John, squinting as the sun reached its midday zenith, turned to her. “I’ve seen you dazzle the crowds at the tourney, Lady Mariel, but let’s see what you can do without warming up.”
Robert grinned and folded his arms. “Yes, Elmer. Let’s see you hit the bull’s eye with cold muscles.”
Mariel whipped loose an arrow from her hip right where she stood, nocked it, drew back her shoulder blade, and released her arrow. It lodged in the center of the bull’s eye. Turning to Robert, she gave him a superior smile, but Robert stepped into position, nocked his own arrow, and let it shoot down the champ. It split her arrow down the middle, also hitting the center.
“’Twould seem we’re still evenly matched, Mari.” Robert grinned over his shoulder.
“Are we?” She rolled her eyes and pulled loose three arrows from her hip, clenching them between each finger, and nocked them in quick succession upon each release. They also split each other down the middle until the metal tips could no longer find lodging and the long stem of arrows fell.
“All right, now you’re just showing off.” John groaned.
“Quarterstaffs,” she said, ignoring him. “I suggest we move on. Archery seems to be something of a mastered craft.”
“Well done, my beauty. You are indeed a master of the craft. Your father knows not the prize he lost.” Robert chuckled.
He dusted a light peck on her cheek, when Alan called out.
“My lord?”
Robert turned over his shoulder to see Alan pointing across the champ de tir at David, who ran toward them with haste, having returned from spying on Teàrlach MacGregor, sweat saturating his face. Robert jogged to meet him, his bow still in hand. The others gathered round.
“What news, man?” he demanded.
Mariel lingered on the periphery. Seeing David brought her imminent peril crashing down on her once again.
David passed Robert a missive. Robert unfolded it and scanned the script.
“Crawford’s man, Teàrlach, spoke the truth to us. He indeed said that whilst he saw Mariel leaving here on an argument with me, after escaping from her window, that he then saw her traveling the forest with a band of hooded thieves.”
“That’s good news, then, yes?” Will piped up. “’Twill corroborate the fact she shot her father with the hooded thieves and not associate it with us.”
“Yea and nay,” Robert continued, reading the message while David fidgeted impatiently and motioned for Robert to read the bottom part. Robert obeyed. “Crawford might believe Teàrlach, but he’s still coming to Huntington to have words with me about how I captured Mariel, with Nottingham accompanying him in support. David here”—he gestured—“left to return here as soon as he learned this, though Crawford and Nottingham were already packing supplies and gearing up to leave. They didn’t wait for daybreak and are…” He kept reading. “…likely only a few hours behind you?”
His eyes shot to David, who nodded.
“Did you take the forest paths to save time?” David was nodding, then began a series of animated charades. “But Crawford is riding the main roads in full haste?”
David nodded at his comprehension. Robert looked at Mariel. His eyes were blank, but she knew his mind was churning.
“Practice is cancelled, men. Collect your things and congregate in the great hall. We’ll meet him as he comes, and tonight I take Mariel to a priest to marry her.”
“What?” both John and Will said in unison.
“You? Marrying?” Will asked.
Robert was still gazing at Mariel when he answered his cousin. “Yes. ’Tis the only way I can protect her.”
“Unless The Beast sees fit to slaughter you for taking such liberty with his property without his blessing,” Will said.
“Nottingham is coming with him, and Nottingham is not entirely daft, despite our leanings to the contrary,” Robert said. “If I die, along with so many other injustices on his watch, King Richard will make William de Wendenal answer for it.”
But Mariel felt her chest pinch as the all too familiar feeling of her lungs squeezing seized her breath. She shook her head.
“I have to leave,” she croaked, striding toward the exit, breaking into a jog, then a run.
“Dammit,” Robert cursed behind her and she heard the missive crumpling, then his footfalls as he chased after her.
He caught up to her under a stone portico through the wall.
“Mariel, stop,” he said, grabbing her arm.
She wrenched herself free, but he grabbed her again with such strength, she realized he had never used his force on her before. His grip could not be undermined, and a stern look claimed his brow.
“Running off now sends you fleeing right out into his waiting hands. Don’t be daft. Don’t do this to me again.”
“Do this to you?” she said incredulously. “Harold Crawford doesn’t have death in his eyes for you, but he does for me!”
“God be damned, Mariel!” he shouted, his voice deep and booming, and for once, not an ounce of mirth could be seen on his face. She cringed. For a moment, she feared him. But he grabbed her hand and yanked it to his chest, placing it over his left pectoral. “You hold my heart, you foolish woman. Can’t you see that? If you run off and get captured… ’Twill be more than I can bear!”
She stared into his eyes, feeling the thumping of his heart beneath her palm.
“But if we work together,” he said, “I’ll keep you well-hidden until we can depart in the night. I’m going to take you to wife. I ask once again that you submit your stubborn will to me and trust me to keep you safe. Once your sire leaves East Anglia, I’ll pen him a missive and explain that I forced you to the altar, despite your objections, and that I wish to harbor good will betwixt him and me. I’ll do what I must to prevent him from taking his wrath out on you. God woman, I’d let Nottingham murder me in cold blood before I’d let any harm come to you! Why won’t you foking believe me?”
Trembling, she stood silently, her lips threatening to quiver and her eyes threatening to pour, when she dropped her bow and threw her arms around his neck in desperation. He encircled her with as much force in his arms, gripping her waist and the back of her head to clench her against his chest.
“Quit toying with my affection,” he whispered in her ear beneath the shadow of the portico, squeezing her harder still, even though she knew her nails bit into his shoulders. “Take a deep breath and think. If your father’s man, Teàrlach, lied to him, then he comes here to ask about how I captured you and about your escape, not in search of you within my walls. Let’s go inside and hide you well. I swear on my honor I’ll keep you safe.” He turned and bellowed, “Jonathan!”
John jogged over to them, his own effects in hand, while the other men cleared the pitch with efficient speed and made haste for the castle.
“Yes, Robert?”
“Post sentries in the forest, on the curtain wall, and each parapet. I want word as soon as Crawford approaches the village. Mariel will be in hiding and under no circumstances are his men allowed to wander unattended through my halls or grounds. I leave with Mariel as soon as supper ends to take her to wife in secret, returning before dawn on the morrow.”
Jonathan nodded, though his eyes were furrowed with…disappointment? Mariel couldn’t decipher.
“Lady,” he suddenly addressed her. “I have to ask, despite my friendship with Robert…” He looked at Robert as if to say he cared not if he was pummeled. “Are you certain you wish to marry him?”
“You cross a line, man.” Robert growled.
“I’ve agreed, aye,” Mariel replied.
“But do you want to bind yourself to him, or do you only do it for protection?”
She hesitated. She wanted to marry him. She wanted to trust him. Robert, whose eyes had narrowed angrily at John’s query, now looked to her. She knew John still had
feelings for her. There was nothing wrong with him. He was a good man.
“I wish to,” she murmured, and though Robert still hadn’t said he loved her, she wanted so badly to release her distrust, to simply throw off the mantle of insecurity bred into her and embrace Robert’s words. “As I think he wishes as well.”
Jonathan rounded on Robert with anger in his eyes. “You would take to wife a woman on a whim, simply to protect her?”
Robert stepped forward. John didn’t back down, hands perched on his hips, until they stood nose to nose. “I waste valuable time right now and won’t entertain this conversation further. I make this decision after deep thought, and you will back down now, for I know you still vie for her.”
“I wish nay to come betwixt two friends,” Mariel said. “If this arrangement will ruin the fraternity you share…then I choose not to go through with it and beg you, Robert, not to obstruct my departure.”
“You think I don’t want her?” rumbled Robert, balling his fists to throw a punch when John took a step back, then another.
“No…” John said, sensing something in Robert’s demeanor that was violently protective of the woman before them both, something Robert was unable to say. “No. He might be too much the coward to say it, but he loves you…I can tell.” He nodded. “I won’t bring the matter up again.”
He stepped around them and took off to the castle in a jog to fulfill Robert’s orders.
Robert grabbed Mariel’s hand. “I’m marrying you, Mari,” he stated with conviction. “We’ve no time at all to tarry.”
Chapter Twenty
The wind was blowing cold. Robert stood upon the barbican with a fur-lined cloak wrapped over his shoulders, his hair ruffling on the blast of air rolling across the meadows that smacked the castle like a tidal wave. His guards were lively, watching the ascent of the Sheriff of Ayrshire ride up the road through the village.
Just as Robert had ordered, John had seen to stationing Huntington soldiers strategically to ensure he was informed of Crawford’s arrival well before his party broke through the trees, though Robert had yet to see John since then. He hadn’t realized how deep John’s interest in Mariel had run, how much the man might truly want her, and part of him was saddened by the rift that had come between them.
He refocused on the contingent riding toward him, pushing his concern for John’s whereabouts out of his mind, and shifting his gaze between Crawford and de Wendenal. They had become inseparable, practically like lovers. Robert chuckled wryly at the image in his mind of Nottingham and Crawford sitting hand in hand by the firelight.
“He’s going to want to know how you ‘captured’ her,” Will said, arriving at his side, his scarlet embroidered cloak draped over his shoulder.
“That I know,” Robert replied. “I’ve a ready excuse made. Now to see that they leave swiftly.”
“You must be ever the gracious host.” Will smirked.
“Indeed, and I dare say Crawford has trouble being a gracious guest. I wouldn’t say our last meeting promised the beginnings of friendship.”
With his hands behind his back, he turned away from the embrasure and walked past the crenellations to a set of stairs spiraling down. Striding through the enclosed yard, he walked under the next portcullis into the inner bailey and up the steps into the keep. The sun would be setting soon and the hall prepared for supper.
He arrived beside the roaring hearth and stripped his cloak, passing it off to his steward, and took a seat beside the flames. A maid offered him a tankard as she passed, and he accepted, if only to keep his hands busy. But as he took a sip, the liquid tasted heavy and dead, much like it felt in his stomach. Right now, his web of lies thickened, though he would lie again and again if it meant protecting Mariel.
He lost track of the time as he drank the tasteless beverage until the doors opened.
“My lord, your guests are arriving in the bailey,” a guardsman informed him.
He stood. “My thanks, man.”
Leaving his chair, he wove through the trestle tables and the busy staff, then arrived at the door. The sky was already dimming as twilight fell, and Robert knew he would need at least a couple hours to arrive at the chapel, some minutes for Father Tucker’s nuptials, and at least another hour if he was a self-respecting man for consummating his union, a half hour if he wasn’t, not to mention another couple hours riding for home.
Stepping out, he placed his hands at his back once more, waiting for Crawford and Nottingham to greet him. They arrived beneath the inner gatehouse and rode their mounts to the front steps, dismounting, and handing the reins to three of Robert’s pages.
“My Lord Crawford.” He smiled. “An unexpected surprise. I had meant to dispatch a rider to inform you that I had captured your daughter, but the wench escaped, and though my men have scoured well my forest, they find no sign of her.” His eyes roved to Teàrlach’s, whose own expression remained impassive.
“So I’ve heard. ’Twould be like her to do so,” said Crawford, draped in a fur.
“Yes. I can see why her escape from you has chafed,” Robert said. The scowl on Crawford’s face showed that Robert had needled a sore spot. “But now that I’ve seen her in person, I have a business proposal for you—eh, William de Wendenal of Nottingham? Good eve to you, Sheriff. I was so intent on discussing Lady Mariel that I failed to see you there.”
Nottingham dipped his head in greeting, though he scowled at the young earl’s careless dismissal. He might be more politically powerful than Robert, but Robert’s estate was by far the most successful in England, surpassing his own in terms of wealth and command of the countryside. And where his own reputation was far-reaching, Robert’s influence was far-reaching, too, if only for being more likable.
“I bid you welcome to Huntington and invite you to warm yourselves from this blast of winter wind,” Robert proclaimed as he ushered in his guests with a sweep of his arm, biting his tongue further as he noticed Nottingham salivating over his prosperous estate. No doubt, the greedy bastard chomped at the bit to figure out a way to get his hands on Huntington’s wealth. “Your soldiers are welcome for the evening meal and should be comfortable in the overflow barracks for the night.”
“We’ll partake of your food, but we will nay stay the night. Mariel was spotted a couple days ago, farther into the forest. I must press on with haste. I’ve almost got that wee bitch back in my clutches, and I’ll nay rest until I’ve wrapped my fist around her hair and dragged her back to Scotland.”
Robert led the men into the hall and looked for Bridget, though she couldn’t be found. Instead, he flagged down his steward. “I shall be conducting business in my solar and should like no interruptions. Make it known to the staff. Remember to follow my instructions.”
The steward bowed, eyeing the Sheriff of Ayr carefully, and left to deliver the message. Robert led the men with Will at his side and began climbing the stairs in the corridor off the great hall that led to his solar and personal chambers.
“Where’s John?” he asked.
Will shook his head and shrugged. “I’ve no idea.”
“I haven’t seen him since this afternoon,” Robert said.
“Nor I,” said Will.
It chafed. It was entirely unlike John to disappear with no explanation. As he entered the solar, he took the torch once more and strode in to light the candles, and this time, both hearths. The others walked in, Will closing the door, and Robert began to turn around, when right there, on the fur rug he had lain upon with Mariel, was her old ribbon, in front of all the men to see. He picked it up, shooting a glance at Harold, who was watching him like a hawk. There was no way the man would recognize a ribbon he’d given her years ago that was now discolored and gray. Was there?
Robert gave a suave chuckle and turned to Will.
“A woman I entertained in here yesterday. I must have forgotten that she gave h
er favors to me.”
Will played along and chuckled, too. “Always the bachelor, are you not?”
Tucking the ribbon into his coat pocket, Robert moved to the sideboard. “Drinks, men?”
“Aye,” Crawford agreed, and so did Nottingham, both men perusing the cavernous chamber in slow sweeps.
This was where Robert always conducted business, but he had never done so with either of these men, and he knew it had been rare that his father had used the room for meetings. His father had been more accustomed to sprawling in front of the great hearth in the hall below with his fellows—and foes—on which he wished to keep an eye. Both men had clearly never seen the inside of the Huntington solar before.
He returned with wine for everyone, noting the fine velvets and leather of Nottingham’s outfit, finer than Robert’s own clothing. The materials were expensive, luxurious, and rings lined his fingers. Nottingham was stealing from the poor to make himself richer, because Robert knew he had not been a wealthy man before accepting his post as Sheriff. In fact, he had hardly been noteworthy. Rumor had it the only reason William de Wendenal had acquired the post was because so many qualified nobles were away fighting in the Crusade. And the only reason Robert had not been recruited to the Holy Land was because his father had been in poor health and had no other heirs.
“My family extends back several generations, having arrived with the Normans, and these banners you see have been in the family for two centuries,” Robert stated. “As you know, the Earl of Huntington is a title that grows in wealth with each generation.” He turned to Crawford. “A fine family for any daughter to marry into.” Crawford watched him, calculating him. “Your daughter begged the charity of one of my crofters, who took her in. I discovered her and locked her in a guest chamber so as to write to you and ask you what should be done with her. And I must say, feisty as she is, my lord, she is indeed a fine specimen. Having already had one rejection from you, I wish to offer on the woman again.”
Crawford and Nottingham exchanged a look.
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