Chapter 11 #2
“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 along after the trail laid by the wagon.
Well, perhaps speeding was 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 meant slow or near-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.
What was it? Did she hear it, too? Yes, she was sure that she did. But it wasn’t the sound of a wagon, or the movement of horses. It was a dog, the wild barking of a dog!
Apparently, Clarence did not like dogs. He stamped at the ground with one large, muddy hoof. He shook his head and snuffed with indignance.
“Easy, fellow,” she soothed, patting him lightly.
But it was not enough. The sound of barking was grower louder. He stamped again and then nearly threw her as he leapt into motion. She had no idea the old boy could move with such speed!
He plowed forward through the branches, tearing over the ground and dodging trees like a frisky young colt. Marianne screeched out in shock and then leaned close over his neck. Reins would do nothing now, so she wrapped her arms around him and clutched tightly with her legs.
Her skirts—which were already giving her enough trouble, considering they were not at all made for this—rode up nearly to her thighs and allowed every branch, every brush, to rip at her skin.
It wasn’t as if she’d found a side-saddle in that carriage house.
She was sitting awkwardly astride, clinging to Clarence for dear life.
Her bow and the quiver of arrows she had slung over her back caught on leaves as they passed, the strap pulling and nearly choking her. She choked. Debris blew into her eyes and she blinked madly, struggling to see where they were headed.
What a fool she had been to do this, to come out to the forest on a strange animal! It would be a miracle if she wasn’t thrown off and trampled to death. She still believed Clarence was a gentle soul, but he had some unusual terror of dogs. There was no telling what he might do.
She could do nothing but hold on for dear life. Ah, if Robert Locksley could only see her now! He would certainly laugh. But she wasn’t laughing. This was no imaginary run-away ride, after all.
Where did that blasted dog go? Robert picked his way through the underbrush, dodging nettles and hawthorn with variable success. His coat would be snagged beyond repair after this and heaven only knew when he’d be in the position to gain himself another one.
There, he heard the barking again, off in yet another direction. That pup must still be trailing its rabbit. Too bad rabbits could go places that full-grown gentlemen couldn’t. With a sigh, Robert shoved another branch aside and plowed on through.
It would be foolish to call to the dog; it was doubtful the creature was old enough to have learned his name yet.
In fact, the children couldn’t even agree on his name.
Robert had heard them arguing. One boy thought Wellington would be a fitting name, while his sister insisted Rainbow would be better.
Still another child demanded they all call the dog Jemima, but it turned out that was their mother’s name and she strenuously opposed sharing it with the family hound.
Obviously calling for it would be useless, and he didn’t really want to alert anyone out on the road to his presence here, anyway.
A dog chasing a rabbit could be ignored, but not a man so recently returned from the dead.
He tried to stay low and make as little noise as possible as he tracked the animal.
But someone else wasn’t being quite so careful.
What was that ound? Something large was crashing through the forest, coming his way.
It was too large to be the dog; indeed, he could still here the dog barking off in the distance.
What was this coming his way? A deer, perhaps?
If so, it would be the largest one ever encountered in Sherwood.