Chapter Ten

He was chasing her through the forest. The Merryweather girl. He was rather a fast runner and knew the forest like the back of his hand, but still he couldn't quite seem to catch her. Something seemed to be hindering his chase, dragging him back as if he were running with an iron ball and chain locked around both ankles. Sometimes he would suddenly find himself in a place he didn't recognise, having to negotiate unfamiliar terrain, tripping over fallen trees he couldn't see and twisting his ankles in holes in the ground as he went. And all the while she ran just slightly ahead of him, black curls and silken skirts flying out behind her, laughing delightedly at his poor attempt to give chase and turning to smile over her shoulder every so often at him. It was these occasional smiles which spurred him on to keep going, the promise of something new and exciting and delicious if he could only but catch her. He reached out his hands, grabbing for her, but just when it seemed that he finally had her in his possession, the chase ended, the game won, she would slip away, melting through his fingers like water or smoke. He tripped over something - he had no idea what - and came crashing to the ground. He lay on his front for a moment, his face buried in the soft grass then turned over onto his back with a groan. She was suddenly kneeling beside him, one of those lovely, enticing smiles still playing over her lips. She leant over him as if to kiss him, and he felt his entire body tense, his breathing and heartbeat quicken with anticipation. Closer. Closer. He wanted to push himself upwards to close the gap, but found himself unable to do so. Just like before when he was running, some unseen force was holding his body back, pressing him hard to the ground. Closer. Just a little closer. Strands of her hair were tickling his face and he could feel her breath on his skin. Then, she veered away sharply and her lips were brushing his ear as she whispered, "You don't want to catch me, Robin de Noir. You want to win me."

Robin opened his eyes. Dawn was just breaking, painting the walls of his high tower room pale blue. He rubbed his eyes hard, grinding his knuckles into the sockets then began to vigorously scratch his head, mussing up his already dishevelled curls. Remembering the dream he had just woken from, he slipped his hand under his pillow and felt around until his fingers grazed the soft material of the Merryweather girl's scarf. Pulling it out, he coiled it around his hands as he thought; the dream troubled him, it wasn't right that he should be thinking such things of a Merryweather - despite the fact that he had little to no control over what he dreamt at night. He knew exactly what his grandmother would say, she was always spouting some old wives' tale or another. Robin had heard her say on numerous occasions that dreams were a manifestation of what the sleeper desired most, something hidden in their mind finally revealing itself. Of course, he would never tell her the details of his dream for she would surely call him a filthy traitor if he did. She hated the Merryweathers more than anyone in the castle after what they did to her brother, Greyson de Noir.

But still, he couldn't help but feel a little thrilled by the dream, a little curious. He half wanted to fall back asleep again in the hope that he may slip back into it and see how the rest of it turned out.


Catherine was careful to enter the forest at the same place where she and Robin de Noir had emerged two nights previous so she could retrace her steps and hopefully find the missing brooch. It was a chilly morning with little sunshine, thick grey clouds hung over the entire Valley, promising rain at some point later in the day.

She walked in a straight line in the direction which she estimated Castle De Noir to be, scanning the ground carefully and all the while keeping her ears open for the sound of someone approaching - the last thing she needed was to be captured again by any De Noirs who happened to come across her in the forest. Last night, she found a map of the Valley in an old book in the library and told herself that she would only search as far as the small stream which bisected forest; if she had not found the cameo by the time she reached the stream then she would just have to accept that it was probably never going to be returned to her, for if she crossed the stream she was allowing herself to stray dangerously close to Castle De Noir which lay on the other side.

"Well, well, well! It seems Little Red Riding Hood has chosen to enter the forest again!" Catherine nearly jumped out of her skin when Robin de Noir suddenly landed in front of her, having leapt down from a tree in which he was sitting, "But she ought to be careful and stay clear of the Big Bad Wolf." That morning she was wearing a pale blue dress printed with minute cornflower blue flowers and a long red silk cloak, so that was why he was talking such nonsense.

"What are you doing back here again, you stupid girl? Do you want to get caught?"

Initially Catherine felt a little afraid to see him, but he didn't appear to have any intention of hurting her - only insulting her, it seemed - so she decided to answer him, "I lost something the other night in the forest. Something which I need to find."

"Is it worth risking your life for?"

"It is particularly dear to me."

"Particularly dear to you? Is it really? Well, by golly you had better find it then, old sport. Cheerio, toodle-pip and all that!" he said in a plummy voice - not unlike the ridiculous accent Josiah Flitch had affected when he was drunk on sherry - to mock her way of speaking, "Good grief! Did they teach you to talk like that at that fancy boarding school of yours or are all Merryweathers as pretentious and snobbish as you, princess?"

"Go away and leave me alone you imbecile! Just go away!" Catherine shouted. She gathered up her skirts and stormed away, all the while cursing herself for the childish tears which rose unbidden to sting her eyes, for the furious red blush which burned over her face and the back of her neck.

"I said, leave me alone!" she snapped, her voice wavering, threatening to crack when it became apparent that he was following her. She pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and tried to surreptitiously scrub at her eyes. Not him, she thought, He can never see me cry. I shan't let him make me cry. Not ever.

"Look here, calm down." he said stiffly, "I'll help you look for whatever it is, how about that?"

"Ha!" Catherine snorted contemptuously, "Of course you will, because you're so very nice like that, aren't you?" she said, her voice laden with sarcasm.

"And there you go again, acting like a spoiled brat!"

"How dare you! I am not a spoiled brat!"

"Oh, but you are! I kindly offered you my help but you're too proud to accept it. Well, if that's the case I bid you good day." And with that, he turned on his heel and began walking away at a leisurely pace. Catherine watched him go and wondered what to do, she had gotten what she wanted, he was going away, but she also knew that there was no way she would find the brooch on her own.

"Wait!" she called after him, inwardly cursing herself, "Wait. I am sorry. Please help me."

Robin turned around, a badly suppressed smile playing over his lips, "I beg your pardon? I didn't quite catch that. What did you say?"

Catherine's eyes narrowed like a cat's, "There's no need to rub it in. I've already apologised once."

"Alright, alright! Calm down, kitten. I'll help you." he laughed, walking back towards her, "What is it that you've lost?"

"A brooch."

"No, I've still got that."

"Not that one - but I do still want that back - this one is a cameo brooch."

"Right. Shall we walk?" Robin said, gesturing in a different direction from the way they just came from, "You were walking the wrong way before. We came from this direction the other night."

"Oh."

They walked in silence, glancing around for any sign of an elusive sparkle amongst the grass. He's just helping you find the brooch. That's it. Nothing more, Catherine told herself, You don't even have to talk to him. In fact, it's better of you don't.

"So what makes this brooch so special that you are willing to risk your life by returning to the forest to look for it?" Robin asked quite suddenly.

Catherine sighed, she really didn't want to tell him the story behind the brooch only for him to undermine it or mock her again, "It was a gift."

"From whom?"

"A boy I used to know."

"Oh. A boy." Robin repeated almost sullenly. Catherine turned to look at him but he had turned the other way.

"Yes. Sadly, he passed away four years ago." she stated. From the corner of her eye she saw Robin look at her but this time she was the one who turned the other way to avoid his gaze.

Another lull of silence.

She noticed only then that he had a half eaten apple in one hand and was carrying a book tucked under one arm. So that's what he was doing up in that tree. She tilted her head to read the title of the book.

"Doctor Faustus!" she exclaimed before she could stop herself.

"You sound shocked." Robin said, raising an eyebrow, "It may surprise you to know that we De Noirs can actually read."

"I never assumed that you couldn't. It's just that some people disapprove of that book. You know, because it's about Hell and demons and the Devil."

"If there's one thing can be said for my family, you can read any amount of scandalous books and they won't care. They positively encourage it." Robin laughed.

"I remember a girl from school named Posy Forsythe was caught with a copy. Sister Martha slapped her across the face and confiscated it."

"You went to a nuns' school?"

"No. Sister Martha was the only nun, she taught us Latin."

"Latin, eh? What else did they teach you there?"

"Nothing of any real importance." Catherine said dismissively, shrugging.

"So your parents spent probably hundreds of pounds on your education, and you're telling me that you didn't learn anything?"

"Of course I learned things. I can dance and sing and paint and sew. I can speak French and Latin. I can arrange flowers and make pleasant conversation and walk with a straight posture. I can play the piano and I have nice handwriting. But would you really class those things as important?"

"In certain situations, I suppose."

"Well, right now I am walking in the forest with a De Noir. What would you suggest I do to defend myself should you choose to attack me? Paint a landscape? Arrange a bouquet of flowers and try to fend you off with it? Or perhaps I could scream at you in Latin until you go away. You're right, those things would be useful in certain situations, but since I will never attend a debutants' ball or any seasons in London, they're useless."

"I wouldn't have thought the teachers would have been allowed to hit their pupils at a fancy school like that." Robin remarked.

"They weren't. But Sister Martha would often lash out anyway. She had a very short temper and was extremely strict. The other teachers all knew about it but they never did anything."

"Did she ever hit you?"

"Just once when I was twelve. Myself and a couple of other girls were being a little too noisy in the corridors. She came out of her classroom and shouted at us, then she rapped each of us over the knuckles with a wooden ruler."

The trees thinned and they came out on the banks of the stream.

"I can't go any further. I told myself I would only go as far as the stream so I wasn't going too near your castle." Catherine explained.

"A wise decision. Maybe you aren't as stupid as you seem." Robin grinned. This time Catherine didn't take offence to his slight, she had come to realise that he was rather fond of poking fun at her.

They walked together back to the edge of the Merryweather estate. She was just about to start in the direction of the house when he touched her shoulder for a split second to stop her, then quickly dropped his arm back down to his side.

"I will keep looking." he said quietly, glancing around at everything, the grass, the trees, the sky, the house, anything but her.

"Thank you, Mister de Noir." Catherine said primly, suddenly preoccupied with straightening her cloak.

Robin smiled faintly at her formality, "My pleasure, Miss Merryweather."