An Earl for an Archeress

by E. Elizabeth Watson

  “Mari, no. Get behind me,” Robert cautioned, unable to pull her back without relaxing his arrow.

  “I won’t vouch for Teàrlach’s character,” she said, “for I hardly know the man other than he serves Crawford and is usually always at his side.”

  Robert nodded slowly. “Ah, you were the guardsman at his side when he spent the night at Huntington and kicked shite off his boots all over my rushes.”

  The fact that Teàrlach was calm, polite, if indeed not talkative, always made him go fairly unnoticed, Mariel remembered. It was a point of Teàrlach’s character her father always valued.

  After further pausing, Robert continued. “You’re the peasant man my crofters took in a couple nights ago. No doubt, spying is your specialty.”

  “I will say that I’ve never seen him act cruelly,” Mariel said. “What report do you intend to give my faither?” she asked.

  “I intend to tell him the truth,” Teàrlach replied, unconcerned about the impending release of five arrows. Mariel heard the gauntlets around her creak more, feeling the tension thrum through the air. “That his daughter was seen fleeing from Huntington after climbing out a window on a rope made of bed sheets. That I can only assume the earl, Robert of Huntington, was holding her prisoner after she showed up on his estate, until arrangements for Laird Crawford could be made to come and retrieve the wench. I’ll tell him that I tried to steal her back when I found her traveling of her own free will through the forest with a band of masked thieves, heading for a ‘lair.’” Mariel looked between Teàrlach and Robert, their eyes locked with one another in silent challenge. “’Twould nay be a lie, now would it, Lady Mariel?”

  It would be a lie, and it would mislead Crawford. Why would Teàrlach, her father’s number one man, help her? She tried not to let down her guard, but the man seemed sincere, and there was something about the way he had mentioned her younger sister that spoke of affection. Did the guardsman care for Madeline?

  “Your sister fears for you, my lady. I see her fretting, walking the parapets, searching the countryside for the chance that you might return in yer faither’s shackles or worse, dead. I’d hate for the Lady Madeline’s fears to come true.”

  “He toys with your feminine affections,” John warned. “Careful you don’t take the bait.”

  “And yet here we stand, unable to decide which is better. Killing him? Or releasing him?” Robert spoke up, still staring down Teàrlach with his weapon pointed.

  Teàrlach nodded, his easy smile returning. “I see you’ve already made yer choice. Killing me would nay doubt cause a greater stir, as you’re considering. I give my word that what I told you now is what I plan to report. If she’s captured, ’twill nay be because of me blowing your cover.”

  With that, Teàrlach turned away from them all and walked to the opposite bank of the stream, sloshing in the water. Robert released no arrow. He did nothing but watch him go.

  “That was imprudent.” Jonathan scowled. “He just lied his way out of being taken to the ground in a pool of blood.”

  “Still, I think he was sincere,” Mariel said, watching the trees where Teàrlach had entered. The men began to relax their arms. “He cares for my sister. I could see it. Like I said, I never saw him treat another poorly.”

  “He works for your father,” Will said. “Don’t be blinded by his pleas of the heart. He could very well ruin us.”

  “But he won’t.”

  “There’s no guarantee of that in games of subterfuge,” Alan, the most thoughtful and quiet of the men, said.

  “But I’ll trust Mariel’s judgment on the man. For now,” Robert said. “She knows him better than any of us. David, you’re my best man for my own games of subterfuge.” He turned and looked straight at the silent man. “Follow him. And if he lies to his lord, make haste back to Huntington without delay with a report on Crawford’s next plan.”

  David nodded, disappearing back up the bank toward camp, and as the rest of them returned, David’s pile of kindling was sitting in the clearing, though he, his horse, and his effects, were gone.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Huntington.

  Here she was yet again. She sighed as she stared up at the green and black standards waving upon the castle’s outermost curtain wall. Her life was beginning to feel like a snag in time, like a recurring dream, as if she were trapped in a mythical place of the fae folk from which she would never escape, doomed to repeat the same occurrence for the rest of her life.

  And yet, there was also relief. She felt safe in these walls, even if Charlotte was here. She had never felt safe in Ayr. Here, the soldiers she had dined with were kind. Robert’s men were friendly. Alice might shake her head at her unladylike appearance, and Wesley might have made a point to glare at her during her first supper in the hall, but the people here smiled and laughed. No man had yet to haul her to her chamber to administer discipline. The people of Huntington knew they were secure.

  Robert rode under the portcullis, through the gatehouse tunnel, through his outer yards and into his bailey, where his serving staff waited to greet him. Mariel dropped her grip on Robert’s waist. Riding astride and plastered to the lord’s back, Alice would already have cause to click her tongue.

  “Alice,” Robert said.

  “My lord.” His head servant curtsied. “The hearth in the great hall is being set to roaring for your comfort, and Bridget is seeing to refreshments for your…” She noticed Mariel dismounting from behind Robert. “Pleasure,” she finished.

  The way Alice’s lips pursed in distaste was not lost on Mariel. The woman no doubt thought Robert’s interest in her was misguided.

  “See to it a hot bath is prepared for the lady in the old kitchen.” Robert gestured to Mariel.

  “Not for you, my lord?” Alice questioned.

  “I intend to use it after her. The dirt of the road is clinging to me and feels like paste, but there’s no sense in wasting two tubs of hot water.”

  Alice nodded but bowed her head. “One was already being prepared for you, my lord, in your chamber, since you generally like to cleanse yourself after a long journey. The tub would need to be emptied before it can be moved.”

  Robert paused, looked at Mariel, and seemed to come to a decision.

  “Well, there’s certainly no reason to go to all that labor,” he said, never severing his eyes from Mariel’s “The lady may bathe in my bedchamber where the tub rests. I shall busy myself elsewhere until she finishes.”

  Alice did her best to swallow her shock and reached out to guide Mariel forward. “I shall see the lady tended first, as you wish.”

  Robert nodded and replied. “Please also request Lady Charlotte’s presence—” Mariel’s head whipped around. Robert allowed the corner of his mouth to turn up in the cocky smirk he used when teasing her. “In the great hall, if you please. I have a favor to ask of her, which should work to the advantage of our lady guest,” he added, nodding to Mariel.

  She watched him dismount and hand off his reins. He climbed the steps, arriving beside her to pass.

  “Trust in me,” he whispered, dipping his head low to hers so she might hear, before continuing onward.

  Alice led Mariel up a set of stairs from the great hall, around the gallery, and down the corridor leading to Robert’s solar. Instead, Alice ushered her into the lord’s chamber. A hefty wooden tub sat before a massive hearth while children filled it with pots of steaming water. The chamber was expansive, high ceilings, a giant bed of ornately carved wood, draped in fine green and silver velvet canopies. The furniture was old, fine, and upon one wall was an entire shelf of precious books. The floors were covered in rugs imported from the Continent and every candlestick she saw had been cast in gold, glittering in light from the dancing fire.

  “You may lay down your things here.” Alice gestured to a polished chair that had been moved to make room for the
tub. “I’ll go fetch Lady Charlotte to the great hall as His Lordship has requested.”

  Mariel gaped at the books, gaped at the metal coats of arms upon the walls, the sheer wealth that had been required to outfit such a room. Then her eyes settled on the bed. It was the most intimate item of them all. Robert slept there. How did he look when he slept? Did he sleep without clothing? Did he sprawl or toss his arms up? How many women had known this bed?

  At long last, Alice returned.

  “All right, into the bath,” she said with a harrumph.

  “I suppose Robert thinks I smell,” Mariel said.

  Alice scoffed. “I’ve seen your ways. Whilst you smell no worse than any other man, therein lies the problem. You’re not a man. The earl says you’re a noblewoman. You ought to act the part. I can only imagine how you’ve disappointed your unfortunate father, wherever the man might be. And your garments need laundering. Remove them and I’ll see to their washing.”

  “I’ve nothing else to wear.” Mariel swallowed, refusing to allow the servant’s words to sting.

  Her father was not unfortunate. He was a tyrant. And indeed he had been disappointed in her, though it mattered not if she’d worn gowns or trousers. It had mattered not if she’d mastered the manners befitting of a woman. It most assuredly had mattered not if she wore the beautiful silk ribbon he had given her so many years ago, so he might see she appreciated his kindness. She was strong-willed and a woman, two accursed traits, and therefore in need of constant discipline. Except the lesson of his fist had seemed to come out of nowhere most of the time, and there was nothing she could have done to make him happy. She had not been born a lad, and there was nothing she would ever be able to do to change that.

  “Lady Charlotte brings a gown for you at His Lordship’s request.”

  “A gown?” Mariel balked. Robert had mentioned asking Charlotte to find her some things to make her stay more comfortable, but he hadn’t said a gown.

  “Indeed. It’s an article of clothing worn by gentlewomen, in case you’ve never seen one—”

  Mariel rolled her eyes.

  “—though you’ve hardly adequate flesh to hold a gown on. And the one you kept in your traveling packs is in poor repair. Hardly worthy of the Earl of Huntington’s company.”

  “Why should I require his company?” she argued, for the sake of argument.

  “You’re here as his guest. You’ll indeed spend time with him, whether it be in the hall or, em, more personal encounters,” Alice said. “Which he seems to be fond of, judging by your return to us once more.”

  The older woman blushed at her implication.

  “Encounters?” Mariel snapped, growing agitated. “And what makes you think I should share my company with His Lairdship in private?” Of course, she knew why Alice thought that, but it didn’t mean the woman needed to make assumptions. “He’s made nary an indication that my attire offends him. Therefore, I shall keep my tunic and trews. Honestly, if more women were bold enough to try them on, they would see that the attire is much more suitable to all manners of labor and leisure.”

  “Ah, that is the other thing, my lady. You must curb your Scottish tongue. Falsify an English accent. His Lordship has just suggested you’re talented in such endeavors. He wishes you to remain as secret as possible to outsiders for the next few days whilst he makes certain arrangements.”

  Arrangements? “But I’ve already dined with some of his men. They know me to be Scottish,” Mariel said. “The secret is out.”

  “Yes, but he has just instructed all the staff to keep your secret. Rumors about you abound, yes, but Lord Robert’s people are a loyal lot.”

  “Even Wesley?” countered Mariel.

  “I know not one woman that Wesley likes. The bolder the female, the more his dislike. But he knows where his salary comes from and certainly enjoys his prestigious role. For an accountant at Huntington holds much respect, and there is no wealthier household in England, aside from the Plantagenets.”

  “Trust Alice,” a voice said.

  Mariel turned around to find Charlotte by the door, waiting for the troop of children to file out and holding a billowing gown and basket of accessories. She pushed the port closed, so that it was only the three of them, and looked around with wonder at Robert’s chamber. Could it be she had never been in here?

  “Trust Alice?” Mariel repeated.

  “Yes, lady,” Charlotte replied, bringing her attention back to Mariel. Lovely. Mariel rolled her eyes, but Charlotte continued. “Robert’s men are loyal. They’ll keep your secret to themselves. Robert likes you. He wishes to help you and would love to see you happy.”

  “Am I to think you set me up with Robert?” Lord no. Charlotte was a day late and a shilling short in that regard.

  Charlotte draped the gown over another chair and folded her arms. “No one need help His Lordship concerning you. To say that he’s taken with you wouldn’t nearly do the sentiment justice. He cannot seem to keep his thoughts or his eyes off you. Goodness, he’s invited you into his bedchamber.” She gestured. “He never invited me in.” Mariel swallowed. Could it be no woman had lain in his bed? The former mistress walked an appraising circle around her. “The way he whispers in your ear, that mischievous twinkle in his eye… Clearly he adores you.”

  “Then what does it matter, the clothing I wear, if he’s already so infatuated?” And though Robert had asked Charlotte for her help, why was Charlotte doing it? Robert had bedded Charlotte many times over. The very thought made her heart ache and her stomach flutter with a nervousness that could only be described as jealousy.

  “He knows you’ve had a rough go of it and wants you to feel as beautiful as you are.” Charlotte is nice, Mariel thought, to her chagrin. “And you have been endowed with perhaps the most beautiful hair I’ve ever seen. ’Tis a shame indeed that you don’t see fit to style it. Just think. You’d probably get a marriage offer from the man, if you did so, which is saying something, since no one, not even I, could get him to the altar.”

  Again, Mariel had a nagging urge to tell the woman off, mainly for being right. Robert already awaited her answer to his proposal.

  “And that is just the gown to please a man,” Alice interjected, coming to take the garment out of Charlotte’s hand. “Assuming it is dressed upon a pleasing woman. Come now. Strip those old rags for the laundry and put this gown on so our seamstress can make some adjustments. No doubt it will need to be taken in considerably due to your…stature.”

  There it was again, Alice’s sarcasm.

  “I’m nay fishing for a marriage proposal,” Mariel retorted. “I’ve no desire to tolerate the man for the rest of my God-given life.” Liar, she scolded herself. Robert’s proposal had thrilled her…and scared her.

  Charlotte scoffed. “How can you not see the good in him?”

  “Clearly he’s never attempted to embarrass you the way he has me.” Mariel frowned.

  “If only he would tease me like he does you,” Charlotte said, looking into the hearth fire. “But regardless, I wish to see him happy and consider him a friend. He requested I help you, being one of only two noblewomen here aside from yourself, and lo he is annoyed by Lady Anna’s pestering. Alice is right. Your clothing is atrocious and your gown, dreary and pathetic.”

  “You must promise to give these claes—clothes—back,” Mariel replied, holding the trousers by the leg.

  “Unfortunately, I’ll do as you bid and see them returned. With mending done,” Alice said, seeing the gown dropped over her head for a hasty fitting before being stripped away again. “Now get into the tub, my lady.”

  Mariel stepped over the rim, feeling vulnerable. Certainly she had stripped many times in front of maids or other ladies helping her, but never had she revealed herself to the former lover of the man she was growing to care for, laying her body bare for the other woman to draw comparisons or cont
rasts between the two of them. And having Alice, of all people, help was simply annoying, for she knew the woman was identifying every flaw. She was too thin. Her muscles were too defined. She was uncouth. She smelled like the men coming back from a journey. Of course, she had come back from the same journey as them without a chance to do much but refresh her face at the stream, but apparently, she was supposed to smell like roses and lavender, regardless.

  However, as she sank down into the scalding water, all annoyances dissolved. The heat was heavenly. She hadn’t realized her very bones ached until she submerged herself. How long had it been since she had soaked in a hot bath?

  Alice untied her braid, pulling loose her cords of hair, and bid her tip her head back so that she could pour water through the tresses. Even if Alice was too rough, the feeling of the woman’s fingers kneading her scalp and working through her tangles felt sinful. And taking the cake of perfumed soap made with various floral elements, she rubbed it over her arms and the whole of her skin, basking in a luxury she had forgotten while living on the run. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed it.

  …

  Mariel remembered to freshen her teeth and walked down the stairs, her stomach so tight she could barely suck in air. Both the corset and her nerves threatened to suffocate her. The gown Charlotte had selected was a beautiful creation of fabric, soft cream and gentle rose-petal pink to match the natural blush on her cheeks. Gold threading decorated the low neck, scooping wide across each shoulder with a delicate design, and a long belt of the same gold threading hung across her hips and down the length of one leg. The seamstresses had delivered both fast and astounding results.

  She couldn’t remember the last time she had worn something so fine. Even though her father had money and had insisted she dress well, these materials were imported from France and Italy. Her gowns in Scotland, though finely combed, dyed, and embroidered, had been made of Scottish wool.

  And her hair! She had never felt so beautiful. It had been woven over each ear in the style popular on the Continent and braided down her back with ribbons of the same soft pink and flecks of gold so as to make her honey-barley hair catch fire in the torchlight. Her neck sat empty, for she had no riches in her possession to decorate the expanse of skin, but Charlotte had borrowed a pair of golden bobbles from the castle vaults to place on her ears. And though Alice clicked her tongue disapprovingly at the dusting of tiny freckles across Mariel’s nose and cheekbones, a result of too much time in the natural elements, Charlotte worked magic with paste for her lips and a soft dusting of color on her eyes.