He had no doubt that in this case the simple explanation was wrong. It was not distaste he had seen in her eyes, but fear.
The Marquess of Wolverton had a well deserved reputation as an easygoing man, but when he decided on something, he was immovable. As the sound of her swift footsteps faded away, he resolved that he was going to learn what lay at the root of Lady Ross's distress. Then, perhaps, something could be done about it.
Chapter 19
Even though Robin did as much as he could, Maxie had to half carry him. The canal seemed endlessly distant. The back of her neck prickled in anticipation of Simmons waking or his men returning to come after the fugitives.
Given a choice, she would prefer Simmons himself. He had shown signs of a conscience, but she would trust his men no further than hungry wolves in a butcher shop.
She kept hoping that other people might appear, but the area seemed deserted. People must be eating their midday meals. As she and Robin entered the shadowed alley between two of the warehouses, she prayed for a miracle with what energy she could spare. They could not go much farther like this.
They emerged onto the sundrenched wharf to find a loaded barge sitting at the mooring. A man and a boy were on deck preparing to cast off. The captain was a short fellow with a broad muscular figure and grizzled hair. He straightened and eyed the newcomers curiously, which wasn't surprising since Robin was draped over Maxie like a shawl.
A straightforward plea for aid seemed best. Letting her desperation sound in her voice, Maxie said, "Please, sir, can you help us? We were attacked and my husband has been injured."
The captain's startled face reminded her of how she was dressed. With her free hand, she yanked off her hat. The man blinked, his interest thoroughly engaged.
She had thought Robin beyond awareness, but he murmured in her ear with irrepressible amusement, "Brought out the heavy guns, I see. Poor devil hasn't a chance."
"Hush!" she hissed, keeping an arm around his waist as the captain jumped to the wharf and walked over to the newcomers.
"You were attacked by thieves in town in broad daylight?" he asked, visible skepticism on his weathered face.
What story would be likely to appeal to a canal man?
When in doubt, tell some variation of the truth. "It wasn't thieves, but my cousin and his friends. They're trying to stop us from reaching London." She glanced back, having no trouble looking anxious. "Please, can we go with you for a little way? I can explain everything, but they will be here at any moment."
She turned a pleading gaze on the captain, trying to look like the sort of female a man would feel protective about. She should have paid more attention to her cousin Portia, who had spent years cultivating helplessness.
The freckled faced boy ventured, "Mebee they're only lookin' for a free ride, Pa."
The captain studied Robin, who was wavering on his feet. "That blood looks real enough." Coming to a decision, he said, "All right, lass, I'll take you on faith for a few miles."
He stepped forward, stooped, then lifted Robin and slung him over a broad shoulder as if he were a schoolboy. "Come along."
Maxie followed, stepping. across the narrow gap between wharf and boat. The barge was simply constructed with two blunt ends and a square cabin in the middle. Tarpaulin covered mounds were secured to the deck, and the air was redolent with a strong, not unpleasant scent of wool. The cargo must be carpets, which Dafydd Jones had said were made in the area.
"I expect you would rather be out of sight if your cousin comes," the captain said. "Take the aft hatch cover off, Jamie."
The boy scrambled to obey, excitement on his round face. The hatch cover was lifted to reveal a hold packed with more carpets. After Jamie climbed in and rearranged the rolls to create space, the captain deposited Robin's limp body. "Don't let 'im bleed on my cargo."
"I'll do my best," she promised. "Do you have some rags and water I can use to wash the blood away and bandage him?"
Jamie immediately bounced off to fulfill the request.
She climbed into the hold and knelt beside Robin, parting his golden hair to examine the damage. A lump was already forming, but she was glad to find that the gash was shallow and the bleeding almost stopped.
A minute later, Jamie returned with the supplies she had requested, as well as basilicum powder to put on the wound. As gently as possible, she washed away the blood and applied a bandage. Robin accepted it stoically, though she saw his hand opening and closing on the carpet beside him.
When Maxie finished her ministrations, the captain said, "Time we were on our way. Might be best to close the hold again."
"You're right," she agreed. "My cousin might follow if he guesses that we're trying to escape this way. It's… it's a complicated tale."
The weathered face looked satiric. "I don't doubt it."
After he lowered the heavy hatch cover, dragging noises sounded overhead and the slivers of light around the rectangular hatch disappeared. The captain must be putting carpets on top. She blessed him for his foresight. Even if Simmons followed the barge, he was unlikely to find their hiding place.
But the precaution made the darkness in the hold absolute. Their niche was about six feet long, four feet wide, and three feet deep, with yielding carpets beneath them. The effect was like a cozy coffin. She did her best to repress her distaste for the confinement. All that mattered was that they were heading away from Simmons, and the captain seemed to be a good ally.
Dimly she heard Jamie order the tow horse to get along. The barge began to move. Exhausted now that there was nothing more to be done, she stretched out alongside Robin. "Are you there?"
His voice a faint thread, he replied, "I have been more or less present through the last act, even though I had to be carted about like a wheel of cheese."
She smiled, relieved. "Sounds like your wits weren't scrambled by that rock."
"Of course not. My head is the most unbreakable part of me." Not quite able to conceal the strain in his voice, he said, "Is there any more water?"
She raised his head and shoulders so he could drink from the bottle. After corking what was left, she asked, "Did you sustain any damage apart from the head wound?"
There was a pause and more rustling sounds while he took inventory. Eventually he said, "Nothing to signify."
"Good. Then you can think up a convincing reason why my cousin Simmons and his merry men are after us."
"But you're doing such a good job of invention that it would be a pity to interfere," he protested.
"Next to you, I am the veriest amateur at talespinning."
"Perhaps at talespinning, but that was a splendid bit of acting. If I hadn't known better, I would have sworn that you were frightened and helpless."
"What makes you think I wasn't?" she asked, not sure whether to be flattered at his faith or offended by his lack of concern.
"Because, Kanawiosta," he said, amusement and approval in his voice, "a female who will attack a professional fighter three times her size is brave to the point of being suicidal." He rolled over and put one arm around her, drawing her close, then added in a drowsy whisper, "You make a wonderful bodyguard."
Smiling, she relaxed against him, her cheek resting on his chest. Though she knew it was irrational, she felt safe in his arms, as if the outside world could never harm her.
His breathing soon slowed and he slipped into a doze. It would have been easy for her to sleep as well, but she resisted the temptation. Instead she listened to the soft splash of water against the hull, and tried to think of a convincing story to tell the captain.
The barge Penelope was just entering the first of the Foxton locks when two men trotted into sight on the towpath, panting heavily. " 'Ey, you there!" the large one yelled in a cockney accent. " 'Old a minute; I want to ask you some questions."