Either way, we certainly are not about to find our liberators and throw ourselves on their mercy. If they are indeed friends, we will thank them later.
We wait and listen. As I turn, I see a young roe deer poised about thirty feet away. I whisper to Nicolas. His strained expression eases into a faint smile as he leans over to kiss my cheek.
“I think I love you,” he says.
“You keep saying that.”
“You keep giving me cause to say it.”
I hand him a stone. While I am skilled in many of the martial arts, none of them involve throwing with any accuracy. I hunker down and watch Norrington and his men thump around. Nicolas pitches the rock. It lands on our side of the young deer, and the startled beast takes off, crashing through the forest.
“There!” one of the men shouts. “They are making a run for the road!”
They take off in hot pursuit, with the ghost flying after them as he scans the forest looking for us.
The moment they are out of sight, we move as quickly and quietly as we can in the other direction. The “other direction” leads us back to the cliff, which is not ideal, but it is also the last place Norrington will expect us to go. We climb down and then take off along the shore. We reach a spot where the cliffside has dipped enough for us to climb back up, and we are almost at the top when we hear the clatter of a cart.
21
We duck fast. Nicolas tilts his head and motions for me to wait as he scrambles high enough to peer over the top. Then he drops back beside me.
“I know him,” he says to me quickly. “Mr. Walker is a friend. Come.”
We climb to the top, where I see an old mule-driver cart. Nicolas hails the driver and motions for the old man to wait. We scamper up the bank, and then Nicolas strides ahead to explain the situation.
“Aye,” the old man says in a thick Yorkshire accent. “I spotted his lordship back a way.” The man spits and curses and then spots me. “Apologies to the young lad there.”
“My friend knows there is no love lost between the lord and people of Hood’s Bay.”
“That’s putting it kindly,” the man says with a cackle. “Hop in the back under the hay, and I’ll get you to town.”
“Only as far as the old church, please,” Nicolas says. “Best you not be seen with us past that.”
“I don’t care what he does to me. Cannot be worse than what he’s done already, with his taxes and his bully men.”
“Well, I care what he does to you, so you’ll leave us at the church.”
We crawlinto the back of the cart under the hay piled in there along with sacks of what smells like dried fish. I do not complain about the smell, but as we settle in, I switch to breathing through my mouth, which has Nicolas chuckling.
“You would not want to get too close to those sacks,” he says. “Which is the point. Norrington’s men take one whiff of old Walker’s cart, and they cannot send him on his way fast enough.”
“Meanwhile, he has other goods hidden deep inside them,” I guess.
Nicolas grins. “He does indeed.” He rips two empty sacks and stretches them over us as the cart lurches forward. Then he covers the sacks in hay and lies down beside me, one hand on my hip.
“Thank you,” I say, “for seeing whoever shot at us before they fired.”
“I do not even know if they were firing at us.”
“Maybe so, but your quick reaction got us out of a very dire situation, meaning you did save my life, and therefore I owe you.”
His mouth opens. Shuts. He eyes me. “I was about to say that it was nothing more than you have done for me. However, the mention of recompense stopped me. I fear arguing may not be in my best interests.”
“It is not,” I say. “I owe you my life and will repay you handsomely.”
His smile grows to a grin. “I do like the sound of that.”
“You should. I may not be the most skilled at that particular art, but I am eager to improve.”