Angel Rogue

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 twining 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.