Page 28 of Robin and Marian
Marian tensed. None of this felt right. It was time to play the “work boundaries” card. “I’m really excited to do this story on you,” she said.
His heavy lids lowered, obscuring the glint of frustration she saw there as he parked on her aunt’s property. “Let’s not talk about work. I want to show you what I’ve been working on.” Guy hopped out his side and hurried around the luxury SUV to open the door for her.
She stepped out carefully, accepting only enough of his assistance to be polite. “Well, I’m a journalist. That’s why I’m here.”
“I was hoping that there was something more between us.”
And there he was, winning Robin his bonus points in his sweet way. She gulped, reading Guy’s sincerity in his handsome features, and decided to end this before it got out of hand. “You’ll always be my good friend, but I want to keep things more professional between us.”
His gaze went hard and he fell silent. He tried to smile, but it looked a little sickly, and finally he gestured for her to proceed. Marian tried to figure out how to make it up to him as they hiked up the mountain to the ski jump where most of his men worked. Hammers sounded through the clearing and echoed into the forest.
The old ski slope had gotten older and more rickety in Marian’s absence. A decaying staircase ran up one side, but didn’t look trustworthy, and eight monstrous, steel towers did their best to keep the slope upright, but even they resembled a crumbling castle these days. It was a strange sight in all this lush green beauty of the wilderness.
An early spring breeze sent a shiver through Marian, but she was careful not to show Guy that she was cold. All she wanted was Robin’s arms around her. Her nose wrinkled at her thoughts. What a lousy job she was doing to forget him.
“Oh, here we are.” Guy showed her the mechanisms the men were setting up for the traditional fire wheel ritual they’d held yearly. Helping her through it, he stepped up the platform to show her the metal arms meant to hold the fire wheel in place. “This latch releases the wheel and sends it down the mountain.” He demonstrated it for her by clicking it open. “And if it makes it all the way down the hill to the creek below, we’ll have good luck year-round… as the legend says.”
As if she didn’t know.She remembered the fire festival from her childhood. Memories of running through this clearing with Scarlett and Robin came back to her.
“Did you see Robin at breakfast this morning?” Guy’s voice broke through her thoughts, and she looked up to see he was annoyed that she hadn’t been paying attention. “Was he doing well?” She recognized the sarcastic tone.
Besides a damaged wrist? “He’s a little beat up.” From what she could see, his family’s rejection hurt him most of all. “He had a rough night,” she said.
“He got what he deserved,” Guy said. “I know you have a soft spot for him, but he never treated any of us right, even in high school. Look at John—Robin used him until there was nothing left. Now that’s all John’s got. I feel bad for him.”
“John?”
“Who else? He’s been holding onto this town for far too long. It was only a matter of time before the mill went down. It was old fashioned and inefficient. He’s got to keep up with the times, learn to code or something.”
That seemed a little heartless. “That mill brought in a lot of jobs.”
“And it’s time for them all to move on,” he said, waving a dismissive hand.
“Where? Most of the property in Nottingham belongs to you. What are your plans with it, anyway?”
A secretive smile touched his lips. “You’ve been listening to the people in town, I see. Don’t tell me that you sympathize with their talk.”
What talk?Curiosity burned through her. Tuck had said something about Guy sniffing around her aunt’s place like he wanted it. The investigative reporter went in for the kill. “Why is everyone so angry at you? What are you doing?”
He waved that off. “Is this for the article? Honestly, Marian, I’m tired of talking about me. I want to know more about you. How about I be the journalist this time around?” He plucked a wildflower from the ground and folded her fingers over it. “Do you like wild chives or geraniums?”
With difficulty she stopped herself from crushing the flower in her hand. He might know his flowers, but he didn’t know women. If Guy didn’t tell her what was happening, then maybe someone else would. She was sure there would be plenty of people at the bonfire she could ask tonight.
The bonfires flamed gloriously through the surrounding countryside, with smoke and black ash drifting up to the starlit skies. Robin had let himself be dragged here by Tuck, but first he’d donned one of the animal masks that were part of the May Day fire festival. His was the half mask of a lion with the long mane streaming down on either side of his face. Others wore masks of rams and donkeys, snakes, starlings, falcons—anything that bespoke of their Yorkshire roots from where these traditions had sprung. All Robin cared about was that it hid his notorious face from the crowds.
Rhythmic drumming echoed into his ears like music for snakes. Rattles and shakers and the occasional whistle, flute, and bagpiper all joined in barbaric cacophony—it was the sound of Old England.
Tuck wore the mask of a snipe, brown feathers springing from his head and a dangerous beak that kept jabbing at hapless bystanders. Robin shouted through the noise at Tuck, “Careful! Don’t take out that guy’s eye!”
He was more dangerous than the fire dancers swinging balls that dripped with flame and jumping around the fire. They were covered in paint and ash over tank tops and leather, their hair braided and in dreadlocks. Other dancers in black, shredded ponchos hit sticks together, and some performed dangerous acrobatic feats—all of them playing with the fire.
Tuck jogged back to Robin’s side. “Why haven’t you invited me to one of these things before?” They’d been in prison, for one, but Robin knew better than to answer as his friend shot out questions like they were nerves charging through his brain. “This happens every summer?”
“Ever since my great-grandfather took over this town,” Robin said. But his legacy, along with these celebrations, was about to end, just like they had in England hundreds of years ago. Nottingham was shrinking, and soon there would be no one left to put them on. He let out a grunt when Tuck almost took him out with the beak on his mask. “Hey, don’t kill me, man. I’m pretty sure that’s against your parole.”
“Mask!” Tuck pointed to it. “I can do what I want.”
“Famous last words from supervillains everywhere,” Robin muttered as he scanned the heads of people scattered over the mountainside.
