Romancing Robin Hood (19 page)

Mathilda had tried to explain the reason for her action to Master Hugo, indicating how it would not be in Robert's favour for Geoffrey to see her there, but her pleas had fallen on deaf ears. He had been far too delighted at having an excuse to admonish and belittle her in public to listen to reason.

Now she supposed Hugo must have focused on that one moment of dissatisfaction, rather than reporting to Robert how much profit Mathilda had made for him today. With her bottom bruised from bouncing out of sync with the movement of the mount, and her palms dry from a day of dealing with leather, Mathilda ached all over. She'd survived her task with the Coterels and a day with the obnoxious leatherworker. Now all she had to do was go home.

It didn't help that it was getting darker, and Mathilda couldn't stop herself from peering into the trees on either side of them, constantly expecting someone to leap out at them. The dagger's hilt dug into her side, the stone in the hilt bruising her thigh as she clung onto the palfrey's mane, leaning forward to help her keep her balance. Mathilda began to wonder how fast she could pull the weapon from its hiding place if they were assailed by outlaws. Then again, not even an outlaw would be stupid enough or desperate enough to attack a Folville. Mathilda wasn't sure if that thought gave her comfort or not. Forcing herself to concentrate on watching Robert's back through her windblown fringe instead of looking from left to right all the time, Mathilda reflected on how different their return journey was. On the way Robert had stayed by her side. He'd made sure she was safe, that she was comfortable, and that she was prepared for the task ahead. Now she'd completed that task it seemed his solicitousness was a thing of the past. Perhaps it had never existed in the first place, but was just a Folville acting in a way that would ensure he got what he wanted.

When they finally rode through the gates of the Folville manor house, the stable boy helped Mathilda's stiff body down from her short steed, his brow furrowing as he held her shivering frame against his. ‘Are you all right?'

‘Thank you, but I'm a little cold, and it has been some time since I ate.' Mathilda glanced around her. Robert had disappeared.

Unsure where to go, and feeling unsteady on her feet, she held onto the horse, unwilling to let go of its reins least she fall to the floor. Mathilda was about to ask the boy where she should wait, when he gestured towards the back door of the kitchen, ‘I think Sarah wants you.'

Mathilda turned to see the housekeeper looking at her impatiently.

‘Come on, girl!' Sarah snapped under her breath, ‘the men are waiting for you!'

Passing the reins to the stable lad Mathilda headed toward the housekeeper. Each step was an effort. Her stomach growled in protest at its lack of sustenance, and the cold shivers that had engulfed her on the journey home were joined by streaks of heat, and before Mathilda could call out in distress, her legs gave out from under her, and she sank with no grace whatsoever onto the damp hay-strewn gravel.

There had been a brief sensation of falling, that the world was spinning, and darts of a sickly green had flashed behind her eyes. Mathilda thought she'd heard a woman shouting, and she knew male hands had lifted her from the ground and carried her into the kitchen, but she wasn't sure whose they had been.

Now, with one of the horse's blankets swathing her, Mathilda's eyes slowly came back into focus. She didn't seem to be able to stop the quiver in her legs, and her head thudded. Doing her best to pull herself together, angry with herself at having swooned like some sort a feeble princess in front of members of the Folville household for a second time, Mathilda was about to apologise when the housekeeper let fly.

‘What in heaven's name do you think you're playing at, girl? Sarah rolled up her sleeves as she spoke, and for one second Mathilda had the impression that she was going to hit her.

Sarah merely grunted and she shook her head in clear disapproval. Her hair hung loose around the shoulders as if she'd been preparing to turn in for the night when the returning party from Derby had disturbed her, ‘Come on! They are waiting!'

‘Who is waiting?' Mathilda's head swam and dots of perspiration had appeared on her forehead. Wiping dust and small shards of gravel from her palms, Mathilda struggled to concentrate.

It didn't matter that she'd survived a meeting with Nicholas Coterel; Sarah the housekeeper, as she stood there like a disgruntled matriarch, with her hands on her ample hips, made Mathilda feel as though she was as welcome as an infestation of mice in a bakehouse, and every bit as inconvenient.

‘My Lord Eustace and his brothers, of course!' Sarah stamped her foot impatiently, ‘Heaven help us; don't say your fall has knocked the wits from your head.' Then, in a tone that was more concerned than annoyed she added in a whisper, ‘You haven't forgotten the message have you?'

The unexpected concern on Sarah's face brought Mathilda up short. ‘You know of my mission?'

‘Of course. The brothers trust me. Now,' Sarah passed Mathilda a cup of ale, ‘drink this and I will take you through.'

Taking her time, Mathilda stood for a minute or two, letting gravity plant her feet firmly on the ground before she attempted to move. ‘I'm very sorry. I am not given to fainting. I am quite all right now. Thank you for taking care of me.'

Sarah raised an eyebrow, but said nothing as Mathilda pushed her shoulders back and began to walk; giving the world the firm impression that she was a young woman very much in control of herself.

Feeling far from in control however, Mathilda hoped that the brothers would not keep her long, for she feared that if she didn't sleep soon, she would disgrace herself further.

‘You haven't eaten much.'

Rob pointed a chopstick towards Grace's half-full bowl. Although the food was delicious, Grace had been so busy talking through how she imagined Mathilda had got back to Ashby Folville from the market that she hadn't taken more than a few mouthfuls.

Using her story-telling as her excuse, Grace smiled, covering up that in reality she hadn't been able to stamp out the persistent mutterings at the back of her head telling her she had to lose two stone, miraculously vanish away her cellulite, and tone her stomach, all preferably by the time she left this restaurant.

As the evening went on, and the realisation that she'd enjoyed herself (and the company) more than she had in years grew stronger, and the smile on Rob's face got wider, Grace experienced an overwhelming need to escape. To get home, to get away before he suggested they go back to his place.

Not that Grace didn't want to go back to his place. She did. The idea of being somewhere alone with Rob, where they could experience a great deal more kissing and perhaps a lot more besides, was deliciously appealing. But what if she disappointed him? What if Rob took one look at her ‘lived-in' frame and ran the other way? It had been so long since anyone but Grace had seen her body. In fact the only other person who'd seen Grace in nothing but underwear for three years was Ashley when she had manoeuvred Grace into her bridesmaid dress; a feat which Grace had no doubt had involved a fair amount of professional blindness on Ashley's part.

When the waitress took away the plates, and placed a steaming pot of China tea on the table, Grace, determined to remember she was an in control career woman and not an insecure love struck teenager, picked up her handbag and dug out a railway timetable. ‘That was a lovely meal, and I've had a great time, but I guess I ought to be sensible and check the train times; I don't want to miss the last one back.'

Grateful that Rob had the good manners not to mention the disappointment that she wouldn't be staying overnight that flashed across his face for a nano-second, while being perversely pleased to have seen it there, Grace scanned the timetable.

‘There's one at 11.30, do you think we'd make it?'

Rob checked his wristwatch, ‘No problem, it's only 11.' He gestured for the bill to arrive. ‘You know, I do have a spare bedroom. You are very welcome to use it. I can assure you I would be the perfect host and leave you undisturbed – unless you didn't want me to, of course. Then I think it's safe to say I would enjoy giving you a fairly sleepless night.'

Grace turned the colour of beetroot, ‘Well I … it isn't that I don't want to, but …'

Placing a hand on hers once more, Rob spoke gently, ‘But it's been a while, and you haven't known me long, and you're an old-fashioned lass at heart. Fourteenth century, even!'

As her cheeks shaded from beetroot to the hue of a bright red radish, Grace didn't know what to say.

‘Well luckily for you, Dr Harper, I'm a bit of a gentleman on the quiet, and as I have a feeling that you're a woman who is worth waiting for, then I'll spare you my protests.'

Still speechless, Grace allowed her gentleman to pass her coat and escort her from the restaurant, all her good intentions of paying half the bill wiped from her head.

As they walked out into the night air, Rob wrapped an arm around Grace's waist, ‘I think it only fair to warn you, Dr Harper, I may be a gentleman, but I'm not going to be able to wait long. And the only way I am letting you get on that train tonight, is if you promise we can meet up again very soon.'

The blatant lust in his eyes made Grace gulp as she said, ‘I'd love that. Can you come over to Leicester on Friday night? I'll cook.'

Rob's expression told Grace the answer to that question was a definite yes, saying as he met her dry lips with one fast, hard kiss, ‘I think you'd better quickly tell me what happens to Mathilda next, or I might forget my resolve and whisk you into the nearest taxi and back to my place anyway!'

Chapter Twenty-one

‘Why the hell did I say I'll cook?' Grace muttered to herself as the largely deserted train pulled into Leicester station. She couldn't stop herself remembering a sitcom she'd once seen, where the female lead had explained to a friend that telling a man you'd cook for them was the same as saying, ‘Let's have sex and I'll cater!'

Now she was away from the Chinese restaurant and her nerves began to calm, Grace realised she was hungry after all, and regretted not having eaten more of the delicious food they'd been served. Guilt stabbed her. It had been so lovely, and so much had been wasted. She tried not to think about the inevitable homeless hungry people she'd have to go past once she got off the train and walked through Leicester's railway station, or about how much the meal must have cost Rob.

Telling herself that her rumbling stomach was her own fault, and that it was a small price to pay for her wastefulness, and might even have the added benefit of not adding to the calories that seem to love living on her hips, Grace wrestled the carriage door open and got off the train.

Grace had never been hung up on her size before. Always in proportion, her eye-catching smile and ample chest had always seemed to cheat any male admirer's brains into thinking she was slim. Walking through the spookily hushed station, and deciding not to risk walking across Victoria Park on her own so late at night, Grace hailed a taxi with the words,
but you've never really liked them back before, have you? You've never cared if they liked what they saw or not. Until now
… running through her head.

The irony of it wasn't lost on Grace. For the first time she was genuinely interested in a bloke beyond having someone convenient to go to the cinema with, or the occasional bout of sex to break up her general ‘celibate but for her vibrator' lifestyle. Someone who not only seemed to ‘get' her, but loved Robin Hood stories, and didn't seem to think she was weird or borderline insane. But rather than feel excited and thrilled, Grace just felt self-conscious, frumpy, and nervous.

Damn it, woman, you're a grown up! You're a professional. So what if you've invited him to your home. That doesn't mean you have to sleep with him!

But I want to … Oh hell, how big an idiot can I possibly be? I …
Grace stopped her internal argument with herself as she slid the key into her front door and collapsed upon her sofa. Then her thoughts careered off in a totally different direction. ‘Oh my God! How did this place get into such a mess?'

‘I mean, Daze, how on earth have I lived in this muddle for so long?' Grace flicked a duster at the television, wondering if she'd be able to reach the cobwebs that hadn't so much set up home in the corner of her living room ceiling, as had built a small town, complete with high rise blocks and outbuildings.

‘Hang on a minute.' Daisy was trying not to laugh down the telephone. ‘You are Grace Harper, aren't you? No one's come along and replaced you with a doppelganger in the night?'

‘Oh, very funny! I'm not that bad.'

‘Grace, honey, you're a domestic disaster, but fear not, I love you anyway.' Daisy did laugh out loud this time, ‘I had hoped that when I called to see how the date went, you wouldn't answer due to being confined to a duvet somewhere in the Nottingham area.' Deciding that at least the spiders kept the flies away, Grace left them to it, and took the call from Daisy as a chance to sit down, ‘It was only the first proper date, Daze!'

‘So?'

‘Oh come on, I'm not like that.'

‘We're all like that, honey, which means something happened to stop you going back with him. And don't tell me he didn't want you to, because I won't believe you.'

‘How can you possibly know that? You've never even met Rob.'

‘I know because I know you, and because against all the laws of the universe you actually like this man. This is not something that happens every day. Also it is fate.'

‘Fate?' Grace sounded incredulous, ‘I don't believe in fate.'

‘But does fate believe in you?'

‘Don't go all Freudian on me, Daisy Marks. What do you mean?'