Robert would keep her name secret, and soon she would realize she could relax in his castle during the day, and perhaps, relax in his arms at night. He wouldn’t mind more mornings waking up with her nestled to his chest. And she was the perfect fit for the final spot on his secret council. She was the perfect fit for him entirely. She would remain with him, and he would convince her to give him the benefit of her archery skills and make room for him in her protected heart.
And after that poor night’s sleep filled with urgency to see her again, his fears worsened as he led Crawford and his contingent through the village, out through the pastures, and toward Huntington’s forest. There she was. In the middle of the field. He knew it was her, despite the crofter’s dress she wore, despite the fact that she wore the broad brimmed hat of an outdoor laborer with a wimple beneath to conceal her honey hair, despite that she stooped with a hoe, tilling up the dead remains of the harvested crops. He could tell by her posture and by the look she flashed at him before turning away.
His heart lurched into his throat.
The damned girl was bent on inviting danger! He stayed the desperate urge to ride to her and draw more attention than she was already inviting. And yet Harold rode, facing forward, not even sparing a glance at the young woman in the field with the old shepherd and his wife. For all the sheriff was concerned, she was their daughter, if he’d even thought about her at all.
As soon as Robert saw Crawford and his contingent to the edge of the forest, ensuring that Huntington guards continued to escort him northwesterly toward Nottingham Castle, he turned back up the road leading to the castle, kicking Goliath into a gallop. Aiming for the villager’s cottage where Mariel now stood watching him, he barreled to her, kicking up grass.
He pulled back on his reins, jumping from the saddle before the beast had fully stopped.
“Are you mad?” he demanded. “Have you lost all good sense?”
She scoffed and threw down the hoe. “Well good morn to you, too, my laird,” she gushed, dipping into a completely insincere curtsy.
He grabbed her arms and squared her in front of him. “What on earth possessed you to be out where Crawford might see you?”
She threw his arms off and pinched her face into a scowl. “In sooth, I assumed The Beast would stay longer than one day, and therefore wished to be helpful to my hosts by taking up some labor. Since I knew his men might be milling about, I was certain to dress like a peasant lass and conceal my hair. And in sooth,” she said, “I thought my disguise quite brilliant, I thank you. Crawford did not even notice me, and whilst we’re at it, you’re lucky I’m still here.” She pointed. “I had my mind made up to leave yester eve despite your sweet nothings, for I tossed about all night and slept like hell.”
Robert softened his position but not his posture. Taking her arms again, more gently, he pulled her to him. “I barely slept last night, either, woman, for fear of what could happen. I’m holding a private council after the noon meal today,” he continued, encircling his arms around her and finally sensing her relaxing against him. “I once asked you to let me employ you, and I still believe the idea has merit. I bid you join me at my meeting.”
“Your men will discover who I am if I join a council,” she replied, pulling back instantly.
“Jonathan already knows, woman,” he replied, pulling her back to him. “It didn’t take much for him to figure it out. You’re Scottish, Crawford is Scottish, and he searches for his fetching daughter with blonde hair and green eyes and an archer’s skill, and believe me, Crawford might be ugly as a cur and you lovely to behold, but you are most definitely your father’s daughter in both looks and temperament.”
“Temperament?” she snapped, pushing him off again. “I’m nothing like him!”
Robert laughed at the irony of her outburst. “You, my dear little apple, did nay fall far from your family tree,” he said. “You’re stubborn, single-minded, determined, and not afraid to say what you think, even when it’s rude.” Her jaw dropped, but he continued. “You’re strong, and you attempt to impress your strength on others to further your gains. You, Mari, are most certainly like your father—”
“Why you hateful, arrogant man.” She rolled her eyes. “Do nay spew such shite at me and expect a kind reaction—”
“And yet, impatient one,” he said, grinning as he brushed his thumb across her chin, “you’re courageous, braver than most men I know. Skilled. Sharp of aim and wit. Persistent, and no doubt harbor compassion to thy fellow man like no other. You’re one of the most fascinating women I’ve met. And beneath your armor, I’ve tasted a sweet, sweet rose. I’d venture to say you have all the good qualities of your father and none of the poor ones.”
“And woman,” she grumbled.
“What?” he asked, his line of thought severed.
“You said compassion to my fellow man. I said, ‘and woman.’ In fact, I might be more compassionate toward women based on my extensive experience of being one.”
“That’s how you thank me for my heartfelt compliment?” he asked. “By ignoring my very sentiment over a trifle?”
She scoffed. “Rob, if you only wanted thanks, then you should have never paid the compliment in the first place. I can give compliments with no demand for reciprocation.”
He stood back and folded his arms, perturbed yet amused. “Pray tell, woman. When have you ever given a compliment? My guess is the very words would be hemlock on your lips.”
…
“Well, man, if I need to prove you wrong, so be it. I find you to be, eh…” Lord, he is right. She searched for a way to compliment him without sounding like a sorry sop of a lady. Robert scowled and shifted his weight, leveling an I-told-you-so glare at her. “To not be as bad as what I initially thought. At least, you seem to be better than the rogue you’re thought to be.”
“That’s a compliment?” He shook his head and turned back to his horse, swinging up into the saddle to abandon her.
“Wait!” she exclaimed. He turned, looking down from above. “You’ve been ever kind and patient. And truth be told, though I swear if you ever use this against me I’ll aim my next arrow at you.” He grinned at her words. “You are, indeed, handsome enough that I can see why women would vie for your attention.”
His chest expanded and a cocky grin, much like the one he’d given her when he’d teased her about the whores at the tourney, grew on his lips.
“But do not expect me to fall at your feet should you dally with another,” she added hastily. “A pretty face isn’t enough to keep me begging.”
“Oh no.” He chuckled, jumping back down and sauntering back to her. He took her about the waist as if claiming a war spoil, dragging her to his chest. “You’ve already proven you’d fall at my feet.”
“How so?” she demanded.
He leaned in, kissed her, rolled his tongue over her lips, nibbling at her skin. She turned to warm, wonderful putty in his hands. And as soon as he had her bent backward, arching over her, he whispered, “Just now, my dearest, when you thought I’d leave, you fell very hard at my feet to stop me.”
“Not literally, I did not,” she breathed back, staring at his lips in wait of further affection, wholly unaware of the crofter and his wife staring at them with ready gossip on their lips for the villagers.
“Concede the winning point to me this round, for I was right,” he teased. “And now. My council. You will be there.” That broke the trance, but as soon as she began to argue, he silenced any further criticisms with his next words. “You deserve to be there, Mariel Crawford. I would value your thoughts, and with your father just gone, I need to act.” He pecked her gently on the lips and nose with such ease, it was a wonder they had only recently met. “I believe you will see the merit in my offer.”
Chapter Eleven
I am never going to escape Huntington. She sighed as she walked down the castle corridor
above the great hall terminating at the doors of Lord Huntington’s solar. Robert. Rob. The beautiful, disheveled lord who was actively trying to seduce her. And she was supposed to think clearly, at a council, no less, when he would no doubt remind her at every glance that he felt like pinning her to a tree, stroking his tongue against hers, nudging his manhood against her stomach or more… What on earth was she doing, falling for such a scoundrel?
The doors were grand and imposing with heraldic banners flanking either side, biblical figures carved into relief on the doors themselves. ’Twas a grander solar than her father’s, whose castle in Ayr was imposing but had been built as an impenetrable medieval fortress on a cliff and nothing more. Mayhap it was all her blackened memories tainting her opinion, but her proud home of Castle Ayr had always felt like a primitive dungeon.
When the doors to the solar opened upon her knocking, her awe only increased. The ceilings were nearly as tall as the great hall, with impressive banners hanging in succession from front to back over a large round board. The board itself looked ancient and was polished smooth, so that it gleamed in the daylight flooding through the arched windows. A map was laid across the surface. Intricate woodwork paneled the walls, and the room contained not one, but two hearths on opposite ends, both as tall as she was, and both sculpted by stonemasons and plastered with whitewash, matching the stone walls extending above the paneling to the ceiling. Over one hearth hung the Huntington coat of arms in its black, green, and silver splendor, and over the other hung the king’s red colors, to whom it was clear Robert was loyal.
She did her best to pick her jaw up from the floor and proceeded inside, where Robert stood at a sideboard established for refreshments, while four other men, including Jonathan, stood in a cluster next to the table, watching her come inside like she were a novelty. She supposed she was.
“Ah, the final piece of the puzzle arrives,” Robert said, acknowledging her like one of the men as he corked the wine decanter. “You may wait outside,” he directed the doormen, and walked to her with two goblets.
She shifted, unsure of what to do. Walk forward under their awkward scrutiny? Stand still and await Robert’s arrival with her wine? Hold her hands before her? Or perhaps place one on her hip in a casual stance? Take a seat along the wall or beneath a window and wait demurely with her hands folded in her lap, like a woman would be expected to do in the company of men?
“Come to the table, Elmer,” Robert said, a tease in his eyes.
He walked toward her, stopping at the table’s edge, and he set down her goblet. His fingers remained on the stem as he eyed her. She came forward.
“Will, Alan, David, this is Elmer, my archery competition. John, of course, knows her,” he added, and Mariel knew the scowl he sent to his giant of a man had true feelings fueling it. “And I believe you, Will, met her once.”
A man of Robert’s age, tall, and cleanly put together, with red embellishments woven into his coat, sporting a dark goatee of hair trimmed upon his chin, scrutinized her. She remembered seeing him upon the dais, chatting with Lady Anna. He nodded. “Quite right,” the man finally agreed. “She and her brother are one and the same. You had a good eye at the tourney, Cousin, to recognize a woman archer. And you have bollocks, woman, slipping into the tourney as you did.”
Confused, she looked to Robert for clarity. The man did indeed look familiar, and not just from supper the other night.
“Will was in the registration tent with Wesley and me when you registered,” Robert clarified. “He’s also my cousin.”
“I see,” she said, arriving by Robert’s side to pick up her goblet, which he didn’t release until he felt her fingers brush his. “And my name is really—”
“Elmer,” Robert interrupted. “Your name is Elmer.”
“Elmer?” She scowled.
Robert grinned, as did Will, John, and the two others. “Yes, a fitting name. ’Twas indeed the name you gave yourself, was it not?”
“I didn’t come here to be mocked,” she snapped. “Or was that the sole reason for inviting me? Warm her with kind words about how deserving she is, then have a grand laugh at her expense the moment she walks through the door?”
She slammed her goblet down and turned to leave, when Robert laughed, garnering a chuckle from the men. “I told you so,” he told them.
“Told them what?” she demanded, rounding back to the table.
“That you’re spirited,” Robert said.
She frowned at him. “You would crawl under my skin for no reason?”
He smiled a cheeky grin and leaned down to her ear. “Indeed, my lady, I was just under a blanket with you the night before last. I fear I’m already under your skin.”
Her face heated, and he chuckled, for a whisper in this silent chamber was about as quiet as a barker’s call at a fair. And now, she noted, while his other men chuckled, it was Jonathan who scowled. Lovely. She rolled her eyes. Was she supposed to be a spoil for both men to argue over? She spun on her heel, marching toward the door again.
“I only tease!” he called, jogging to her and blocking her path. He skipped backward to continue his obstruction as she attempted to plow around him, when he caught her arms.
“Let me go!” she snapped.
“I only tease, Lady,” he said more calmly.
“Nay, you embarrass me and call into question my propriety.”
“Come now, men can be bawdy, and I’d like to think, that is, after this meeting, that you might be one of us.”
“Be like one of you? Be like a man? Lord, your impression of me is horrid, if you consider me thus.”
He laughed again, as did the others. “My good men”—Robert turned to them, spinning her with him by wrenching her hand, addressing them all—“let it be known that I only tease Elmer, and that I, in fact, did not seduce her as I implied.”
“That’s it,” she grumbled, her face flushing once again and she pivoted toward the door.
“Stop,” he said, throwing his arms wide and bracing the door behind him.
“Your men are bawdy? That’s nay bawdy. You act like a wee, immature eejit, nay a man.”
“Mariel,” he breathed, so silently even she could barely hear. “Laugh with us. Stay with us. I pray you. Relax and smile. You’re safe here.”
The suddenly genuine expression on his brow stayed her hand on the latch. “How so?” she asked. “You either want me, or you want my archery skill for some purpose. For no matter how many times I attempt to leave, you continue to stop me. And I hardly think you wish to keep me around because I would make such an agreeable woman.”
“All jesting aside, my dear one,” he emphasized, “your father has plans to…let’s just say you’re not as safe at large as you once thought. I wish to harbor you, and if I may be so selfish, to hold on to the woman a little longer who has piqued my interest.”
“He plans to what?” she countered, ignoring his heartfelt sentiment and popping a hip while folding her arms across her chest. Mention of her father in such a tone did nothing but stand the hairs on her arms on end.
“Later. I’ll explain later. Come. You’re the other archer I need, and after I tell you about my meeting with your father, I think you’ll see I try to keep you from leaving for both reasons: because I want you to stay and your skills would benefit us all.”
After a moment of angry contemplation, she let him lead her, albeit unwillingly, back to the table. She grabbed her goblet of wine and threw back the contents in its entirety to calm her embarrassment, only realizing moments later that all of them, including Robert, stared at her lack of decorum.
“What?” She shrugged. “I have thirst.”
“As I was saying before,” Robert said, suppressing his grin, “I have need of one more marksman, and the right person is finally presented, in this case, a markswoman.” Addressing her now, he continued. “What you see here ar
e my most trusted men. Jonathan, though he be my head guardsman, owned land and title until our lovely Sheriff of Nottingham saw fit to strip him of all claim and commandeer his manor. Nottingham increased his taxes to support the Crusade, but in fact, we knew he simply wanted Jonathan’s land, for it is a lush and prosperous estate with partial control of the River Trent, a waterway that is important for trade. Raising funds to support the war was merely an excuse to raise taxes, and John refused to pay. When John didn’t submit, Nottingham swooped in with a force of men and took over, stripping John of all hereditary claim. That wooden quarterstaff of his is never far from hand, as you’ve surely noticed, and woe is the man unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end of it. Will, as I said, is my cousin and a cheeky swordsman. Alan is a friend from Carlisle whom I once helped and who has since sworn himself to help my cause. And David is mute, which makes him a great spy, since he is oft considered too daft to divulge secrets. Though daft, I assure you, he is not.”
She took it all in. Will, the cousin, she finally remembered. The tent had been dark at the archery contest, but nonetheless, she recalled him as one of the men who had laughed at her sense of humor. Alan seemed soft. Gentle. Not much of a fighter, with a thin, gangly frame and spindly fingers more suited to strumming a lute rather than swinging a weapon, and Jonathan, of course… She knew all about Jonathan, or “Little John,” as Robert had threatened to call him. Then there was David. Robert had said nothing at all about his origins.
“And all of you now know Elmer, who tied me in the tourney, and I’ll admit I’ve never been so surprised. As you may have suspected, our little archer hails from Scotland, though her identity is secret, and shall remain so.”
An Earl for an Archeress Page 13
