Romancing Robin Hood (14 page)

Flicking to a clean page in her notebook, Grace tried to concentrate on formulating a plan for the paper Rob had suggested. It was no good though. Fidgety and uncomfortable, Grace found herself glancing out of the window so often that forming any cohesive outline was nigh-on impossible. Sustaining herself with a large cappuccino rather than her usual pot of tea, Grace blew through the circling steam and stared into the liquid, attempting to focus her thoughts.

‘Praying to the god of caffeine?'

So caught up in her thoughts, Rob's sudden arrival made Grace jump, causing her to slop coffee into her saucer. Realising that despite her determination not to, she was already blushing, and embarrassed to be caught looking vacant, she mumbled, ‘Something like that,' before pulling herself together. ‘Coffee?'

Damn. He looks even better in jeans and that old rugby shirt than he had in his linen suit. Rats.

Grace tried to pay attention on what Rob was saying from his position sat opposite her, but her mind was too busy trying to convince itself that she really didn't find him attractive at all. On failing that particular task, Grace worked on telling herself firmly that Rob wouldn't be either interested in her or available anyway.

‘Are you with me, Grace?'

‘What? Oh, sorry,' Grace's cheeks coloured again, and she began to bluster, ‘I've not been sleeping well, lots on my mind, you know how it is …'

‘Indeed.' Rob was studying at her with a curious mixture of concern, puzzlement and regret, ‘So, do you fancy having a crack at this paper for the
English Historical Review
then, we could aim for next Easter instead of October?

‘Yes, sure. “
The Fourteenth-Century English Crown Needed Criminals
” sounds a feasible title with all the research we've already done. Are you sure you don't mind doing the bulk of the writing?'

‘No problem. As long as you are sure you don't mind me stealing your research notes.'

‘I've done the work; it might as well be used. I'll need it for the textbook, but not for a while yet.' They continued to sip their coffees in silence before Rob said, ‘But you said you were intending to start writing up your book over the student holidays?'

‘Well, yes,' Grace thought quickly, ‘but most of my notes are on the computer, I can attach them and send them over to you, without losing out myself. Anything else can be photocopied.'

‘Right,' Rob sat back, his eyes twinkling slightly, making Grace feel uncomfortable.

Turning her gaze away from his, Grace forced herself to steer her mind to the paper again;
after all
, she told herself sternly,
that's the only reason why he's come here
. ‘We could use the examples of Nicholas Coterel and Eustace de Folville to illustrate our argument.'

Robert was looking at her in a rather strange way, so Grace rambled on. ‘They were career criminals in the “lesser gentry” class, and they were both pardoned for serious crimes. Murder, rape, kidnap, and so on, so that they could fight in the King's wars.

‘Nicholas Coterel was even made the Queen's Bailiff in the High Peak of Derbyshire in 1335, and he continued to commit serious crimes. Eustace was knighted by the king for services in the wars, and yet within six years he'd received three further pardons for murder, rape, and armed robbery.

‘Crime was simply a way to make a living for these people, to give them the luxurious life they wanted, and as long as they fought for the Crown when required to do so, they got away with it.'
¹²

‘I think that's the longest sentence I've ever heard you utter!'

‘You've only known me for a few days!'

‘Sorry, I was being flippant.' Rob rubbed his hands down his jeans, ‘that sounds like a good basis to start from. Those two characters alone have enough ammunition to show that the hiring of criminals by the Crown was not anti-propaganda, but a frequently practised past time when they needed soldiers for their never ending wars.'

‘Then of course, there's the result of the fighting.'

‘How do you mean?' Rob nodded, encouraging her to explain.

‘When these men were in between wars, they had nothing else to do but commit crimes again, so then they'd need another pardon, and therefore go back into service to pay for it. And each time they went to war they got closer to perfecting the art of killing.'

‘A self-fulfilling felonious prophecy.'

‘Exactly.' Grace didn't know what else to say, so hid behind drinking her now cold coffee.

Rob just sat there, watching her. Grace found herself beginning to feel paranoid. ‘Do I have food on my face or something? Why are you looking at me like that?'

‘What? Oh sorry, I was thinking about your textbook.'

Grace picked up the cafe menu and pretended to read it, ‘Oh, really?'

‘Yes, really.' His eyes seemed to be laughing at her again, ‘Did you know that whenever I ask about the textbook, you don't look at me when you reply, or you avoid replying altogether?'

‘Do I?'

‘It's almost as if you're hiding something. Or stranger still, like you're ashamed of it.'

Grace put down the menu and began to fidget with a paper napkin instead, not quite daring to meet Rob's eyes, but determined not to satisfy him by looking completely away either.

‘I haven't known you for long, but I can't see, even if you were the most private person on the planet, why you'd be embarrassed by your work. Not when you are obviously very good at it.'

‘Oh well, you know how it is, I never think anything I produce is good enough.'

‘Hmm …' Rob wasn't sounding at all convinced.

‘And to be honest, I'm not sure I'll get as much done as I hoped, not with the wedding and everything.'

Rob stopped smiling, and picked up his own cup. ‘When is the happy event?'

‘8
^th
of August.'

‘Is that a special date for you, or a Saturday picked out at random?'

‘It's a Friday, actually,' Grace wondered why he'd turned so prickly, ‘and I'm simply doing what I'm told.'

Rob's eyebrows shot up, ‘I can't imagine you ever doing what you are told.'

‘Charming!' This was weird, one minute he was flirting, the next he was surly, and then he was flirting again.

‘He must be one hell of a bloke to achieve that.'

Grace frowned, ‘Well, to tell you the truth, I've only seen him a few times. It's all happened rather fast.'

‘A whirlwind romance then.'

‘Yes. Marcus seems nice enough though.'

‘Nice enough! Good grief, woman, you're way too young to be settling for “nice enough.”'

Rob had gone a funny colour and finally, Grace understood why, ‘You've got it all wrong! I'm not the one getting married. I'm the bridesmaid. It's my best friend's wedding.'

Now it was Rob's turn to appear uncomfortable. He put his cup down with a clatter. ‘Ah, I see.' Then, with a confidence Grace could only envy, he put his hand over hers. ‘Good.'

Grace didn't say anything; she was too busy feeling shocked, and unexpectedly happy.

Half an hour later, unable to take any more caffeine, they elected to walk back to the university so Rob could collect some of Grace's primary evidence for the paper, before heading back to Nottingham.

Funny how different everything suddenly looks
. Grace smiled to herself as they walked up New Walk, past the museum and the rows of eighteenth-century houses. Rob hadn't let go of her hand since he'd grasped it in the café, and rather than feeling suffocated as she had with boyfriends in the past, Grace felt warm and safe. She also seemed totally incapable of stopping smiling. Neither of them spoke as they walked, but somehow that didn't matter.

Rob had told her while they were in Mrs Beeton's that he'd hoped to see her again from the first moment he'd clapped eyes on her huddled in the Reception armchair before the viva. When she'd mentioned a forthcoming wedding, Rob had assumed it was her own, and resigned himself to having missed out on a possible relationship again.

Grace had protested, entirely on autopilot, ‘Who the hell would marry an insane person like me?' When Rob had told her to stop being daft and shut up. Grace had blushed again, but this time she hadn't cared.

It wasn't until they reached the wrought iron gateway of the university's main entrance that Grace began to feel self-conscious, and let go of Rob's hand.

Apologising as she freed herself, she was unsure why she wasn't prepared to go into work looking as if she was part of a couple. If that's what they were?

‘It's OK, this is work,' Rob winked, ‘and your colleagues aren't used to seeing you with someone.'

‘Thanks,' Grace grinned at his understanding, ‘they're not the only ones. I need to get used to the idea myself.'

‘Me too, if it comes to that.'

Grace gazed at Rob's face; an expression of mild amazement was etched on his features. ‘Are you sure you haven't got someone tucked away at home?'

‘Idiot. Now,' Rob began to stride towards the main cluster of the campus buildings, ‘which of these hideous edifices do you hide in all day?'

‘Bloody hell!' Rob stood in the middle of Grace's office and circled slowly on the spot. ‘I see you have opted away from the subtle approach to décor.'

‘Cheek.'

‘Well, at least no one could ever be in any doubt as to your historical interests.'

Rummaging around in the nearest filing cabinet for the crime statistics she had unearthed from the Patent and Court Rolls for 1327, but as yet hadn't committed to her computer, Grace eventually produced a stapled together set of sheets, and passed them to her fellow historian.

Rob sat down in her swivel chair, ‘So, tell me the truth, Dr Harper, why the uneasy looks whenever I mention the textbook?'

Grace sighed, she'd have to tell him, he'd only keep asking her, and anyway, hiding the novel all the time was being tiring and tedious.

‘Come on,' Rob tapped his knees invitingly and, with a quick glance to make sure the office door was shut properly, Grace sat on his lap, feeling like a loved-up teenager.

Rob wrapped his arms around her, ‘Now Grace, I badly want to kiss you. In fact, I have badly wanted to kiss you for the past three hours, not to mention do a hell of a lot more with you besides, but I am willing to torture myself further and withhold that kiss, until you tell me the truth.'

‘You're a hard man, Dr Franks.'

‘I sure am with you on my lap!'

Grace coloured crimson, even though she was privately thrilled at his body's response to her presence, ‘Honestly!'

‘Go on, tell me.' He began to tickle her waist, at which point, Grace pulled away and faced him properly.

She told him about the novel, about not wanting to just produce some dry old handbook to history that no one will read. And then, as Rob had neither looked disapproving, or burst out laughing, she told him about how, as the book progressed, she'd become increasingly worried that it had journeyed too far away from factual history. It was becoming far more of a saga than she'd anticipated.

‘Is it about Robin Hood?'

‘Indirectly. It is more about the ideals his tales promoted in the fourteenth century. It's based loosely on the Folvilles. I'm working on the assumption that the ballads were already well known, although I realise that is a bone of historical contention.'

Rob didn't argue with her assumption, ‘I'd like to read it – if I may?'

‘Well, I … it isn't finished yet.'

‘Even so. I could give you my opinion of it so far. If you want it.'

Surprised that she did, Grace readily accepted the offer. ‘I know I've become obsessed with finishing it, when I should be doing the textbook, but I just
need
to do it.'

‘I don't understand your reluctance to make it an easy-read novel, rather than a perfectly historically accurate novel. Surely if it's a good read that happens to teach the reader something as they go along, than that's enough in itself.' ‘Well I …'

‘And why not make it a romance? They are very popular. You're a romantic, after all.'

‘I am not!' Grace sounded so indignant that Rob couldn't help but laugh.

‘How can you say you're not romantic? Look around you, woman. If Robin Hood isn't a romantic ideal, then I don't know what is. Let me read the novel draft so far while you hurry up and write the rest. Meanwhile I'll write the paper, and then you can get the textbook started properly, and get on with the rest of your life.'

Grace was about to issue a whole stream of sensible objections, but she didn't get the chance, because Rob kissed her.

Chapter Sixteen

It had been with great reluctance, armed with as much of Grace's novel as she'd typed up, along with the primary evidence for the forthcoming paper, that Rob had left Grace's office and headed back to Nottingham.

Without his presence the office felt very empty, and Grace was torn between feeling lost in the space, sad at his departure, and excited by the prospect of future meetings. Not that he'd mentioned seeing her again.

‘What do you think, boys?' Grace addressed the posters on the walls, ‘is he the one for me, or is he going to disappear now, never to be heard from again, or worse – will he stay in touch until he's got me to bed and then break my heart? Or worse even than that, turn into a tedious historian from hell, and bore me to death?'

Conscious that her euphoria was already beginning to be eclipsed by doubts, Grace was determined to claw it back, and picked up her mobile to call Daisy. Her friend's rather muffled grunted greeting surprised Grace. ‘Daze, what are you doing? I haven't interrupted you and Marcus at a vital moment, have I?'