“Why would his gardener tell you? A stranger, and not me or one of my men.”
“You never offered the right incentive.”
“Which was what?” She rubbed Bess’s ears, the big dog’s head coming roughly to her hip.
“Ah, my lady Marian, would Robin Hood reveal the secrets of those who helped him?”
She rolled her eyes and followed him to the cottage.
After the bramble, their path was easy. The cottage—for it was more a cottage than a ruin—was charming. Built into the side of the hill, the roof was covered with moss and leaves. In the spring, when the grass was full, one could likely stand on the hill-roof and look down into the clearing and never realize there was a lodging below.
The door was heavy, with wide slats nailed together on an angle. The door stuck a bit, but gave way, creaking, when Adam pushed against it with his shoulder.
He stepped back to let her in. “It’s dry enough, and there’s an ingenious fire pit in the wall, allowing you to have a fire without it making too much smoke and revealing your lodging.”
The room was lightly furnished. A heavy wooden table, two open-back chairs, a pot on a spit. In the far corner near the back of the room was a cot. Bess circled the room, inspecting every corner, diligently looking for any hazards.
“I can’t imagine that Robin of Locksley would find this a suitable lodging.”
“Why?” Adam looked around the room, clearly disappointed that she didn’t find it as perfect as he did.
“There’s no escape route.” Em took her seat at the small table. “If the sheriff were to arrive with his men, Robin would be trapped.”
“That is a flaw in the design.” He studied their surroundings, as if he hadn’t seen them before. “But I’m not sure your great-grandfather anticipated this as anything other than a whimsical retreat.”
“I feel neither whimsical nor in the mood for a retreat.” She rested her head on her arms. Bess, unhappy that she couldn’t see Em’s face, stuck her nose inside the bend of Em’s elbow and watched her with one eye.
“We needn’t stay longer than tonight. As soon as the wedding guests have dispersed tomorrow, I can retrieve the carriage and your goods in it.”
“And some other clothes,” she said without thinking, meeting his eyes without raising her head.
His eyes grazed her body, leaving a trail of heat and a melting sensation in her belly. She’d never blushed under Colin’s gaze, but then Colin had never looked at her with Adam’s open hunger. If she’d never known Adam, she wouldn’t have known how much more could exist in a single caress. Or how a single glance would warm her so quickly. She didn’t look away, but instead, gave him her own assessing gaze.
He was handsome as ever, though in a rakish, criminal sort of way. Dark hair curled around his ears and neck, while his eyes—an impenetrable green—seemed to hold all her secrets. His face, though, was thinner, as was his torso. Lines at the corners of his mouth and eyes spoke of pain.
“You’ve been ill. No, not ill. Hurt.” Silently rebuking herself, she wondered how she hadn’t noticed before.
“It’s a hazard of my work. The crimes I investigate often take me to the rookeries and the hells. Death often haunts the places I must go.” His face changed, as if he’d just heard the words he had spoken and wished he could take them back.
“Work. Crimes. Investigate.” She repeated the words, almost to herself, evidence of something she hadn’t seen, but probably should have. She felt her eyes widen as the final piece fell into place. “Which one are you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Those names from that silly old book Colin used to name his colleagues in the Home Office.”
“You know about his work for the Home Office?” He watched her face.
“I’ve known Colin Somerville almost my whole life.” She couldn’t keep her voice from sounding annoyed. “I’ve seen him grow from a child into a man. I kissed him goodbye when he went to the wars and woke him from nightmares when he returned. There isn’t a single secret that Colin hasn’t at one time or another shared with me. Who do you think taught me all about breaking codes?” She paused. “So, of course I knew about the Home Office. I simply didn’t know about you. Surely he would have warned me about you.”
He blinked twice but said nothing.
“So are you Lord Pettiwhistle, Charles Daring, Frederick Mortmain, or . . . ?” She looked at the ceiling while she remembered. “Oh, it can’t be.”
He waited quietly.
“A. Fairwether.” She shook her head. “How perfectly . . . apt.” She was too tired, too spent from the day, to find a better word.
Adam stared at her for a moment. Then he picked up his pack and set it on the table across from her. “If you still wish to know tomorrow, I’m happy to tell you. But your majordomo sent you some food. You eat. I’ll air the cot.”
She looked at the bag of food and the cot, a thin, badly stuffed pallet of hay. She couldn’t think; she couldn’t even move. If she had to do one more thing, she would simply sit at the table and cry. She bent her arms to make a pillow and laid her head down on the table.
Adam looked confused for only a moment, then he moved into action.
From the top of the pack, he removed several large packets of food. Bread, slices of roast beef, cheese, assorted sweetmeats, and a very large piece of the wedding fruitcake. He took a plate and fork from the cupboard, wiped both free of dust, then served her hearty helpings of everything.
She took the plate gratefully, eating something of everything. But she was especially pleased when he served her an especially large portion of the fruitcake.
For weeks, she’d been sneaking into the kitchen to pour brandy over the cake and watch it soak. Her mother had made a fruitcake for their Christmas dinner, and it was the one thing about the wedding for which she felt a real excitement. The fruit and spices mingled with the heavy brandy tasted heavenly, and the brandy sauce on top left her giddy.
After she finished her own, she kept trimming pieces off of Adam’s portion, until it grew smaller and smaller. Eventually, with real regret, she felt obligated to leave him a tiny sliver. Then, while Adam wasn’t looking, she took the fruitcake’s paper wrapper and licked it clean.
With the help of the brandied cake, she soon felt in better spirits. Even so she was still exhausted. She needed rest, real rest, before they traveled anywhere, and certainly before she asked Adam to explain why he wasn’t a criminal. He should be a criminal; he kissed like a criminal. She almost giggled out loud at the word, repeating it a few more times in her mind.
Having aired the cot’s mattress, Adam returned to the table, wiping clean her plate, and placing the remaining food on the counter.
“Aren’t you going to eat?” She knew he needed food. Something about his gait suggested that his wound, whatever it was, hadn’t fully healed.
