Her head spun, her eyes and nose watered, and stars spotted her vision, but she maintained herself without a single yelp. She supposed she should thank her father for that skill, for she was practically numb to such handling.
“You can enjoy accommodations compliments of the earl’s prison tower, until he wishes to see you,” the guardsman began, and they headed southward.
She fumed as the minutes in the saddle turned into hours. The earl was a bastard like all other men. He had tried to charm her the other day, giving her that light kiss, but he was a ruthless, selfish bastard like them all. She hated him, just like she hated her father, from now until eternity. If she were ever released, Robert of Huntington was now on her list of despicable men who she hoped to never see again. And Lord help the man, if ever she did encounter him.
By the time they broke through the trees onto a main route, she was delirious, her mind waning, her hair falling loose from its ties to lie in straggly strands around her face, and her hunger was beyond pain. They finally began to canter, which, thankfully, roused her from her stupor, and she looked up the path to see the grandest castle she had ever beheld. Rumors were that Huntington Castle rivaled that of King Richard’s, and now she could see why. Torchlight illuminated its proud walls. Turrets adorned the tops of the bastions at each corner with the earl’s black, green, and silver-fringed flags visible from the lights, and an imposing barbican housed the main portcullis, a wooden grate so thick she could see six men at work cranking it up as they approached, grinding its chains. Lord, but just the torchlight alone had to be a huge expense, for candles and oil did not come cheaply.
But just as she allowed her eyes to marvel at her new prison, she noticed the guards gathered at the gates. No. It could not be. The large and fair-faced guard who had stood vigilantly outside the archery tent at the contest now stood outside the gatehouse here. She ducked her head low, praying he didn’t recognize her, and thankfully, he was distracted before she passed him.
“A thief stealing His Lord’s game,” her escort said as they rode beneath the barbican and entered an outer yard.
Mutterings at her expense and some bored greetings between soldiers followed, and soon she was clearing the other side of an outer wall so thick it created a tunnel. It was late at night and the castle activity seemed to be concentrated solely in the great hall up ahead and through yet another portcullis giving way to the inner bailey. And if the boisterous fanfare, colors, music, and smells of feasting spilling from its main doors into the night were any indication, a celebration of the earl’s success was well underway.
No doubt his royal arseness, Huntington, was sitting upon his throne, being pleasured by two whores on each side. She scowled, remembering his smugness. But she was not afforded a view to determine if she was right.
The guards halted the horses, and she was dragged from the saddle. She willed her legs to work so the pressure of their grips under her arms didn’t hurt as much. They circumvented the main keep to a tower far to one side, past the inner houses and shops. Here, a lock was clanked open. She was pulled up a set of winding stairs to the turret and thrust into the darkened room. The heavy door was thrown shut, and a lock secured it.
“We’ll let the earl decide what to do with you, whelp,” a guard said. “You’re lucky His Lordship is soft on sods like you and doesn’t allow us to throw you in the pit.”
She stumbled against the dank wall and sank to the floor. The room smelled musty, like an old storage vault, and the only fresh air came from an arrow slit much too skinny to fit through, even in her growing state of emaciation. Pushing to her knees, she tried to see the inner workings of the castle below, but while the torches made the top of the castle glow, it washed everything beneath it in blackness.
And now a sob did escape her. She threw her hand over her mouth to stifle it in case the guards stood outside the door ready to taunt her. She pinched her eyes closed and bit back the horrid memories of her father locking her in his old guard tower for four days, to teach her not to cry for her mother during a thunderstorm. The memory sickened her, and though the all-too-familiar panic lodged in her throat and flooded her bloodstream, she breathed in, and out, in, and out, thinking of her days with the young priest, her only savior and tutor. She began the daunting ritual of recalling each lesson and shooting each arrow to count each number, the only tactic that ever calmed her mind.
How long it had been, she did not know. An hour? Two hours? More? But she woke when she was partway down the stairs of the turret, the same bloody guards who had dragged her up, now dragging her down. Her feet thumped each step and then scuffed through the dirt of the yard as she entered the piercing sun of midday. She pinched her eyes shut and actually moaned at the stabbing pain.
“I…I need water…please…” she croaked, no longer trying to mask either the feminine quality to her voice or the Scottish brogue she did so well to hide.
“The earl can decide if you drink or not, whelp,” a guard replied, and then she felt her body thumping up the stairs to the main keep.
The raucous sounds of the nooning meal hit her ears upon the door opening. More merrymaking, more food, more, more, more, and she could not have a single bite! This was the worst torture. Her head slumped forward as the two men held her aloft and dragged her down the main aisle between trestle tables, the crowds gossiping around her. They halted beneath the dais.
…
Robert threw down his quill pen in disgust, shoving to his feet and bracing his palms on his desk.
“How dare you?” he growled, and for once, the pompous Wesley had the decency to look ashamed. “How dare you throw a contest to my favor when we tied fairly?”
“My lord,” Wesley replied, clearing his throat. “The people enjoyed the spectacle. It made the fairgoers jovial, excited, and happy guests spend their coin more freely, which is indeed good for your coffers, sire−”
“I am indeed interested in maintaining my wealth, which I dare say, I am talented at achieving, but I’ll not have it on my conscience, that my money was unfairly procured.” Robert seethed, pointing at him. “If our arrows matched, as the others are now telling me, then the archer who challenged me deserved every penny of the winnings earned. And I care not your opinions on the lad’s sister who came to the archery tent. Swive all the men’s bums you wish, I care not your preferences, but your dislike for the lady clearly swayed your judgment.”
Wesley flinched at Robert’s blunt description and his cheeks reddened, though Robert ignored it.
“Your salary is being suspended for a sennight, and I will instead donate your earnings to the Creake Abbey almshouse, where poor beggars whose money is swindled from them often end up.”
Robert righted his posture, tugging the hem of his coat to straighten it.
“Sire,” Wesley croaked. “You misunderstand my preferences—”
“I misunderstand nothing,” Robert said dismissively. “’Tis an unspoken fact and an act I once saw you heartily engaging in. You were too distracted to notice I’d come to the buttery in the middle of the night, and I made a hasty retreat upon seeing you.” Wesley ducked his head, his face red. “That’s right. You and the blacksmith’s apprentice, so don’t lie to me now. I’ll not turn you in for it. It makes no difference to me who you bugger. But you cheated. You cheated me out of a fair game, and you cheated that girl—” He caught himself. “That girl’s brother out of his half of the winnings. Hand over my accounting ledgers. You’ll get the honor of such a position back when your sennight of discipline is complete. I value your skill, and you are indeed sharp with numbers. But I cannot abide cheating. This lesson you must learn well, for if I cannot trust you to conduct yourself honestly, then I’m afraid you’ll need to find a new household to serve.”
Wesley averted his eyes, stood, and handed over a leather portfolio.
“The midday meal is served and I’m famished. After you, s
ire.” Robert gestured, motioning to the door.
He tried not to fume as he marched down the stairs into the great hall behind Wesley. But his officials needed to learn that dishonesty was met with his disdain. “Elmer” had been sent off with nothing, and thanks to his other officials’ jesting upon their return to Huntington the day before, he had learned the truth of it. He hadn’t beaten the girl. He had tied her. She should have been awarded accordingly.
He stepped upon the dais and made his way to his seat when he felt himself roll his eyes like “Elmer” at the tournament. God be damned, but Lady Anna was already there, watching him with a smile upon her lips. He wanted to attack the pea-and-mutton stew sitting in steaming dishes, not fight off her unsolicited attentions. Sitting down, he tucked into the table and shoved a mouthful into his gullet so he could say nothing when Anna greeted him with a flirtatious, “Hello, sire.”
The woman placed a hand on his arm. He looked down the table at Will, who shrugged, chuckling. A lot of help the sod was. He took another bite quickly to replace the first, when the doors to the main hall were suddenly thrown wide. He swallowed, watching his guards drag a scrawny lad down the aisle between two of the trestle tables. A wary prickle raised the hair on his arms.
“My lord,” presented a guard, ripping back the lad’s hair to lift his face to the earl, and lo, but it was… “A thief caught in your woods last night, cooking a hare without your permission to even hunt one. What should we do with the urchin?”
“Elmer?”
His mystery woman looked more like something the dogs had fought over the night before.
“Release her.” He jumped to his feet, yanking his arm free from Anna.
“But, my lord―”
“I said release her!” He bolted down the dais, around the tables, onto the main floor.
The hall fell silent.
“’Tis a him, sire, not a her,” said his guard with confusion.
“’Tis a young woman,” snarled Robert. “Unhand her. Now!”
They did so, and Robert caught her before she hit the floor as the men and women eating abandoned their tables to crowd around and gossip.
“Wa…water…please…” the woman begged.
“Hold steady, sweeting. Get the pitcher,” he directed the nearest serving girl, who snatched the wine off the dais and thrust it into his hand.
“Wine first, Elmer, to give your humors a boost,” he said, kneeling so he could set her upon the floor and cradle her head upon his knee.
He nodded to the maid to fetch water from the kitchens then brought the wine vessel to the girl’s lips. She drank as if she had never tasted anything so sweet, only to sputter on the alcohol moments later, so that it ran down the corners of her mouth like blood. The water arrived and he replaced the wine with a wooden goblet.
She drained it.
“Elmer?” questioned his guard.
“Yes, my competition at the archery contest, the one who almost bested me,” Huntington said, reaching to the thongs tying her hair into a tight nub and pulling loose the tie. Her hair, kinky from being knotted, fell loose into a curtain of golden barley. “I’ve been looking for her. She went by Elmer, though ’tis not her name, obviously.”
“You should have reported her as a cheat,” the guard scoffed. “You knew she was a woman?”
Huntington nodded, his anger renewed. “Ah yes, there were cheaters there, but she was not among them.” He glared at Wesley, who was picking at his food at the end of the dais.
“Women are barred from participating in such sport,” another argued.
“It matters not to me,” Robert said. “The woman can shoot like a master. Why didn’t you declare a prisoner sooner?” he demanded, hoisting her into a cradle, now limp. He stood.
“I didn’t think it mattered,” defended the guardsman. “You were already abed last night after skipping the festivities, and we thought it best not to disturb you.”
“I don’t abide by keeping prisoners unfairly, men. You know this.”
“But your father would have wanted the thief punished,” argued his man.
Robert felt the blood at his temple throbbing. “I’m not my father,” he said quietly. The guard stepped back. “You should be well aware of this, for the man has been dead and buried for nigh three months. Squire duties, the lot of you. Jonathan!” he bellowed for his friend who had a serving girl, Bridget, upon his knee.
The man jumped to attention and jogged forward. “Yes?”
“See to it these two are stripped of their weapons and forced to scrub piss for the next four days. Perhaps it will remind them to treat others justly, especially women.”
“Women?” Jonathan looked down at the girl in Huntington’s arms.
“Yes, your date at the tourney. And also my competition. She entered her brother, when really she was entering herself. Here she is.”
“The woman?” Jonathan asked. “She was the archer?”
“I’ll explain in due course,” Robert said.
Comprehension dawned, creating a resolute glare on Jonathan’s brow, and he rounded on the guardsmen. Ah, so it’s true. John had fancied the girl, if his protective stance now said anything.
“Aye. I’ll make sure they’re smelling piss on their skin for sennights to come,” growled John.
Robert turned away, nodding. “Alice!” he called to the head servant, a handsome woman in her later ages, her hair a robust red streaked with silver. She pushed through the onlookers. “See to dressing the bed in the guest chamber at the end of the gallery, and see to a full meal for the girl. She hasn’t eaten well in some time.”
The woman nodded and hustled away, and Robert, carrying the now unconscious female, followed his servant and strode from the hall, climbing to the gallery two steps at a time. He hastened down the corridor and through the doorway, Alice bustling into the darkened chamber and around the massive four-posted bed draped in blue canopies. She grabbed the cord of wick and dashed into the hall to light it from the torch ensconced outside the door. Then she used it to light the kindling in the grate as well as the bedside candles.
Hastening to the wardrobe, she thrust the doors open and withdrew a stack of linens, handing them off to a maid, who stretched them tightly upon the mattress and draped a down blanket over them. Robert settled “Elmer” into bed, and as the fire warmed the room, he noticed streak marks in the dirt on her face. Dried tears. Guilt and anger spun through his mind.
His stupid guardsmen. Between Wesley and his underlings at the tournament and his guards just now, today was his limit for daft men. He released the clasp on her cloak. Her clothes were dirty and in sore need of repair, and a bruise marred her nose. It looked like a blow. If he found out his man had also struck her, he was going to satisfy the urge that always reminded him whose seed he was spawned from and beat the guard senseless. So the girl had poached a hare. He had stolen her only chance to eat when he’d come home forty shillings richer.
He began to untuck her tunic, only to see her stomach encased in bindings. Lifting her tunic farther, he could see that the bindings had flattened her chest.
“I need shears,” he demanded.
Alice withdrew a pair from her apron pocket. Robert snatched them and cut the bindings from her navel to her breasts. The encasement fell open and he might have appreciated the lusciousness of the most perfect breasts he had ever seen, except that her ribs looked like a washboard. Guilt slammed through him once more. “Elmer” had been desperate.
He dropped the tunic and turned away. He should have asked his maids to do such an intimate task.
Alice, on her way to retrieve the ordered food, hastened out the door.
“Alice,” he called. She peeked her head inside. “Send another maid to help wash and dress her. And send word the moment she regains consciousness and has eaten her fill. I’ll be in my solar and wis
h to see her.”
The servant curtsied and disappeared again, and Robert, relieved to have finally found the girl who had vanished, hoped it was not too late to help her…or for her to help him.
Chapter Four
When Mariel woke to the taste of salty broth on her lips, she almost bolted upright to devour the goodness. Except she couldn’t. Weak and aching, she allowed the spoon to be placed in her mouth and sucked upon it until every drop was gone. The ritual was repeated until the bowl was empty, and then a slice of warm, heavenly bread was placed in her fingers.
Gingerly, she held it to her lips and nibbled until all was eaten. Her eyes finally opened and revealed before her an ornately carved mantle over a roaring fire, finely woven tapestries covering the plastered stone, and a canopy of soft blue draped above her. Her bed was also carved with intricate details, thick and sturdy, and polished to a shine. How she had gotten from the prison tower to this, she couldn’t remember, but she seemed to recall being dragged into the great hall and seeing the look of disbelief on the earl’s face as he had spewed anger at his guardsman. Had he not known they had captured her?
And though she had probably dreamed it, she recalled the taste of wine and water and the warm feeling of his arms, his strong muscles lifting her and tucking her protectively against his chest as he had carried her upstairs. A lingering smell of leather, soap, and wine followed, and though the soap was a new scent, she had known it was still the same bewitchment she had smelled at the fair when he had leaned close to her.
There was nothing after that. No memories whatsoever, only the comfortable feeling of this soft mattress and the extreme hunger which had made her slurp desperately on the spoon moments ago. Ah, the bed. It had been months since she had lain in such luxury. Since the last night she’d spent at Castle Ayr. But there, she’d always slept with one eye at her back.
“How do you feel, miss?” asked a woman beside her, a beautiful woman, older but with thick red hair and creamy skin.
An Earl for an Archeress Page 4
