of this tree or that shrub, stopping to rest now and then or to snort at a butterfly or bird. It clearly made no difference to him if they were hopelessly lost.
The way ahead seemed particularly dense. How did a wagon with two huge horses pass through here? Had she already taken the wrong course? She wasn’t sure what to do.
“Sorry, Clarence,” she sighed, stroking his side. “It seems I’ve brought us to a dead end.”
Perhaps if they’d been moving faster, they could have caught up to the wagon, but that was not to be. She hadn’t planned to move so slowly, and she certainly hadn’t expected to completely loose the trail. The flour would have worked perfectly if they had been faster, and if it had not begun raining. What was she to do now?
She pulled him to a stop, which he was perfectly happy to do for her. She studied the trees, looking for any clue which way to go. Clarence seemed to be doing the same. His over-sized ears pivoted, shifting first backward and then pricking forward. He made a light chuffing sound.
“What is it?” she asked him. “Do you hear something?”
He did, she could tell by his posture. He was stock still, staring ahead and listening intently. She held her breath and did the same.
