The Way Back

Chapter Seven

"We're nearly there, aren't we?" asked Meg.

"It's just around the corner."

Much halted the cart and she surreptitiously covered her wound. She wouldn't let Much see that he'd been right; the jolting of the cart had tested her endurance. He came to stand beside her, frowning.

"I don't like this m'lady..."

"....just Meg, Much..."

"...well, I don't like this. As I said before, isn't an abbey the first place your father will look? And if he gets hold of you, well, he's handed you over to the sheriff once, what's to stop him doing it again?"

"He'd look for me at Kirklees, not here."

"What if Isabella's having the place watched? It's not safe m'la....Meg."

"Much, we talked about this earlier. I'll be fine."

"You don't look it, in fact you don't look well at all. He's going to kill me, you know, when he finds out you're gone."

Meg ignored this; she didn't want to think too much about what Guy would or would not do. Perhaps nothing; he'd tried before, out of some misguided sense of doing the right thing, to send her away. He might decide, faced with her absence, that this was still the best outcome. It was one of many flaws in her plan, but she'd come too far to back down now. Especially after the torturous arguments she'd had with Much to convince him to bring her at all.

"If you're worried about anyone seeing us, why don't you take the track up to that ridge? You'll be able to see from there if Isabella has posted any guards, though I'm sure she has more important things to worry about. I'll stay here."

Much hurried off. Meg descended gingerly and leaned against the cart. This was harder than she'd anticipated. After days of rest and managed convalescence, so much activity had drained what little energy she possessed. Not only that, but her heart was heavy. She slumped down on the board, fighting back tears, but with Much gone and no need to conceal them they flowed readily.

She'd had to leave after what Kate said. It was only when Much returned to camp that morning, with news of Archer's arrival and Vaisey's death, that the means had presented itself. Kate had insisted Much remain while she went to join the others, so Meg had set about convincing him that she must leave.

Now she felt the full weight of that decision. In their own ways, except for Kate, the outlaws had been kind – infuriating, or overbearing, but kind. Each time she'd woken, she'd looked for Guy. Often he was nearby, watching out for her. Her favourite time of day had been the supper hour: sitting on a log at the edge of the firelight, thigh pressed to thigh, they'd held murmured conversations under cover of the bickering and banter of the gang. One evening, after they'd eaten, she'd fallen asleep against his shoulder; she'd only stirred when he'd picked her up and carried her off to bed. By then the fire had died to ashes, and the others were all abed. Sleepily, she'd looked at the stars over his shoulder.

They'd grown so close that leaving was like severing a part of her.

Meg shoved the back of her hand against her mouth, stifling a sob. She already missed the way he looked at her, the warmth in his gaze. This all seemed a horrible mistake; she should just tell Much to turn the cart around and take her home. Home.

At least Robin doesn't pity me. He's stuck with you. Kate was wrong; but if so, they would prove it. Guy would come for her. She had a niggling fear he might not understand why she'd left. If he thought she'd rejected him, they would be undone. Well, it was up to her to make sure he understood. The message she planned to give to Much...