It had been very restful, and he had felt very close to Maxie. He had even considered kissing her again, in an entirely staid fashion, of course.
Then something had jarred him from his relaxed state into an instant of flat panic that was like a waking nightmare. Perhaps he was not made for simplicity. It had been an interesting episode, but not one he cared to repeat. It was easier to drift from hour to hour, enjoying Maxie's company and living in the moment as he had not done for more than a decade.
He dried himself, then filled the water pots and headed back toward the camp. At the edge of the clearing, he paused behind a screen of shrubbery. His dozing companion was an enchanting sight. She lay on her back by the fire, her head pillowed on one arm and her glossy ebony hair partially veiling her face. Her petite, curving form inspired an unsettling mixture of tenderness and desire. He wanted to protect her from the whole world. Except for himself, of course.
Her worldly knowledge and contraceptive herbal tea strongly implied that she was a woman of experience, yet at the same time there was a kind of innocence about her. Probably that was a result of her natural directness. Whatever her past, it was safest to think of her as a virgin. That reinforced his restraint, which needed all the help it could get.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of twigs cracking under heavy footsteps. He glanced across the clearing and saw a tall, burly man approaching from the other side.
A broad smile of satisfaction crossed the man's face at the sight of Maxie. "There you are, Miss Collins. Time to go 'ome now." The intruder had a thick London accent, and his superficial cheer did not disguise an air of menace.
Maxie jerked awake and pushed herself to a sitting position. Her eyes narrowed. "I saw you at my uncle's," she said with admirable coolness. "Who are you?"
"The name's Ned Simmons, and your uncle sent me to bring you back," he said, advancing toward his quarry.
Mouth tight, Robin set down his water and silently began to work his way around the edge of the clearing so that he would be behind the Londoner if action proved necessary. Keeping a sharp eye on the scene in the clearing, he pulled his wooden "fidget stick" from his pocket and locked it in his left hand, half an inch of wooden knob showing above his fist
Maxie scrambled to her feet and watched Simmons warily, looking like a terrier facing a bull. "You have no right to force me to return to my uncle," she said, backing away across the grass in her stocking feet. "He is not my guardian, and I have committed no crimes."
Still with that eerie geniality, Simmons said, "Come, now, miss, don't be difficult, or I'll have to take you to a magistrate and explain how you stole a map, and some food as well. In England, folks can be 'anged for crimes like that Not that yer uncle will be difficult if you come along like a good girl." He reached out to grasp her shoulder. 'Where's yer fancy man? 'E run off and leave you already?"
Laying a hand on Maxie proved to be a mistake. She twisted away from his grip, at the same time kicking out with wicked intent. Robin winced; Simmons was lucky she was not wearing boots, for her aim and quickness were dead on.
The man dodged, but could not entirely avoid the blow. He doubled over with a howl. "You little…!"
The curse that followed was so filthy that Robin was glad it was spoken in thief's cant which Maxie was unlikely to understand. Still swearing, the Londoner reached under his coat and pulled out a pistol.
Before he could aim it, Maxie had dived at him and grabbed the weapon, using her weight to wrest it free. Her momentum carried her into a rolling, controlled tumble across the grass.
She leaped to her feet while Simmons was still gaping with astonishment. The ugly click of hammers being cocked filled the clearing. "I would prefer not to use this, Mr. Simmons," she said in a low, dangerous tone, "but I will do so rather than go with you. Now turn around and leave."
Simmons stared at her in stunned disbelief. "Put that down, you little bitch, or I'll make you sorry you was ever born."
He was making the potentially fatal mistake of underestimating Maxie. Knowing that if he didn't intervene she might kill the man, Robin sprinted across the clearing as she raised her pistol and took aim.
Since he was directly behind the large Londoner, Robin didn't know if she was aware of his approach. Hoping she would shoot high, he launched himself in a long, flat dive and caught Simmons around the legs. As they fell together to the turf, a shot blazed by too close for comfort.
"You slimy, cowardly bastard! I'll teach you not to jump a man from behind," Simmons bellowed as he began grappling with this new threat.
The cockney fought with skill and brute strength, but Robin had the advantage of surprise. He also had the knobbed stick in one fist, and it added ferocious power to his blows.
Simmons staggered back from a hard hit to his jaw, then slammed his fist into Robin's shoulder. With the cunning of a street fighter, he grabbed the neck of Robin's shirt and tried to drag the smaller man close enough for a fightending blow.
Robin yanked away at the cost of a tear that ripped his shirt to the waist. He feinted a right to Simmons's face, then used the other man's instinctive attempt to block as an opportunity for a numbing punch to the solar plexus.
Eyes wide but muscles helpless, Simmons folded to the ground. Robin swiftly rolled him facedown in the leaf mold, then twisted the other man's right arm behind his back and held it at the excruciating point just short of breaking a joint. "The fancy man is still around," he panted. "You should have been more careful."
Simmons had plenty of bullheaded courage and a high tolerance for pain. He began thrashing with such furious power that he threatened to break free. Robin leaned forward and applied intense pressure to precisely chosen points below the Londoner's jaw. The blood supply to his brain cut off, Simmons made a strangled noise and one last convulsive heave before slumping into unconsciousness.
Maxie lowered the pistol. "That's an impressive trick," she said unevenly. "Will you show it to me?"
"Definitely not. It's dangerous to use because it can cause death or permanent damage if held too long." Robin rolled Simmons onto his back, then used the man's own handkerchief to tie his wrists together. "Not to mention the fact that you might try it on me the next time I did something to irritate you."
"Probably wise of you not to teach me," she agreed. For all the insouciance of her words, her dark complexion had a gray tinge. "When I lose my temper, anything might happen."
"So I noticed," Robin said dryly. "Were you shooting to kill?"
"No, though I was tempted." She retrieved her boots and pulled them on. "I was aiming to graze his arm, hoping that would stop him. I still had another barrel if it didn't." She tossed earth on the fire with trembling hands. "I'm sure we agree about leaving as soon as possible."
"We do." Robin deftly searched Simmons's pockets. "He'll wake soon. I didn't tie the handkerchief very tightly, so it's not going to take him long to free himself."
He removed the Londoner's concealed ammunition pouch and tucked it inside his coat. Continuing his search, he found that Simmons had little in the way of identification, but he carried a wellfilled wallet.
Robin considered the money thoughtfully. There was more than enough to buy two coach tickets to London, but, if the truth be known, he was in no hurry to deliver Maxie to her destination.
"Are you going to rob him?" she asked disapprovingly.
"Just of his pistol." He returned the wallet to Simmons's coat. "He's going to be quite angry enough when he wakes up."