"There are worse places to sleep than a hedge," he said as he fell in beside her. "Almost any jail, for example."
"Have you been in many jails?" She suspected that he had, and hoped it had been for no more than vagrancy, though doubtless he was guilty of much worse.
"A few," he admitted. "The best was a castle in France with very tolerable food and wine, and a duke for company."
From the glint in his eye, she guessed that he had invented this particular tale, and that he was aware that she knew it. "Sounds pleasant. If that was the best, what was the worst?"
He pondered. "That would probably be the prison in Constantinople. I didn't speak much Turkish, and I didn't even know the local gambling games. A sad situation. But I met the most interesting Chinese chap there…"
They headed into a stretch of barren moor, Robin's flexible tenor weaving an outrageously improbable and amusing tale of subversion and escape. He was undeniably a rogue. But while he spoke, Maxie could temporarily forget her grief for her father.
Chapter 4
Shortly before the sun set, they encountered a family of Gypsy tinkers heading north. As the two parties approached each other, Robin waved and called out something in a language Maxie had never heard before.
She said with surprise, "You speak Gypsy?"
"The language is called Romany, and I only speak a little." The corners of his eyes crinkled humorously. "But I need to buy a few tinkerish things, and if you address people in their own tongue, they won't try as hard to cheat you."
The wagon stopped and the driver climbed from the box. Though Robin deprecated his linguistic skill, he seemed fairly fluent. He and the man of the household began talking energetically, both with their hands flying. Despite his blondness, her companion looked very unEnglish.
Several children emerged from the wagon, followed by a handsome, brightly dressed woman with a baby on her hip. She sauntered up to Maxie and said something in Romany.
Maxie shook her head, "Sorry, I don't know your language."
"No?" The woman cocked her head to one side. In English, she said, "I thought you might be didikois, a halfblood Rom, and that you'd taught the Gorgio to speak our tongue."
"No, I'm from America."
The woman's eyes widened. "Did you ever see any of those bloodthirsty Indians?"
Maxie had been hearing equally silly statements ever since she had arrived in England. "Madam, I am one of those bloodthirsty Indians," she said dryly. "Just as you are a thieving Gypsy."
The woman's dark eyes flashed with fury and a child who had been circling ducked behind its mother's skirts. Then, understanding, the woman laughed. "People often have stupid ideas about those who are different, yes?"
"Yes," Maxie agreed. Though glad to have made her point, she regretted having spoken in front of Robin. She was not ready to share her past with a man who was such an enigma.
Luckily, he was still deep in his negotiations and hadn't heard her. She watched him in admiration; his haggling skills would do credit to a horse trader.
At a critical point, he produced a shiny sixpence from the ear of the nearest child, reducing the little girl to helpless giggles. Her doting father threw up his hands and concluded the deal, giving Robin a razor, some battered cooking and eating utensils, and a small, ragged blanket in exchange for the princely sum of two shillings. Robin also traded his wellmade pouch for a shabby knapsack large enough to contain his new possessions.
They set off again after a round of friendly farewells. When they were out of earshot of the wagon, Maxie said, "Where did you learn Romany?"
He shrugged. "I've traveled with the Rom on occasion. Once they accept you, they are the most hospitable of people."
Before she could probe further, he continued, "The Rom, Gregor, said there was a good campsite about a mile from here."
She glanced around at the empty moors. "I hope he's right. We haven't seen a barn or shed for the last hour."
They continued until Robin pointed out a small pyramid of stones to the right of the road. "That's a Gypsy trail sign. The campsite is this way."
Ten minutes of walking along a faintly marked trail led them to a dip in the ground that was invisible from the road. Small trees gave protection from the wind, a stream provided drinking water, and there was a fire pit circled with stones. Maxie never would have found the spot on her own.
The air was already cooling, so as the light faded from the sky, they gathered firewood. Maxie used her flint and steel to start the fire, then rigged a crossbar to suspend a pot of water over it. As the water started to boil, Robin emerged from the dusk with an armful of large, springy ferns.
"Bracken," he explained as he laid down his load. "It makes quite a decent bed."
"I assume you mean it will make two quite decent beds?" she asked frostily as she poured steaming water over some tea leaves.
"Of course." Robin's voice was serious, but his eyes laughed at her suspicions. He made three more trips, shaping the bracken into pallets on opposite sides of the fire. All very proper, and surprisingly comfortable when she tested hers.
By the time the beds were made up, the tea had steeped. Maxie handed Robin a mugful as he settled crosslegged on the far side of the fire. "You're quite mad, you know. Surely wherever you slept last night was more comfortable than this."
"Correct but irrelevant," Robin replied. "I haven't enjoyed myself this much in a long time."
"Quite, quite mad." But harmlessly so. They sipped their tea in friendly silence. Though she had been wary about this strange partnership, Robin's matter of fact attitude made everything easy. Now that she was resigned to his presence, she felt remarkably at ease with him. It was hard to believe that they had met only a few hours earlier.
She put more water on to boil, and when her China tea was finished, she prepared a cup of her special herbal blend.
Robin wrinkled his nose at the odor of the steeping herbs. "What are you making now?"
"It's a tea for women," she explained.
"What makes it particularly female?"
With a mischievous desire to disconcert, she said, "It prevents conception. When I set out on this trip, I knew I couldn't necessarily avoid assault, but at least I can protect myself from the worst consequences."
His face went blank. After a long silence, he said, "What a remarkably coldblooded young female you are."
She took a sip of hot, bitter fluid. "I have never had the luxury of being able to avoid unpleasant realities."
Very quietly, he asked, "Have you ever been raped?"
"No."
He stared down at his mug. "I'm glad. I've seen the results. That is not something I would wish on any woman." His face and voice were shadowed with the darkness she had glimpsed earlier.
She shifted uncomfortably. She had wanted to disconcert him, not trigger bad memories. Still, his few words made her utterly sure that whatever else might happen, she need never fear that he would force her.
Wanting to change the mood, she reached inside her coat for her harmonica and began to play. Robin's expression eased and he lay back in the bracken, his arms crossed behind his head.
As she played the plangent notes of a frontier ballad, Maxie studied her companion. His speech and obvious education marked him as a child of privilege. Why had he been banished to the world of ordinary mortals who must struggle for existence? Her father's sins had been the obvious ones of youth, gaming, and women, but there was something about Robin that made her doubt that the conventional vices had been his downfall.