She should move away, but was reluctant to do so. It was seductively pleasant not to be alone.
As soon as the words formed in her mind, she remembered why she should be wary of Robin. They were merely traveling companions on a journey that would soon end. She must not become too fond of him.
"You've made your point." She straightened and moved away. "I shall stop behaving like a stunned bunny."
Robin moved back to his side of the fire. His chest was rising and falling more quickly than usual, but his tone was teasing. "If you become alarmed in the future, another demonstration could be arranged."
A lock of firelit golden hair had tumbled over his brow. She swallowed and glanced away. "Once was enough. This sort of demonstration could promote the behavior it is supposed to prevent, particularly when provided by a slippery character like you."
He grinned. "Nonsense. Surely you've noticed that I am far too indolent to plan a serious campaign of seduction."
"You've never had to seduce a woman in your life. All you need do is smile and wait for them to melt at your feet."
His smile faded. "Not really." He picked up his knife and stick again and started to sharpen the end opposite the knob.
Thinking there had been enough seriousness, she asked, "What are you doing with that piece of wood?"
"Just a fidget stick." He held it out for her inspection.
The stick was perhaps six inches long and half an inch thick, with a natural curve that nestled comfortably in her hand. As she gave it back, she said, "Some sort of toy for adults?"
"Exactly. I'll carry it in my pocket and play with it when the scenery palls." He rubbed his thumb over the knobbed end. "It's convenient to be so simple that such things amuse."
She put more wood on the fire and hung a pot of water above. "You are many things, Robin, but simple is not one of them."
He grimaced. "Perhaps not, but I'm working on it."
"That's your problem. One doesn't work at simplicity." On impulse, she sat crosslegged next to him and took his misshapen left hand in a loose clasp. "Close your eyes, Robin. Don't talk. Don't think. Just be."
He allowed her to rest their joined hands on the grass between them, but she felt tension in his fingers. Softly she said, "Listen to the wind. Hear the stones, taste the moonlight. Feel the spirits of the trees and flowers and creatures that share the night with us." They were the same words that her mother had used when teaching her to appreciate the world when she was a small child.
At first he resisted. His energy was restless, full of jagged angles. She tried to send him peace, but she could not, for she was not at peace herself.
She was startled to realize that she had not sat and meditated like this since she had heard of her father's death. Though she had spent endless hours riding and walking on the Durham moors, her knotted grief had prevented her from reaching for the one source of solace that had never failed her.
Deliberately she opened her physical and inner senses to the night. An owl gave a lonely call as it hunted the woods, its wings swift and silent. Beneath her was the living earth, its deep thrum exactly the same as it was in her homeland. Fertile soil and ancient stones and small, determined growing things. The wind that rippled the leaves was familiar, though it had blown through skies she would never know.
Earth calm entered her, flowing through limbs and veins until it filled her heart. If not for Robin's gentle lesson, which had smoothed the grief roughened edges of her spirit with sensuality, she would not have been able to find such peace.
Wanting to return the gift, she reached out emotionally, letting stillness flow from her hand into his. He was like a nervous colt, strained and ready to bolt.
Soft as shadow, she whispered, "Know that you are part of nature, not separate."
Gradually he calmed, the tautness disappearing from his fingers. His breathing became slow and regular, and for the space of a dozen heartbeats they were in harmony.
Though she was trying to teach simplicity, she recognized that he was innately a being of great complexity. His spirit was a tangled mass of contradictions, with glittering wit and cool acceptance. Sparks of laughter and curiosity, and a deep pulse of kindness. And darkness-darkness beyond her imagining. With an instinctive desire to comfort, she reached toward one of the pools of tortured regret.
In the space of a heartbeat, harmony shattered. She felt Robin jerk away from her emotionally an instant before he released her hand. He drew a shuddering breath, then said coolly, "How very interesting. I never knew that one could hear stones. Are you a witch, young lady?"
Ruefully she recognized that she had startled him as much as he had alarmed her that afternoon. It would be better for them to keep their relationship safe and superficial. Matching his lightness, she said, "Not a witch. Not even a lady."
"Nonsense." He scanned her from tangled hair to dusty boot tips. "At the very least, you're every other inch a lady."
She smiled as she made two cups of tea, regular for him and herbal for herself. Robin might be a pickpocket, a vagabond, and heaven only knew what else, but for as long as their paths lay together, he would stand her friend.
That would have to be enough.
Chapter 8
As a token of reconciliation, Maxie moved her pallet from the corner of the barn so that she was nearer Robin. All they had to do was avoid kisses and joint meditations for the balance of the journey, and they would have no problems.
After a night of pleasant dreams, she awoke with a jolt when the barn door creaked. Sunshine flooded into the dim interior, followed instantly by furious barking. Her eyes flew open to find two huge mastiffs looming less than two yards away, all red mouths, white fangs, and deafening racket
She froze, knowing that any movement might precipitate a lethal attack. Her knife was in her knapsack, and the dogs would be on her before she could cover the twofoot distance. Without moving her head, she shifted her gaze to Robin. He was as still as she, his eyes coldly calculating as he studied the hysterical mastiffs.
A voice bellowed, "Hold!"
The dogs stopped barking, but glittering eyes and hot, panting canine breath demonstrated their eagerness to tear the intruders into bloody shreds. An angry farmer appeared behind them, silhouetted against the morning light "Filthy vagrants," he growled. "I should turn you over to the magistrate."
"You could, o' course, but we've done no harm," Robin said meekly. To Maxie's foreigner's ear, he seemed to have acquired a perfect Yorkshire accent.
Cautiously he sat upright in the hay. "Beg your pardon for the trespass, sir. We meant to leave early so's not to upset anyone, but we walked a long way yesterday and my wife is in a, um, delicate condition."
Maxie sat up also, giving her companion an indignant glare. With her hair down she couldn't pass as a boy, but did she have to become a pregnant wife? Robin returned a suspiciously cherubic glance as he stood and assisted her up with tender care.
Unimpressed, the farmer, a portly middleaged chap, scowled at them. 'That's none o' my concern, but tramps on my property are. Come out here 'fore I turn the dogs loose."
"If you have some chores, sir, we'd be happy to do them to pay for our night's lodging," Robin offered.
While her companion acted the earnest innocent, Maxie began talking to the mastiffs, murmuring in Iroquoian that they were fine brave fellows and she was pleased to make their acquaintance. At first they growled, but she had always gotten on well with dogs. Soon the larger beast's tail began to wag and the ears unflattened.
She extended a hand, introducing herself by her Mohawk name, Kanawiosta. The mastiff stepped closer and gave a tentative sniff, followed by a rasping lick.
She smiled and began scratching behind his ears. He rewarded her with a lolling, imbecilic doggy grin. The other mastiff gave a jealous whimper and pressed forward, demanding equal attention.
The farmer was in the middle of another tirade about worthless thieving vagabonds, but he broke off as his mastiffs began twinin
g around Maxie, almost knocking her from her feet. "What the devil…?"
"My wife has a way with animals," Robin said, rather unnecessarily.
"Ain't that the bloomin' truth," the farmer muttered, impressed in spite of himself. "Either one of 'em weighs more 'n she does. Your wife, you say? Where's her wedding ring?"
Maxie glanced up and was amazed to see the transformation Robin had undergone. Usually he looked like a wayward aristocrat, but his casual elegance had vanished. Now his demeanor was that of a man of modest birth and fortune who had fallen on hard times.
She stared at him, thinking that she would be a damned fool if she ever believed a word he said. With his acting talents, it would be impossible ever to know if he were telling the truth.
"Had to sell her ring," Robin said sadly, "times are hard now the war is over. We're on our way to London, where I've hopes of a job."
"Were you a soldier?" the farmer said, ignoring the last sentence. "My youngest boy was with the Fiftysecond Foot"
Robin gave a nod of grave recognition. "One of the army's finest regiments. I was in the Peninsula myself. Was lucky enough to meet Sir John Moore once, a few months before he was killed at Corunna."
The farmer's thin mouth worked for a moment "My boy died at Vittoria. He used to say that Moore was the best, bar none." His hostility had disappeared. Unlike Maxie, he didn't notice that Robin had not actually said he'd been in the army.
"The general's death was a terrible loss," Robin agreed.
The farmer took off his hat and ran his fingers through his thinning hair. "My name's Harrison," he said gruffly. "You folks have a long journey ahead. If you're hungry, you can have a bite 'fore you move on."
A fifteen minute walk brought them to the house, and a single smile from Robin charmed the farmer's wife to blind adoration. Over a massive breakfast of eggs, sausage, hot muffins, strawberry preserves, and tea, he talked about the Peninsular campaign and the life of a soldier. He was utterly convincing; if Maxie hadn't known better, she would have believed him herself. He sealed his popularity by repairing Mrs. Harrison's cherished mantel clock, which hadn't run in years.
Maxie was fluttered over, told gruesome stories about the trials of childbearing, especially for "a little bit of a thing" like her, and sent off with extra food and an admonition to take care of herself for the baby's sake. Mrs. Harrison waved goodbye to the travelers, and the two mastiffs trotted in escort to the edge of their master's land, halting with obvious reluctance.
Maxie waited until she and Robin were well out of earshot before saying icily, "Aren't you ever ashamed of yourself, Lord Robert?"
"Why should I be ashamed?" he said innocently.
She gave him an exasperated glance. "You have no respect for the truth."
"On the contrary, I value truth enormously. That's why I use it with great care."
"Robin," she said in a dangerous tone.
"Our hosts have the satisfaction of having done a good deed, we had an excellent meal, the dogs made a friend, and Mrs. Harrison's clock now works. Where's the harm in that?"
"But so many lies!" she said helplessly.
"Only a few. I did spend time on the Peninsula, and I did meet Sir John Moore once. I never claimed to have been one of his soldiers or to be an intimate friend." He assumed an anxious expression. "I know why you're out of sorts. It's because you're breeding."
"You, you… impossible man!" she exclaimed, torn between irritation and laughter. "How dare you tell him that I'm your pregnant wife!"
He regarded her pensively. "If you object to the falsehood, we could correct it easily enough, or at least part of it."
She gave a disgusted sniff as she moved to the edge of the road to let a pony cart pass. "I have received many dishonorable offers in my time, but that has to be the least flattering. Even if I were interested, which I'm not, it would be a nuisance to be breeding while traipsing the length of Great Britain."
"I was thinking of the other part. We would have to head north to Gretna Green, since we're too far from Doctors' Commons to get a special license."
Even an American knew that meant marriage. "Your jests are getting worse and worse, Lord Robert," she said tartly. "It would serve you right if I accepted that idiotic offer and shackled you for life."
"I can think of worse fates."
She stopped stockstill to stare at him. The previous night's illusory sense of closeness was long gone, and this was the glittering, enigmatic Robin that baffled her. Yet there was something serious and unreadable at the back of his blue eyes. She was startled by the realization that if she agreed, he would turn, escort her north to Gretna Green, and marry her.
Quietly she asked, "Why did you suggest such a thing, Robin?"
"I have no idea," he said with rueful honesty. "Except that it seemed like a good idea."
The last thing Maxie needed was a charming rogue. What shocked her was that the idea was not without appeal. Robin might be temperamentally unsuited for gainful employment and unreliable in word and deed. Yet he was also kind, amusing, and so attractive that if she allowed herself to think about it, she would be wrapped around him like a mustard plaster.
But he was still a rogue. If she ever married, she would choose a man who could keep a roof over her head. She broke away from his unnerving gaze and resumed walking. "I expect you have three or four wives scattered around Europe already, so that acquiring another would be the merest trifle. Unfortunately I detest crowds, so I will decline the honor."
"No other wives. As you observed, I'm not skilled at making offers. The only time I did-" He stopped abruptly.
When he remained silent, she prodded, "What happened?"
"The lady declined, of course. A woman of great good sense. Not unlike you." He smiled. "I'm not sure I would want to marry a woman who had the bad judgment to accept me."
He was back in the realm of impenetrable whimsy again, though she guessed that some painful truth was buried in his words. Shaking her head, she continued on. They might be friends, but she would never really understand him.
Tracking Lord Collingwood's niece was no great chore for a man of Simmons's skills. Since the chit didn't know she was being followed, she had walked along one road like a goose waiting to be plucked.
Dressed as she was, at first the wench was easy to overlook, for not many folk recalled seeing a little lad with a big hat. It got easier after she took up with a blond gent. All the females along the route remembered him quick enough.
With a touch of malicious amusement, Simmons wondered what Collingwood would say to the news that his niece was no better than she should be. Maybe his lordship wouldn't care; his main concern had been to prevent her from reaching London, where she might find out about her pa. Not that Simmons blamed Collingwood for wanting to conceal that nasty bit of business.
Though he lost his quarry for a time when they decided to skip across country from one road to another, south of Sheffield he picked up their tracks again. They weren't more than a couple of hours ahead of him. Likely the girl and her fancy man were dossed down in a barn or a camp within the next mile or two. With luck, he would find them this very night.
He gave a rusty chuckle. The chit might not want to leave her man to return to Durham, but no matter. Simmons was a match for both of them.
Chapter 9
Grateful that they had found a suitable campsite, Maxie swung her pack to the ground, then went to gather wood. By the time she returned with a load, Robin had laid a fire and was striking flint and steel together.
He glanced up. "Once I get this going, you can keep an eye on it while I bring water for tea."
She laid down the wood and rolled her tired shoulders. "I'll get the water."
"Will you take it as a mortal insult if I suggest that you sit and rest for a while? You look tired, and the stream is a bit of a distance."
The thought of sitting down was enormously tempting. Still… "I didn't ask for special consideration."
"I know
you didn't" The tinder blazed up. After blowing on it until the flames were crackling merrily, he stood, his blue eyes teasing. "However, considering the difference in the length of our strides, you've done about a third more walking than I. Since I had an easier day, I should haul the water."
She laughed, and felt less tired. "An ingenious argument. You could sell rope to a man on the gallows." She subsided onto the grass and tugged off her boots. "Or if honest labor wasn't against your philosophy, you could have become a lawyer, arguing either side of any case."
She pulled off her hat and unpinned her hair, sighing with relief as it spilled over her shoulders. She was getting very tired of boots, pinned hair, and bound breasts. The thought of a hot bath was enough to make her whimper with longing. "Actually, did you once read law? Sometimes you talk like a barrister."
Robin shot her a horrified glance. "Good Lord, no. I may have done a number of reprehensible things in my life, but I do have some standards."
Chuckling, she lay back on the grass, her hands tucked under her head. "Are you never serious?"
There was a long pause, and she glanced up to find him watching her, an unreadable expression in his eyes. When he caught her looking, he smiled and said in his usual light tone, "As seldom as possible."
He picked up the cooking pots, then went into the woods toward the stream.
Maxie closed her eyes, half dozing. After the robbery, they had fallen into a safe, superficial routine. Robin had demonstrated no more kisses, and she had not suggested that he listen to the wind. It had worked well; there had been no more real closeness, but there had also been no conflicts.
She turned her senses to the woods around her. Liquid bird calls. The sliding rustle of leaf on leaf. The sweetness of honeysuckle. Wholeness. Contentment.
Listening to the wind, she drifted into sleep.
When Robin reached the stream, he decided to have a thorough wash. He thought about his companion as he splashed cold water over himself. He had known from the beginning that she had an exotically lovely face and a razor sharp mind. It had been a surprise, however, to learn that she had a dash of witch in her.
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