Angel Rogue

Chapter 17

Undaunted by the sight of the brick wall ahead, Robin ordered, "Wait here."

He sprinted down the alley, his pace quickening. A stride from the wall, he hurled himself upward. His leap was just high enough for his outstretched fingers to catch the edge of the wall. Making it look easy, he swung lithely onto the wide brick top. Then he unslung his knapsack and lowered it strap first.

Maxie grabbed the strap. It stretched under her weight, but held. As Robin lifted, she walked up the wall. He grinned as he gave her a hand up beside him. "It's clear you didn't spend your childhood on useless things like embroidery."

She grinned back. "It was a point of pride for me to outrun, outswim, and outclimb all of my Mohawk cousins."

Their pursuers were almost to the foot of the brick wall. Robin gave a jaunty wave before the two of them swung down on the far side of the wall. He dropped to the ground first, then reached up and caught her hips to bring her safely to earth. She was acutely aware of the strength of his hands, and of the involuntary reaction of her body. A good thing they were running for their lives.

They found themselves in a welltended garden behind a sizable town house. Directly in front of them was an archery target with bow and arrows lying beside it in the grass, as if someone had gone inside for a cup of tea and would be back soon.

As Robin started to cross the garden, she said, "Wait a moment." She picked up the bow and flexed it a few times, getting the feel. Then she nocked an arrow and waited.

After angry muttering and scuffling sounds on the other side of the wall, a pursuer heaved gracelessly into view on the shoulders of one of his mates. Coolly Maxie took aim, then sent her arrow through the man's hat. He howled like a banshee and disappeared from view.

"Well done!" Robin said, his voice full of admiring laughter.

She laid the bow back on the grass, not without a certain smugness. Being a savage had its advantages.

"Gawd a'mighty, did you see what that little bitch did?" Simmons's associate retrieved his arrowpierced hat, his face white under its habitual grime. "I coulda been killed!"

"If she wanted to kill you, she'd've done it," Simmons said brusquely. Even as he let loose a string of oaths that should have scorched the whitewash on the alley walls, the Londoner had to admit to himself that the two fugitives were worthy game.

Another of his men snarled, "I'm not goin' over that wall after 'em."

Simmons broke off. He knew Market Harborough, and he should be using that knowledge instead of wasting time. "We don't have to. There's a way around. If we hurry, we should be able to catch them. Now move your bloody backsides!"

As Maxie and Robin raced across the garden, an angry shout came from a window of the house.

'Try not to step on any flowers," Robin warned. "Hell hath no fury like an English gardener whose roses have been profaned."

They were rapidly approaching a wall covered with espaliered fruit trees. The branches were trained into stately lattices and tiny green peaches were visible among the leaves. Breathlessly she asked, "Are we allowed to profane fruit trees?"

"It's a grievous crime, but not so bad as injuring roses," he assured her as he swarmed up the espaliered branches.

The trees made an excellent ladder. Before anyone could emerge from the house and give chase, they were over the wall and down the other side on a quiet street.

As they paused to take stock, Robin said soberly, "The pursuit is amazingly tenacious. Your uncle obviously wants you back a great deal."

"So it seems," she agreed, her expression grim as she speculated about what Collingwood was trying to conceal. But when she looked at her companion her voice faltered. "I'm sorry to have involved you in this. It's more than you bargained for when you offered your escort."

He smiled, his blue eyes warm and intimate. "I didn't offer my escort, I forced it on you. And I'm not sorry at all." He gestured to the left. "A canal runs norm from Market Harborough to Leicester. I think we should follow the towpath. It's less likely to be watched than one of the roads."

"Do you really think all of the roads are watched?" she said with alarm. "Simmons would need a small army for that."

Robin shrugged. "Perhaps the roads are safe, but when in doubt, assume the worst."

That made sense; she was sure that his experience of being chased greatly exceeded her own. She fell in beside him, trotting as quickly as her tired limbs could manage.

This section of the town was empty of traffic, but in the middle distance were several large buildings that looked like warehouses. Probably the canal was on the other side.

Before they could reach the warehouses, Simmons came pounding out of a lane in front of them, a smile of wicked satisfaction on his face and one of his cohorts at his heels. With sickening anxiety, Maxie glanced behind and saw two more men emerging from another alley. She and Robin were trapped, and this time there was no helpful Dafydd Jones with a herd of oxen.

They came to a halt facing Simmons. He waved a band at his men, who fell back into a silent circle as the Londoner growled, "You're not getting away this time. The wench is going back to her uncle, and you, my pretty lad, are going to be taught a lesson for attacking me from behind."

"You should be glad I fought as I did-it gave you an excuse for losing." Calmly Robin handed his knapsack to Maxie.

Appalled, she hissed, "For God's sake, Robin, surely you're not going to fight him. He's twice your size."

He smiled and peeled off his coat. "One can refuse a man's invitation to dine, or to play a game of cards, but if he wants to fight, one must oblige him."

Overhearing, the Londoner said explosively, "You're damned right you'll oblige. And I don't care how good you are-a good big man will beat a good little man every time."

"That depends on how good the little man is, doesn't it?" Under cover of a sunny smile, Robin whispered to Maxie, "Simmons's men will be absorbed in watching the fight. Take advantage of that to escape." Seeing her about to protest, he said sharply, "No arguments. Don't worry, he's not going to kill me-it would get him into more trouble than it's worth."

Before he could say more, Simmons came up and began searching his opponent, his large hands patting pockets and around the tops of Robin's boots. Robin said pleasantly, "Are you looking for concealed weapons, or is it just that you can't keep your hands off me?"

Revolted, Simmons spat, "Filthy pervert!" and swung a wild fist at the other man's jaw.

Robin sidestepped neatly and caught his opponent's arm. Then he twisted it, at the same time rapidly pivoting. The larger man spun and crashed to the road with numbing force.

For a moment Simmons lay stunned. Then he rose to his feet, eyes narrowed and anger tempered by caution. "You didn't learn that in Jackson's salon."

"No, I didn't." Robin looked slight and elegant, a David to Simmons's Goliath. But his stance was that of a fighter as he balanced on the balls of his feet, knees bent, arms relaxed and ready. "I never claimed to be a student of Jackson's. I learned in a harder school, where the stakes were higher."

"So did I, laddie boy." The Londoner fell into the same stance. "If that's the way you want it, you've got it."

Maxie surreptitiously slid her hand into the pocket of Robin's coat and locked her hand around the striking stick. Then there was nothing to do but watch, half suffocated with tension. In spite of what Robin had said, she had no intention of abandoning him. Perhaps Simmons didn't intend murder, but there was a horrible chance that he might kill without meaning to. That was less likely if Maxie was a witness.

The two men slowly circled each other, their taut wariness sporadically interrupted by brief, violent clashes. Robin kept his distance as much as possible, moving in for a lightning hit, then darting out of range again. He had the edge in speed, but the other man had the lethal advantages of reach and weight.

To Maxie's disgust, she realized that Simmons was enjoying himself. After a particularly clever sally on his opponent's part, the big man said approvingly, "You're damned good, 'specially for a gentry cove."

He accompanied his words with a series of murderous punches to the head and shoulders. Robin skipped back, but was unable to block the barrage entirely. Several blows landed, leaving him gasping and off balance.

Simmons followed up his advantage with a fist in Robin's midriff that sent the smaller man to the ground. Crowing with triumph, the Londoner moved in to finish the fight

A good deal less defeated than he looked, Robin knocked Simmons from his feet with a scythelike sweep of his leg. Even as the larger man was falling, Robin exploded into a blur of movement too swift for Maxie to follow. It ended with the Londoner face down on the ground and Robin's knee in his back.

His hands applying a wrestling hold that could break the neck of a man too foolish to surrender, Robin snapped, "Yield!"

Even furious, Simmons was not a fool. He reluctantly raised one hand in submission.

Unfortunately, his cohorts were unwilling to accept the result. With snarls and no thoughts for sportsmanship, two of them went after the man who had defeated their employer.

Maxie screamed, "Robin!" She dropped his coat and scooped a handful of dust and gravel from the road with her empty hand, then flung it in the faces of the bruisers. The men howled.

Robin used the moment's warning to leap to his feet. A perfectly aimed kick knocked one man down. Without losing a second, he whirled and caught the second man's arm, then flung him to the ground. Though his lightningquick moves had a dancer's grace, they left both opponents sprawling, one with his arm bent at an unnatural angle.

As Robin disposed of his two attackers, the third man grabbed a rock and swung it at Robin's skull with lethal force. Maxie dived at him and clutched his arm, using her whole weight in an attempt to deflect the blow. As he staggered, she smashed her fist and the striking stick into his breast bone.

When her blow rammed home, he gave a strangled squawk, but her assault was only partially successful. The stone struck Robin just above the ear with a sickening thud. Though she had managed to reduce the force, the impact was enough to send Robin crumpling to the cobblestones.

Furious and terrified for Robin, she slashed at the third man's face with clawed fingers. As he tried to protect his eyes, she kneed him viciously in the groin. Then she jabbed him in the throat with the striking stick. He made an indescribable sound and folded over on himself like a suit of empty clothes.

The least damaged man present, Simmons lunged to his feet and grabbed Maxie in a bear hug, trapping her arms and legs. Thrash as she might, she couldn't free herself, though she managed a few good butts and bites.

"Stop that, you little hellion!" Simmons gasped, locking her hands behind her back in one meaty fist. With the other, he wrenched the stick from her hand and tossed it away. "My lads shouldn't've interfered in a fair fight, but by God, if you don't behave, you'll regret it."

Recognizing the need for a strategic truce, she stopped struggling. Her terrified gaze went to Robin. He lay senseless in the dust, his blond hair stained by the slow seep of blood.

Keeping a firm grip on her, Simmons scowled at the two men who were stumbling to their feet. '"You fought like a bunch of girls," he said contemptuously. "Worse-this little wench has more skill and spirit than the three of you put together."

His expression vicious, one of the bruisers drew back his foot to kick Robin.

Simmons snapped, "Touch 'im and I'll break your arm myself. You get over to the livery stable and bring the carriage 'round."

In a cloud of surly muttering, the two men left. The third bruiser still lay in the road, sublimely unaware.

Maxie wondered angrily where the citizens of Market Harborough were, but this was a drab backstreet, more warehouses than homes, and no one came. "Let me go so I can see to Robin," she said tightly. "He may be badly hurt."

"He'll survive, though it might 'a gone hard with 'im if you hadn't grabbed Wilby's arm." Simmons shook his head. "Wilby really shouldn't 'a done that. It's hard to get reliable help."

Maxie's sympathy was nil, but for the moment discretion was the better part of valor. Trying to sound resigned she asked, "What are you going to do with us?"

"You're going to Durham, trussed like a Christmas goose if necessary. Now, as for your friend, that's a question, and no mistake." Simmons frowned. "I could' just leave 'im here, but 'e might come after me. 'E seems the stubborn sort. Mebbe I'll give 'im to the local constable, say 'e stole my horse."

After a moment's thought, he chuckled. "Aye, that's the ticket. By the time 'e's brought up to the magistrate, you'll be in Durham, and then you're Collingwood's problem." He rubbed his cheek, where a wide bruise was forming. "Better 'im than me."

As he talked, his grip on her hands loosened. Deciding that there was no time like the present, Maxie tried to wrench herself from his grasp. She managed to break away for a moment, but before she could get clear, he grabbed one of her wrists.

Another furious skirmish followed. Even knowing it was hopeless, she continued to struggle. She managed to get a good swipe at Simmons's face with her fingernails, acratching his bruised cheek until it bled.

"I warned you, you little vixen!" Simmons dragged Maxie over to the low brick wall that bounded the street and sat down. Then he turned her over his knee and began to spank her with a hard, massive hand.

For a moment, she was stunned with disbelief and the sheer indignity of what he was doing. The Iroquois did not believe in being violent with children. Her father had also preferred reason to force, so she had never been spanked in her life.

The fighting that had gone before had been fierce but without deadly intent. Now the last traces of her English restraint dissolved.

Maxie inhaled a deep lungful of air, then gave a Mohawk war whoop that vibrated the panes of glass in nearby windows. It was a savage explosion of sound unlike anything heard in England since the natives wore blue paint.

Simmons gasped, his hand suspended in midair. "Gawd a'mighty, what was that?"

And in the moment he was distracted, Maxie twisted, pulled the knife from her boot, and came up slashing.