An Earl for an Archeress

by E. Elizabeth Watson

  Robert chuckled, folding his arms, and watched her with amusement. His Mariel was always a surprise and thankfully, it put his nerves at ease. Mariel reached over her head and dropped Robert’s necklace down so it settled upon her breast. The pink stone glittered in the candlelight, matching her flushed cheeks. With embarrassment? Or with nerves? Or mayhap excitement?

  “I could nay forget my pendant. ’Tis the most meaningful item I’ve ever been given.”

  His smile softened. Yes, he had made the right choice in Mariel. He just hoped he had cast his dice accurately regarding Crawford and Nottingham.

  “Then you would honor me to wear it always, love,” he murmured, taking up her hand.

  “I will.”

  “Turn toward me, my lord and, eh, lady?” Father Tucker questioned, for certainly a lady would never rip her skirts up in a house of worship.

  “That’s correct, Father Tucker. My lady,” Robert said.

  “You said an expedited ceremony was required, and so I will cut to the necessary parts. Kneel, children of God,” the priest commanded, still red-faced. They did so. “A marriage is a sacred bond, made in the presence of God. It is a bond that cannot be broken except by death. The commitment to cherish and protect that you are about to make to this woman, Robert of Huntington, and the vows you are about to make to this man, eh…”

  “Mariel Crawford,” she finished for him.

  “Right, Lady Crawford. The vows you are about to make to this man, to be faithful in mind and body, and to be obedient and honor your husband and lord—”

  Their eyes sliced sidelong to one another. Be obedient? Lord. This should be entertaining. Robert waggled his eyebrows at her.

  “I will only obey if I agree upon whatever command has been leveled against me,” she interrupted.

  “Eh, Lord Robert?” questioned Father Tucker nervously.

  Robert began to chuckle. Then laugh. “Continue, good man of the cloth. No one can make her obey. But for the sake of the ceremony, my sweet, innocent rose, do be agreeable.”

  “Right. Sorry,” she murmured and put her head down again.

  “These vows,” continued the priest, shaking his head, “though conducted in haste, are words that cannot be lived out in haste. Are you certain that you make the right choice tonight?”

  Robert nodded, confirming they both understood the ramifications of their actions, and was heartened when he saw her defer to him.

  Father Tucker continued in Latin for some minutes when Robert realized she squeezed his hand too hard again. Except he was also squeezing hers. It hit him. They were about to be married. He was about to defy both her father and his king. He had much riding on this decision, as did she. And in that moment, he realized he had wanted to marry her all along. That night, by the fire in the woods when she had planned to go to London, his confusion on the matter was only because he’d known in his heart it was time to make a pledge to a woman.

  …

  Mariel steadied her thoughts as Father Tucker chanted. There was no fine veil to drop over their heads or scented garlands of woven foliage to ring around both their necks as they listened to their marital requirements. There were no guests in attendance. The banns had not been posted. There was no feast upon departure.

  And yet there were also no bachelors squabbling for her clothing, stripping her bare for her marriage bed in hopes to bring luck to their search for a young and fertile wife, hooting and yelling beneath their bedchamber window as Robert made love to her for the first time. There were no guests to please and no endless lines of well-wishers. For Mariel, this was perfect. It was Robert and her, and she was about to be his wife.

  “Rise, Robert. Lady Mariel, remain in supplication to your lord and repeat your vows.” Those words tore her out of her thoughts. “Do you vow to give yourself, body and heart, to Robert Huntington? To love him faithfully and let no other man come betwixt you?”

  She had to agree, she realized. And of course she would never cuckold Robert, but saying so in a state of submission chafed. Still, she managed to nod once and state, “aye,” though she could not convince her eyes to look upward.

  “To be obedient, his loyal servant, to deny him not, and uphold your duties as his wife?” he continued.

  “So long as he continues to treat me kindly, aye.”

  Father Tucker looked up to Robert shakily. “Eh, my lord—”

  “I want it to be known before God.” She shrugged.

  “Continue, Father,” Robert said.

  Now Tucker rolled his eyes, but then looked back down at the open bible in his hands.

  “Do you vow to honor and respect him, forsaking all others?”

  She nodded and looked up at him. Their eyes locked. “Aye.”

  He didn’t smile as he returned her gaze. But she could see his pulse racing at his neck. She had just placed her faith and trust in him. Pray he never abused it.

  “Rise, my lady,” the priest said. “Lady” was spoken with a hint of doubt, but Mariel ignored it and did as he bade. “Lord Huntington, please kneel and take thy lady’s hand.”

  Robert did, slowly lowering to one knee, and reached up to take her left hand. He held it in both hands, looking up at her, his fingers actually trembling.

  “Do you, my lord, take this woman, to love and cherish, to provide for her living?”

  One corner of his mouth tipped up, his eyes locked on her glittering green ones. “Aye,” he said, and she smiled at his Scottish affirmative.

  Even now he jested, she realized, to cover up the discomfort of his own feelings.

  “And to protect with thy sword and thy life, if needs be?”

  Robert nodded again, still watching her. “I will protect her at all costs.”

  She gazed at him, feeling the squeeze of his fingers around hers. A tear welled in her eye and rolled down her cheek, falling onto his hand. His eyes crinkled in concern, except she smiled at him and reached out, caressing his cheek. Those words, now spoken before God, bore more meaning than Robert would ever know.

  “To love faithfully, in all matters of life’s hardships, and to deny her not?”

  Robert nodded once more, still gazing at her. “I will love her faithfully until death parts us.”

  “Have you a ring, my lord?” Father Tucker asked, closing his bible and setting it aside on the altar.

  Robert nodded. “It might not fit entirely, but I will have it sized, if needs be.”

  The priest nodded and continued. “In nomine patri, et filli, et spiritu sancti, amen.”

  Robert pushed the ring over Mariel’s middle finger. She looked down at it, a band of gold with more of the same rose stones inlaid in it.

  “Rise, Robert of Huntington. What God has joined together, let no man put asunder. It is final, and you are now man and wife. You may claim your woman with a kiss to seal the contract…”

  Father Tucker’s words trailed away as Mariel gazed up at Robert, memorizing this moment. What she thought would be an eager joining of lips was nothing like she imagined. He hesitated. Nervous. In the span of only a few fleeting minutes, their relationship had changed. And she suddenly felt shy. He leaned down, placed his lips to hers, and pressed gently. But the chaste kiss he delivered began to evolve, and before she could tell what he was doing, he was pulling her tightly to him. Her back arched, as he leaned over her, taking what he would.

  “Eh, judging by Lord Huntington’s enthusiasm, I suspect you will have much passion, in your, eh, marriage, Lady Huntington,” interrupted Father Tucker, his face red and his eyes averted.

  Robert chuckled, throwing a devilish look at the priest. “To be certain. I hope Mariel can withstand it.”

  The jesting remark made the priest’s portly face redden further. He reached into his cassock and withdrew a small flask, uncorking it, and imbibing a heavy swallow. Mariel tipped her head
back and laughed.

  “Rob, you embarrass the holy man.” She chastised him, patting his arm in punishment. “Faither Tucker, I believe Robert and I will manage quite nicely.”

  Robert burst out into unexpected laughter, pulling her into a one-armed embrace against his heart.

  “Lord above,” breathed the priest in honest prayer, crossing himself. “Come sign the register and be off with you before you force me to confession with what mine eyes and ears have witnessed this night.”

  Robert held out his arm to her. She took it, and they followed the priest. He handed Robert a plain quill pen stripped of its feathers and watched as the Earl of Huntington, the famed bachelor no more, signed his name then inked the quill once more. He handed it to her.

  “My lady, if you know not your letters, an X will suffice,” Tucker said.

  She set the quill to parchment beneath Robert’s name and signed, Mariel Huntington, née Crawford.

  “And in place of a marriage fee, Father, here’s another disbursement to your alms. I noticed that my last donation went to good foods for the weary, but as I see it now, you could use the purchase of some extra pallets, too.” Robert placed a heavy purse in Father Tucker’s hands, giving a warning finger shake and a wink. “Not a penny goes to spirits, man, except for the Holy Spirit, of course.”

  Father Tucker chuckled and received the generous purse. His eyes widened. “You always give heartily, my lord. I wish you and your lady a long and happy life. And if anyone should come questioning about the woman?”

  Robert leveled a knowing glance at Tucker, and she suspected the priest had known about her predicament since the beginning.

  “Then you had no knowledge her father was hunting for her. All you knew was that the woman was neither married nor a murderess, and had not pledged herself to the convent. The marriage was legal, if not in haste, and because your abbey is ailing financially, you needed the marriage fee. Any hardship resulting from our elopement should be taken up with me.”

  Father Tucker nodded. “I’m indebted once again for your generosity.”

  Robert smiled and shook wrists with him. “’Tis a gift from, shall we say, those more fortunate than others.”

  It was money stolen from Nottingham, Mariel realized. Robert had proven his honesty before, and was being honest again. He had been telling her the truth all along about everything. And in hindsight, she knew he had. And she had been so disagreeable it was a miracle he had never turned cold toward her.

  A miracle. Mayhap they really did happen, she thought fondly, as Robert guided her out into the night.

  She went to mount up when he stopped her. Saying nothing, he pulled her back to Goliath. He lifted her up into his saddle, taking the other horse’s reins in hand, and mounted behind her, leading the spare in tow. With her back pressed against his chest, he bundled her cloak around her more tightly, laying a hand upon her stomach as he nudged his horse into a walk.

  Taking them down more deer paths, thick with darkness, with what she could assume was purely instinct guiding him, they said nothing. Her stomach tingled from where his hand rested, fluttered with butterflies from the knowledge of what was to come. Robert had never bedded her, despite his obvious wanting. Lord, but she had misjudged him. He was no philanderer. It had all just been an act, as was his cocky jesting.

  The idea of what was to come was exciting, nerve-racking. Her emotions zinged about her mind, shooting through her blood, making her breath catch, her thoughts snag. Her cheeks were red. She felt shy, of all things, unable to do anything but look at the darkness in front of them. There was no reason to feel shy. She wasn’t an innocent maid. Yet this was different. This was her husband. Husband. Just the word rolling through her mind sounded profound.

  He turned Goliath down another path, leading them to a small clearing where an abandoned hut sat. The roof sagged. Illuminated by moonlight, Mariel could see that much of it was missing.

  “Your castle, my lady,” Robert finally spoke. She looked back at him. His gaze was fixed upon her, his mouth only inches from hers. His jest fell flat at his obvious disappointment in himself for not providing better. “I’m sorry that it’s not—”

  “It’s perfect, Rob. ’Tis a secret place and only for you and me.” She placed her hand over his and squeezed. “Quite the tale to tell our grandchildren, nay?”

  “I knew you were something special when I saw you in my archery tent, Mari. You have better character than all of Europe’s noblewomen to settle for this on your wedding night.”

  She noted his disparaging tone and brought his hand up from her stomach, placing a kiss upon it. “I have it with you. And now, if you don’t mind, benevolent husband and lord, I’m bloody freezing.”

  He laughed at her jest. “I assume the mocking titles you bestow upon me will be a regular occurrence?” She smiled, and he winked. “Then two can play. Come, lowly woman. Your husband demands his rights.”

  She opened her mouth to launch an objection when she noted his naughty grin. He dismounted and helped her down in her cumbersome gown, withdrawing a candle and flint from his saddle packs and leading her inside. Moments later, he cracked the flint until a prearranged pile of kindling took hold in the center of the hut. He then placed a dry log within it and lit the candle from the flame.

  She looked around. A fur had been laid out on the dirt and weeds. A decanter of wine and two goblets sat beside it, and a thick blanket sat folded in the middle. Clearly Robert had gone to pains to plan this on short notice, for it had only been a matter of hours since news of her father’s arrival had interrupted their practice.

  “Would you care for wine?” he asked, though his gaze didn’t meet hers as he tended to the fire.

  Was he, perchance, sheepish? Indeed. He was. Which was a far cry from the overconfident Earl of Huntington. He fidgeted with the candle and poked the growing fire unnecessarily.

  “I’m happy to serve it, my laird,” she replied, a twinkle now lighting her eyes. He looked up at her now. “Your servant.” She curtsied in a graceful dip that proved she was a lady of breeding. “’Tis my role as your wife, is it nay? But do not get used to it,” she added gushingly, causing him to laugh.

  She moved the few paces it took to reach the wine, dipped down and removed the cork, pouring the contents. Holding a goblet out to him, he took it, nodded his thanks, and threw back the contents with such speed Mariel no longer questioned if he was nervous. So was she. Since their ceremony, they had both been reserved.

  She sipped at her wine, watching him play with the fire like a lad on his first overland trek. At long last, she came up behind him on her knees and draped her arms around his neck, resting her head on his shoulder to watch the flame. His hands shot up and gripped her forearms, clearly pleased with her advance. He turned so that he faced her and stood, pulling her up by the hands.

  She stood as well. “Yes?”

  He didn’t offer a reply, but guided her to the fur. He reached up to the buckle holding fast her cloak. He pulled it free, opening the cloak and pushing it from her shoulders. It fell to the fur beneath them. Standing before her, he did nothing, simply waited. She reached up with hesitant hands and did the same to him, her ring glittering in the firelight.

  …

  His cloak drifted down to meet hers and he breathed in, breathed out, sensing her doing the same.

  It was really happening. This woman was going to receive him and seal their marriage. He was humbled. He took both her shoulders and turned her around so her back was to him. She complied, looking over one shoulder, her eyes downcast. It was a modest look, wholly unlike her, and it intrigued him.

  He watched her profile in the shadows dancing upon her skin as he began to pop loose each fastening down her back, seeing more and more skin revealed as the gown slacked open. He then reached up to her shoulders once more, leaned in, and placed a gentle peck at the crux of her
neck and shoulder. She still smelled of the rose water and scented oils that Charlotte and Alice had used on her. Sweeping her hair over her shoulder to drape down her breast past her waist, both hands pushed her gown down her arms.

  Unaware of it and yet completely fixated on it, he knew he stood at full attention, hard as a castle tower. He had to have her with such sudden fervor it was all he could do to move slowly. She sighed as he placed kisses on her neck, her shoulders, as he pulled free the lacing of her corset. It too slackened until he had pulled it open completely, adding it to the cloaks and the gown lying in a puddle around her boots.

  Her chemise now hung loose and with her back to him, he stepped against her, reaching around her shoulders to her front. Finding the laces of her chemise, his arms brushed against her breasts as his fingers pulled the bow open so the neck hole slackened, all the while his lips still placing kisses along her shoulders. Gooseflesh rose on her skin. He felt her tremble, heard a whispered moan in her throat, and knew he was going to enjoy this moment more than any moment in his life.

  “Turn around, love,” he whispered in her ear.

  She did so and looked at him. He waited before her, holding out his arms. She seemed to understand the give and take, and began opening the ties of his coat with shaking fingers, pushing the garment open and back, sliding it down his arms, letting it land atop her corset. The whole time, his eyes remained fixed on hers, no smile, no frown, as if all his concentration rested on this one task. His chest rose and fell beneath her hands as she untied his tunic, pulling open the neck.

  Her hands shook, as if she had never undressed a man. His trousers needed untying next, as did his codpiece need to be unfastened. God, but as she slowly knelt in front of him, glancing up at him, he flexed painfully in anticipation. He stood still. Once at the proper level, she lifted hesitant hands to his hips where they rested, his codpiece and thus, maleness, before her eyes. He remained motionless, watching. Her hands slid around behind him, over his rear, and his muscles twitched and flexed of their own accord under her roving fingers. She fumbled with the clasp, glancing up at him as her cheeks reddened, but he didn’t wink, or grin, or tease in any way.