An Earl for an Archeress

by E. Elizabeth Watson

  But when he looked at Mariel, he saw someone who needed him yet would never chase or beg him, who wanted his affection but would never lower herself to competing with others, who was strong and independent but deep down was desperate to belong somewhere, perhaps to someone, which made her entirely too enticing to pass up. If he wanted not only her kisses, but also her heart, she would challenge him, and instead of handing herself over on a platter for him to pick from, the idea of having to win her trust and affection was more than appealing.

  “Because you’re the most beautiful one of them all.”

  She swallowed, clearly confused by his statement. His fingertips continued to caress paths promising affection on her cheekbones.

  “Tell me you don’t want me to kiss you,” he whispered. “Tell me and mean it.”

  Her mouth opened but no answer came out. Her pulse was thumping rapidly at her throat, and for a moment, her reaction piqued his curiosity. It was the reaction of a lovesick virgin losing her heart. ’Twas preposterous, for she had made it clear she knew well the attentions of a man’s body, and he had indeed seen her encouraging John’s lust only hours earlier. He gazed into her mossy eyes, searching for her response.

  Finally, the honest desire vanished from her face. She lifted her chin in that defiant way he was growing to like and looked him straight in the eyes. “Telling you such would be a bold lie.”

  His lips split into a relieved smile. “I knew it.” His fingers kept retracing their caress across her cheeks. “All thorns and prickles…”

  His mouth descended to hers, softly, brushing across them. Excitement was not an accurate description. What he was feeling was much more complex. He was certain he had never beheld lips so sweet, for unlike their kisses before, she was an active participant now, gently pecking his lips in return, acquainting herself in a curious yet tentative manner to the feel of his mouth. He was inclined to allow her explorations.

  The fire popped softly, nighttime shadows danced on the tree trunks near them, and he cradled her cheeks in his hands, his fingers splaying into her hair. He heard a soft moan escape her, as if she hungered and he satisfied the appetite. It did nothing but stoke his excitement and his thumb teased her chin, enticing her to open for him. As soon as she did, his pulse galloped away from him.

  …

  Mariel knew this kiss was going to be different from the others. Yet she was not prepared for his honest sensuality. Or the shiver of gooseflesh that spiked up her back. Or the moan that escaped her throat entirely of its own accord. He begged entry, and she opened her mouth. It would have opened with or without her consent, for she wanted the sweet taste of his kiss to progress.

  She suddenly wondered at everything about him. What did he look like bare-chested? Did he have ribbed muscles across his stomach? Toned arms as tanned as his face from the sunlight? Hair dusted upon his pectorals and navel? What did those jewels behind his codpiece feel like? The thought, despite no longer being innocent to the ways of men, still scandalized her. Yet she couldn’t help thinking it. Would he be well-endowed?

  And had he been serious? She was more beautiful than the other women who paraded their wares in front of him? Had he not noticed the rags she wore? Had he not noticed she wore neither makeup nor fixed her hair properly? Surely he was blind or she was a fool, allowing him to dominate her now, only to leave her behind when they reached his borders. And he had indeed managed to get the blanket around her after all. And her teeth! She had not cleaned them since waking that morn. Heavens, she thought, but she had an obsession with cleaning her teeth. What if she tasted awful?

  Yet his tongue acquainting itself with hers didn’t seem to notice anything wrong. In fact, it seemed like he was drinking her in, in liberal delves. And he had not taken care to ensure the cleanest mouth right before kissing her, either. He tasted of the salted meat he had been eating minutes ago, wine from the flask in his saddle bag, mixed with the flavor that was uniquely his. She wanted to keep tasting him. His tongue, caressing hers, offered ample opportunity.

  “Mariel,” he whispered as he took a breath, resting his forehead to hers. “Your lips are so sweet…I knew there was a rose hidden in your thorns.”

  He started kissing her again, delving more deeply, sliding his hands around her waist, his arms pulling her up to her knees so she pressed against him, chest to chest. Her breath caught, and by the way she could feel him smile against her mouth, she knew he heard it.

  “My beauty, you are too tempting.”

  He pulled her tightly against him, settling back on his haunches, his knees still splayed, pulling her knees around his waist so they sat flush and her most intimate parts rested snugly against his codpiece. He simply held her and rested his chin upon her shoulder. She could tell, resting against him as she was, that she had his full attention, and she warred with pushing relations further, for his gentle pulse promised ecstasy. She cinched her arms around his neck. He would be an amazing lover. They would make a flawless fit. She knew right then that she would feel perfection lying in his arms as he brought them both to their moment of ecstasy.

  “We should go to bed for the night,” she whispered, her meager voice of reason giving her clarity. Taking it further with Robert would feel wonderful for a night, but she could already tell it would lead to a deeper attachment on her part and would hurt far more when she departed his borders. “Before we go too far.”

  “Yes,” he agreed, his throat bobbing as he swallowed, his fingers gripping her hair as if to deny he had just agreed to anything of the sort. “I’ll tend to the horses.” He didn’t let go right away, but finally he relinquished his grip. She rose reluctantly, putting distance between them. She gathered up her supplies and hastened toward the brook. For the first time in eight months, Mariel’s “liberating” trousers made her feel restricted. She wanted to lie by the campfire in a finely woven chemise, with her hair unbound and rosewater dabbed upon her neck so that she might feel as beautiful as Robert seemed to think. And though Robert Huntington thought her intriguing, she didn’t want to be a novelty to him. She wanted to shed her filthy trousers and tunic in sore need of restitching and don a gown again. She wanted to be recognized as a beautiful woman, without fear of her father finding her.

  Untucking her tunic so that it billowed below her rear, and removing her leather boots, she used the time that Robert was busy with the animals to freshen her teeth and wash her face. Then she loosened her corset and twisted inside of the tunic until she had removed the garment. Relief rippled over her and her breasts relaxed, grateful for the breathing room.

  Yet relief was short-lived. She looked down at her feet with dismay, covered in old stockings that had once been white. The fabric was holey enough to be a saintly relic. She peeled them off, too, and stuffed them down in her boots so Robert wouldn’t see.

  Laying out her bedroll and pulling forth a saddle pack to use as a pillow, she unbound her hair and lay down, pulling Robert’s blanket over her. Working her fingers through the tangles, her hair soon sat in a pool of tresses around her head. She tucked his blanket under her chin and rolled on her side to face the fire. The fabric filled her senses, the smell a combination of soap made with heather, leather, and his unique scent.

  As she inhaled again, Robert returned through the trees, and by the look of his washed face and untucked tunic, he, too, had taken care of his personal freshening. He dropped his jerkin upon his saddle packs, but to her surprise, he kept walking around the flame until he stood over her. She rolled on her back and looked up as he glanced down at her, pulling loose the fastening of his belt.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, furrowing her brow.

  “Preparing to go to sleep,” he replied.

  “Here?”

  “You have all the blankets,” he countered, the corner of his mouth tilting up, causing his stubbly cheek to dimple on one side. “I don’t want to catch a chill, either.”r />
  “I’m sure that’s precisely what you’re worried about.” She rolled her eyes and shifted back to face the fire.

  “You roll your eyes heavenward often, woman,” he teased as he pulled the end of the blanket up and slid underneath, propping his hands under his head to stare up at the trees. “I wonder if God has taken notice yet.”

  “You are so humorous, I was too distracted to laugh.” Mariel rolled her eyes again, scowling when she realized what she was doing.

  Robert chuckled, making himself comfortable. Mariel grew rigid beside him. Neither of them spoke again. She felt his warmth at her back, smelled his smell, felt the slight lifts and drops of the blanket as his chest expanded with each breath. His closeness sent a tingle of awareness across her skin, settling right in her belly. Lord, but she was wildly attracted to this man. What was he thinking? Was he looking at her? Was he as attracted to her or merely attracted because her presence was convenient? He must have been pondering her, too, since he was so quiet… Either that or he slept. ’Twould be like a man to just fall asleep when a woman’s mind was running wild.

  Except, he finally broke the silence. “I don’t know you well, and I can’t say I understand you, but I consider you a friend.”

  Friend? Lovely. He may as well have stated, I’ve thought it over and I’ve decided that a woman who cannot even keep her teeth freshened is not the woman for me.

  “’Twill take another night before we arrive at the border of my lands at the junction to the high road to London. I’ll be honest, that in that time, I hope to persuade you to return to Huntington instead. The idea of a woman facing the dangers of the world alone doesn’t sit well with me.”

  “Would you be able to protect me from Crawford?”

  A long pause ensued, so long she wondered if he had truly fallen asleep now.

  “I wish I could,” he finally replied.

  His words, for some reason, gouged her. It wasn’t as if she expected him to declare his unwavering, eternal love to her. She knew that he couldn’t protect her from her father. But she heard what his words really meant, a verification of the truth. He couldn’t protect her. No one could.

  Chapter Seven

  Mariel woke to a dim morning, the sun having yet to rise above the horizon and shoot slats of light through the branches. She was comfortable, warm, and could not remember such peaceful sleep in a long time. Which was odd, because sleeping on the ground usually left her stiff and sore, even after all these months. She snuggled further against the warmth and adjusted her grip on the man beside her.

  Wait a moment. The haze of sleep dissipated. She opened her eyes fully and could see, could feel, Robert’s chest rising and falling under her cheek. His arm was securely around her, her head resting on the crook of his shoulder with her cheek upon his heart. Her head popped up and she looked up at him, noticing he was fully awake as well. Gazing down his chest at her, he kept his arm snugly around her.

  “Good morn, Lady,” he murmured, his voice scratchy from lack of use. Confusion sparked in her eyes. “We seem to have joined together in our sleep. I didn’t have the heart to jostle you off. ’Twas a pleasant favor to awaken like this.”

  Her nerves thrummed alert. Lying against him felt too right. It was a pleasant favor.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, starting to sit up, except Robert’s arm did not let go.

  “Apologizing would indicate you did something wrong. Which you didn’t. ’Twas sweet.”

  She looked into his hazel eyes, his other arm propped under his head, his wavy hair mussed from sleep, his stubble thicker than the night before. He smiled, a gentle upturn of his mouth, and finally let his arm drop from around her, using the same hand to strum through her curtain of hair as if it were the strings of a harp. Mariel felt her face reddening. It was so personal, the simple act, their closeness. It felt like a special moment, private as it was, as if they had spent the night making wild love and awakened comfortable with each other’s touch. Something in her heart shifted and she cursed inwardly, pushing to her feet.

  “I have ablutions needing attention,” she murmured, and, snatching up her saddle pack and grabbing her boots, she walked down to the stream without looking back.

  How could she feel so heartsick over such a man? One she hardly knew? Charlotte had been right. She knew nothing of the real Robert, and she feared he was actually the decent and kind man he seemed to be. Which made it hard to dislike him. It was ridiculous. But there was no denying her attraction to him.

  She took care of her necessities and sat to put her boots on by the water so that Robert wouldn’t see the state of her stockings’ decay. Taking out a comb, she fought through the knots in her hair and braided it into a long cord, tying it off with a string of leather.

  And she freshened her teeth. It was foolish to think he might kiss her again, but just in case he did, she wanted to be prepared.

  …

  Robert remained on his back, his arms flopping outward. Yes, he had been awake for quite a while, enjoying the feel of her nestled against him while he pondered all that had happened the night before.

  Crawford, he had heard her say. She hadn’t referred to the man as Faither or Papa, but Crawford. The tone in her voice indicated she knew his proposition to protect her was preposterous. And no. In truth, she was right in her sentiment. If she remained at Huntington as he had requested, if her father eventually discovered her whereabouts, the man would be entitled under the law to reclaim and punish her for defying him. The thought of how the Beast of Ayr would punish her formed a dark shadow in his mind. The Beast might be uncontrollable in his anger. And she might never be the same, if she even survived. She might end up like his mother.

  He had stifled his shudder at the thought, lest he wake Mariel, and God, but he wanted to remain lying together for as long as he possibly could. She had been a warm surprise in his arms when he had awoken. The sky had yet to lighten. While sleeping, with her forked tongue at bay, she was angelic, her hair golden like barley in the late evening sunset when the light cast low across the meadows. Her face was smooth, despite a few tiny freckles from her time in the sun. They were so small, one needed to be intimately close to notice. And her lips pouted slightly, full and pink like a flower bud. How her father could not see her as the prize she was, Robert had no earthly idea.

  How could he protect her from a man like that? He knew the only way to do it. Yet the very idea made him nervous, restless. He didn’t even know her. He had just admitted such the night before. And wouldn’t King Richard be annoyed if he undermined royal authority and eloped with a Scottish woman instead of one of the English courtiers? He might even be sanctioned.

  Marriage.

  It would protect Mariel and it would protect him from future marriage pressures from every direction he turned, unless the Beast of Ayr slaughtered him in a fit of rage and made Mariel a widow. But that seemed unlikely. Robert ranked too high as an earl, and if Ayr was smart, he would realize it was a shrewd marriage, regardless of whether or not his daughter had permission. But it could get him stripped of his title for marrying without the king’s consent. That, too, though unlikely, was more realistic.

  But the Scottish lord was acting with relative impunity with Ranulf de Blondeville’s consent. He had doled out cruelties in Scotland just as the Sheriff of Nottingham was doing here in King Richard’s absence, increasing taxes on all low liege lords, merchants, and peasants alike until they were forced to cede their lands. De Wendenal of Nottingham had no qualms subduing those who rebelled against him with his authority. Many serfs and landowners alike had been forced off their land, Jonathan being one of those. Many of those casualties had ended up on his doorstep.

  He had barely managed to stay in the Sheriff’s good graces himself, though “good graces” really was a nice way to put it. Their relationship was more of a strained truce, mainly because of his wealth and the reputa
tion of Robert’s father for being a hard man, something Nottingham respected. That, and right now, King Richard favored Robert, knowing the young Huntington heir to the earldom had declared his support for Richard during all of the Plantagenet squabbles over Richard’s succession. Knowing Nottingham’s tactics, he could only imagine the suffering in Ayrshire under Crawford’s watch.

  But what if he approached Crawford about marriage before the man found Mariel? What if he filled his father’s place in the alliance his father and Crawford had once sought? He would need to tread carefully in such waters, to ensure Mariel’s safety.

  He gave himself a mental shake.

  Was he actually considering marriage, as if it was a viable option? With a woman who refused to wear skirts? She would challenge him on everything, argue about everything, compete with him on everything…or she would complement him well, have a valuable perspective on issues of importance, hold him accountable should he ever act the arse. Nor would she ever kiss his arse. And if they married, she would bring her sharp mind and trained skill to their union, and he would benefit greatly. He needed someone like that in his close council, and he liked that quality in a woman.

  And her kiss…her sweet, desirable kiss… It would be his to savor for the rest of his days should he protect her with marriage. She was sensual, confident, and he knew taking things further would feel incredible. He would want to beg for her favors again and again. He would willingly supplicate himself with no shame. He could sense how much she had desired him when he’d held her. The little hitches in her breath, her confident exploration of his mouth, her soft moans of pleasure…it all pointed to an attraction more potent than a lightning bolt. But such an attachment would be dashed if she departed him at his southern borders.

  Yet, if she was safely his wife and they could force her father to accept it, she would not be afraid of anyone anymore. She could wear gowns freely, and would she not be the envy of every woman who tried to snag his attention? There was no comparison to her beauty, a healthy, naturally rosy-lipped wildflower blossom of beauty, not to mention, there was no comparison to her intelligence. So her father was cruel? She had found a way to escape him and improve her situation. And though she lived little better than an animal in the fields, he suspected being poor and having free will was a far cry better than being a caged, unwanted woman dressed in finery and jewels.