transformed into flames, engulfing the shelter. Meg sat before that ever-strengthening bonfire like a parishioner at Mass, penitent, reverential. She lifted her hands and her eyes to the gathering heat.
Will slipped on a slick patch of grass and skidded, landing next to her. Searing smoke slipped into his mouth; he doubled over and coughed. Eyes closed, he tugged on her wrists and pulled her from the flames. Only when they reached a safe distance did he turn and catch her face between his hands, pushing wild curls back.
“Are you injured?”
That reverential expression did not change. Her lips turned upward in a private smile. Her nostrils flared, dragging in deep breaths of smoke-tainted air. “Tell me how it looks.”
His jaw fell open. “What?”
“Describe it to me. The fire.”
She pointed her face to the inferno but saw none of its destruction. Yellow and gold flames leapt into the sky, sending showers of hot rain over the dell. Mischievous winds passed the fire from shelter to shelter until half of the clearing glowed and throbbed with menacing heat. People who started their day from within those crude structures screamed and ran for safety, collecting loved ones and scant possessions, the blaze at their backs.
“You don’t want to know what I see.”
“That’s not true,” she said harshly. “Show me filth and pestilence, and I’d be happy to look upon it.”
Will clasped her upper arm and hauled her into the thick of the woods. She tripped. And again. “I half believe you drag your feet purposefully,” he said.
“I half believe you enjoy it.”
“What? Your clumsy bearing?”
“No, having an excuse to be angry with me.”
He whirled, flinging her arm away. Outrage and anger bubbled in his chest. Her ability to send him careening from enemy to protector, from lunatic to sage, left him reeling. “You set half the grove on fire!”
“I saved our lives.”
“Those people—that was likely all they owned in the world.”
“Of all the double-minded tripe,” she said, her lips curled into a nasty sneer. “They would’ve hanged you without me. You’re only upset because I saved you again.”
“I’m upset because you seem completely unaffected by the damage you do!”
“You’re allowing a few scruples to take precedent over our survival. I won’t stand for it.”
“It was unnecessary, Meg.” He furrowed restless fingers through his hair. The tart stink of smoke clung to him. “Those men were soldiers in disguise, like you said. But they weren’t engaging the woodsmen.”
The man with silvery blond hair emerged from the thicket, Dryden and Jacob right behind him. His fair skin appeared ghostlike in the gauzy webs of smoke. “You’re right, Scarlet,” the pale man said. “They were after me.”
Chapter Eleven
[He took] it for granted that his offence was past remission, determined on joining Robin Hood, and accompanied him to the forest, where it was deemed expedient that he should change his name; and he was rechristened without a priest, and with wine instead of water, by the immortal name of Scarlet.
Maid Marian
Thomas Love Peacock, 1822
The group turned north and hastened through the forest, with Dryden introducing his younger cousin, Stephen, Baron of Monthemer. The two other men, Monthemer’s companions, were nowhere to be found. Having lost a second walking stick during the skirmish, Meg held on to Jacob’s arm for support. Asem lumbered behind them, panting and apparently unharmed.
“What happened back there?” Dryden asked.
Monthemer’s tinny voice was a hollow void of fatigue and sorrow. “My father and I traveled on the Leicester Road from Uppingham. Those highwaymen slaughtered him. My men and I have been in flight since yesterday evening.”
Meg shivered. Her sister had gone missing—that was all, but it was dreadful enough. And yet she trampled through the woods with a pair of noblemen whose fathers had been murdered. Troubles piled on
Will slipped on a slick patch of grass and skidded, landing next to her. Searing smoke slipped into his mouth; he doubled over and coughed. Eyes closed, he tugged on her wrists and pulled her from the flames. Only when they reached a safe distance did he turn and catch her face between his hands, pushing wild curls back.
“Are you injured?”
That reverential expression did not change. Her lips turned upward in a private smile. Her nostrils flared, dragging in deep breaths of smoke-tainted air. “Tell me how it looks.”
His jaw fell open. “What?”
“Describe it to me. The fire.”
She pointed her face to the inferno but saw none of its destruction. Yellow and gold flames leapt into the sky, sending showers of hot rain over the dell. Mischievous winds passed the fire from shelter to shelter until half of the clearing glowed and throbbed with menacing heat. People who started their day from within those crude structures screamed and ran for safety, collecting loved ones and scant possessions, the blaze at their backs.
“You don’t want to know what I see.”
“That’s not true,” she said harshly. “Show me filth and pestilence, and I’d be happy to look upon it.”
Will clasped her upper arm and hauled her into the thick of the woods. She tripped. And again. “I half believe you drag your feet purposefully,” he said.
“I half believe you enjoy it.”
“What? Your clumsy bearing?”
“No, having an excuse to be angry with me.”
He whirled, flinging her arm away. Outrage and anger bubbled in his chest. Her ability to send him careening from enemy to protector, from lunatic to sage, left him reeling. “You set half the grove on fire!”
“I saved our lives.”
“Those people—that was likely all they owned in the world.”
“Of all the double-minded tripe,” she said, her lips curled into a nasty sneer. “They would’ve hanged you without me. You’re only upset because I saved you again.”
“I’m upset because you seem completely unaffected by the damage you do!”
“You’re allowing a few scruples to take precedent over our survival. I won’t stand for it.”
“It was unnecessary, Meg.” He furrowed restless fingers through his hair. The tart stink of smoke clung to him. “Those men were soldiers in disguise, like you said. But they weren’t engaging the woodsmen.”
The man with silvery blond hair emerged from the thicket, Dryden and Jacob right behind him. His fair skin appeared ghostlike in the gauzy webs of smoke. “You’re right, Scarlet,” the pale man said. “They were after me.”
Chapter Eleven
[He took] it for granted that his offence was past remission, determined on joining Robin Hood, and accompanied him to the forest, where it was deemed expedient that he should change his name; and he was rechristened without a priest, and with wine instead of water, by the immortal name of Scarlet.
Maid Marian
Thomas Love Peacock, 1822
The group turned north and hastened through the forest, with Dryden introducing his younger cousin, Stephen, Baron of Monthemer. The two other men, Monthemer’s companions, were nowhere to be found. Having lost a second walking stick during the skirmish, Meg held on to Jacob’s arm for support. Asem lumbered behind them, panting and apparently unharmed.
“What happened back there?” Dryden asked.
Monthemer’s tinny voice was a hollow void of fatigue and sorrow. “My father and I traveled on the Leicester Road from Uppingham. Those highwaymen slaughtered him. My men and I have been in flight since yesterday evening.”
Meg shivered. Her sister had gone missing—that was all, but it was dreadful enough. And yet she trampled through the woods with a pair of noblemen whose fathers had been murdered. Troubles piled on
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