The Archer (The Blood Realm Series Book 3)

by Jennifer Blackstream

  Ermentrude huffed out a breath and jabbed at his leg with her spade until he backed up a step, letting her get at the rest of the mud she’d flung onto the stones with the hem of her skirt. “I’ve heard no such rumors.” She sat back on her haunches and looked up at Robin, brown eyes squinting in the light. “What did you say your name was again?”

  “Robin Hood, at your service.” He bowed low, putting a little extra flourish into the gesture for good measure. He regretted it immediately as the position put his face too close to the iron spade Ermentrude still brandished in one hand. A slight wave of nausea washed over him, sucking at his energy like a tide pulling grains of sand from the beach.

  “Robin Hood, eh? And you’re here because…?” A tinge of suspicion crept into her tone as she tapped her spade against her generous thigh, gobbets of mud clinging with glee to the coarse fabric of her green skirt and falling onto the stones she’d just so diligently brushed clean.

  Nosy wench. He took a step back from the offending iron and pinned a smile to his face to cover his growing annoyance. “I’m here for Lady Marian. I’m to escort her to—”

  “Oh, of course you are! Well that’s a fine thing then, isn’t it?”

  Robin’s eyebrows shot up as the gardener surged to her feet and stomped back to her place in the dirt on the other side of the row of blossoms, nearly crushing the plants she was trying to nurture. Her lips pursed until they turned white and sparks fairly flew from her eyes.

  “What’s she about now then? What’s so much more important than her own land?”

  Robin opened his mouth.

  “Not enough that half the time she’s wandering about the woods like a bloody sprite. Can’t deign to make a meeting that she scheduled.”

  This is more promising. “Nothing like her parents,” he added helpfully.

  Ermentrude jabbed the spade in his direction, her brows dipping into a low vee on her brow. “I should say not. They were always in the garden or in the fields, always elbow deep in the land. There was a man and woman who knew what it meant to have land, to deserve it.”

  “Not like their daughter.” Robin poured a little scorn into his voice, and crossed his arms. “Lady Marian is most definitely more a hunter than a gatherer.”

  “You’ve got that right.” Ermentrude grasped another weed, crushing its stem in her fist. “Woman’s not happy if she’s not shooting something. Makes the most awful face if you so much as suggest she pick up a spade or a hoe.” She relaxed her hold on the limp weed and glared at Robin. “Last time I spoke with her I was holding a few bulbs of garlic I’d just harvested. Do you know what she said to me? ‘Ermentrude, are our crops dying?’ I says to her ‘No, they’re not dying, this is garlic, it’s supposed to look like that.’”

  “Too bad she didn’t inherit her parents’ green thumb.” Robin kept his voice very casual, anchoring his gaze to the flowers in front of him. The gardener was getting close to revealing something important, he could feel it in his bones.

  “Wasn’t their fault.” She pulled the weed free, this time with more care so the mud didn’t go sailing over the flowers. “They did what they could for her, but some things are passed on in the blood, so my mum always told me. Who knows what Lady Marian’s birth parents were like. Maybe they were hunters and she comes by it honestly.” She rubbed a dirt coated hand over her forehead, the sweat on her brow turning it to a streak of fresh mud. “I suppose I shouldn’t be so hard on her. Maybe I just miss her elders. They were such kind-hearted folks, and their passing was a great loss to all of us.”

  Robin’s arms fell to his sides. “Marian is adopted?”

  Ermentrude bobbed her head absentmindedly. “As a babe, yes. Didn’t you know?” She paused, body tensing as if she’d just realized she may have spoken out of turn. Her attention zeroed in on Robin, her gaze a physical weight heavier than Little John after a four-course meal.

  “I’m sure I did.” Robin dropped to his haunches and began brushing the remaining bits of dirt back from the pale stones into the flower bed, carefully hiding his face from the suddenly suspicious woman. “But it’s so easy to forget. As you said, her elders were such kind-hearted people. They were so good to her, and they had her from such a young age…”

  “That they did.” She pointed at him with her free hand. “And don’t think it was easy for them. They were no spring chickens when they found her. Taking in a babe that small is a great deal of work.” She sat back, hands falling to her lap, her eyes looking at something far away. “They always said the gods themselves had given her into their care. Imagine, finding a babe that small in the woods—alive. And in the middle of the night, no less. Why, they never would have found her if it hadn’t been for the—”

  “Ermentrude!”

  Marian’s shout had all the lilting melody of a cat stuck in a wagon wheel. Robin and Ermentrude both flinched as it lashed against them, tearing their conversation to shreds.

  Drat.

  Robin tried to catch Ermentrude’s eye, make some sort of connection that would pave the way for his return for the rest of her information. Surprisingly, she showed no sign of remorse or dismay at having been caught. Quite the contrary, she fumbled to cross her arms like a warrior suiting up for battle, bumping the spade so it tumbled from her grip. Intrigued, he angled his body to watch both Marian’s approach and the gardener’s facial expression.

  As soon as his eyes landed on Marian, he realized what had taken her so long to come and find him. His lips parted, his full attention now commanded by the vision hurtling toward him.

  Her hair had been combed into waves of red silk, most of it falling in a waterfall down her back. The rest had been pulled into thin braids that hung in crescent moons from her temples to the back of her head. There they were gathered together and intertwined so they followed her spine in a crimson helix, the tails brushing against the tempting curve of her bottom. A few stray curls had been left loose to lick at cheeks that had been dusted with the faintest layer of powder and pinched until they held a rosy bloom.

  Her gown was fine velvet the shade of crushed emeralds left in shadow. The sleeves hugged her arms, revealing toned muscles before falling into gold-trimmed bells at her wrists. The velvet was held together at the bust by black laces that emphasized the swell of her flesh and held the velvet together over the silk brocade of the second layer of the gown. The silk was a shade of green-tinted silver, etched with some sort of flower—lilies, perhaps. The cloak hanging behind her, fastened at her neck with an emerald brooch, was a perfect match for the velvet of her dress, blending seamlessly so it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.

  “My fair Marian, truly you are a vision, and well worth the wait,” he teased. “But tell me, what has put that look in your eye?”

  Marian crashed to a halt so suddenly it seemed she’d hit an invisible wall. Her brows furrowed, but she jutted her chin out with the determination of someone dedicated to getting an unpleasant task over with. “What do you mean?”

  “You seem angry with me. And I thought we parted on such good terms.” A memory of the kiss drifted through his mind, dragging his voice down a little deeper into his chest. “Very good terms. I had hoped we might continue on our new, friendlier path.”

  Her eyes remained hard as precious stones, glittering with an emotion completely incongruous with the smile she twisted her lips into. “Don’t be silly, I’m not angry with you. I was just…concerned. When you weren’t waiting for me in the foyer, I worried I might have scared you off.”

  Robin started to laugh at the idea she’d be sorry to scare him off, but the sound died when she took his arm and clutched it to her body, practically flattening herself against him. The position gave him a perfect view of the creamy skin offered up by the snug bodice of her dress and he had to blink through the sudden heat wave that washed over him, tightening his lower body into a semi-painful knot. Such delicate black laces. So easily torn…

  “If you wanted a tour of
the gardens, you only had to ask. There’s no reason for you to bother poor Ermentrude.”

  Her voice was almost a purr now. Soft, seductive…completely unlike Marian. Warning bells went off in his head. This was not the Marian he knew. This fancy gown, this sultry voice. His Marian would have tried to leave without him.

  “Robin, are you ignoring me?”

  The purr was gone, vanished as quickly as it had arrived. A ready smile sprang to his lips. She was playing a game with him, but that was perfectly all right. He liked games. His attention slid down their bodies to where her breasts were still pressed against him. Oh, yes, let’s play.

  He banded an arm around her waist, hauling her closer, studying her face to gauge her reaction. “I would never ignore you, my beautiful Lady Marian.” He eyed her dress again. “Especially when you’ve obviously gone to such lengths to be worthy of my full attention.”

  A flash of anger like heat lightning lit her eyes. The smile turned brittle, threatening to crack. “So kind of you to notice.”

  “My lady?” Ermentrude’s mouth was hanging open so wide it was a wonder birds weren’t flocking to nest inside it. Her arms hung limply at her sides, the spade lying in the dirt next to her fingers.

  “Ermentrude, surely you could be so kind as to point out an area of the gardens that would be…suitable for me to entertain Robin after we return?” She leaned closer to Ermentrude, but didn’t break free of Robin’s grip, so he could still hear her whisper. “Nothing too conspicuous of course. I wouldn’t want my name to suffer the way Maureen O’Brien’s has since she was caught with Sean.” She winked.

  She. Winked.

  Oh, dear gods, she’s acting. And she’s awful. Next she’ll be batting her eye—yes, there it is. Looks like a pair of spiny butterflies have got stuck on her face. He held very still, concentrating on not giving in to the urge to shake his head. This is what happens when you don’t give lying the same attention and practice as any other skill. Honest people. What can you do?

  Unable to bear the thought of what might be next in her little performance, he jerked at her waist, forcing her upper body away from Ermentrude with such force her palms slammed into his chest as she scrambled to keep from colliding with him. Her fingers dug in with bruising force, feeding his imagination with all manner of delicious scenarios. He dipped her abruptly and she scrabbled at his biceps to hold on, to keep herself from tipping back onto the paving stones. Her playful little smirk that had teased her mouth flew away on a gasp, the sound honest and teasingly breathless. Wicked thoughts swarmed him and it was all he could do to keep himself from flinging her to the ground and following her body with his own.

  “Fear not about discovery, fair Marian.” His voice was desire-roughened, his hold on more carnal urges strained by the way her chest rose and fell with her labored breathing. “Secrets only have power in the dark. Once they are dragged into the light of day, they are but the conversation of a single tea sitting.” He flexed his fingers against her body, appreciating the strength in her supple muscles, the sleek sinews that sloped against his palms. “Let’s not let the fear of being revealed get between us.”

  Marian paled, blood draining from her face like water from a broken tub, extinguishing the fire in her eyes. Her lips moved, but no sound came out.

  Robin’s brow furrowed. He’d expected annoyance, anger, perhaps even an intensification of the little show she’d been putting on. This blatant fear was…unexpected.

  And very interesting.

  Quickly, he ran over what he’d just said, searching for the words that inspired such a reaction. “Do you have a secret you wish to tell me?”

  Bit by bit, Marian twisted and molded her features, shutting out the fear that had shone from her eyes, wrenching her parted lips into a smile that looked physically excruciating. “Oh, but I can’t tell you my secrets yet. A woman needs her mystique.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, toying with his hair in a manner that suggested she spent less time flirting and more time skinning animals. “Can’t have you losing interest in me.”

  Her dedication to her ploy—poorly executed as it was—was admirable. Since it seemed unlikely she would confess her true intentions in front of their audience, Robin made a mental note to return to his investigation and then allowed her to shift the conversation.

  “Oh, but I could never lose interest in you, Marian. Your beauty is but a hint of what you have to offer, and I am so looking forward to seeing what’s underneath.”

  Her hand twitched, fingers tightening as she curled them into a fist. No doubt fighting the urge to rearrange my arrestingly handsome face. Her inner turmoil, once again painted for the world to see in the deep lines around her eyes and the way her lips paled as she pressed them together, made her far too tempting a target. Unable to resist pushing her a little further, he pulled her against his chest and sealed his mouth over hers for the second time that morning.

  He kissed the false smile from her lips, teased her mouth with his until they fit perfectly together and he could taste fury on her breath like the perfume of a finely aged wine. Her nails dug into his biceps, threatening to draw blood. The sharp bite of pain lent the kiss an edge that turned his nerves to flames, his blood to molten lava. The restraint he’d shown earlier burnt to ash and fell away. Teasing forgotten, he deepened the kiss with a groan, opened his mouth against her lips, forcing her to do the same. He swallowed the sound that rose in her throat, a combination of a sigh and a snarl, and slid his tongue past her lips to taste her more fully.

  “I say, Lady Marian!”

  Ermentrude’s braying voice tore Robin from the pleasant haze holding him in its embrace. It was a most unpleasant awakening not unlike what he imagined a fish must feel when an iron hook ripped it from its cozy pond to die a slow death in the fresh air. He broke the kiss with a growl ready on his lips, energy crackling over him as his temper flared. Ermentrude met his glare with a squint and pointed her recovered spade at something over his shoulder.

  He followed the gesture, vaguely aware a dazed Marian was doing the same, and found a young stable hand openly gaping at the scene he’d unwittingly stumbled upon. He wore a tan and brown plaid shirt that had been buttoned up wrong and hung haphazardly on his lean frame, and rough wool breeches the same shade of brown as the stripes in his shirt. His boots were caked with mud and straw so it appeared as though he’d fashioned slippers from wild hedgehogs.

  The boy’s eyes were wide, his body so still he might have been frozen in time. Only the racing of his pulse and the faint sheen of sweat on his brow gave away his panic at having interrupted what a boy his age could deduce was something he’d not been meant to see. He held the reins of two Scythian draught horses, one a dapple grey with a pale cream-colored mane and tail and the other a warm bay with ebony locks. Each was saddled and ready to be ridden.

  Robin gracefully swung Marian up to her feet, holding her until she was steady—which he was pleased to note took a moment or so. Of course, there was a slim chance that her disorientation had more to do with fury than passion, but either way she looked radiant. Her eyes glittered and her cheeks held a most becoming red flush that no amount of pinching could have attained.

  “Ah, it seems we are ready to go.” He craned his head toward Marian. “I guess our little tête-à-tête in the garden will have to wait.”

  Marian bared her teeth, eyes burning green flames. “I do hope it won’t have to wait long.”

  Robin’s eyebrows rose and he took a judicious step back, giving Marian a wider berth for her march to the horses. She chose the bay, planting her foot in the stirrup and swinging herself onto its back with practiced ease. The bay grunted and sidestepped, betraying the unnecessary force of Marian’s seating and shook its head in equine reprimand.

  Marian’s nose wrinkled as she smacked at her skirts, tugging on them this way and that. The petticoats beneath the dress resisted her urges to smooth them out, seeming to only fluff up more as she fought with them. Her lip curled i
n disgust, but when she noticed Robin watching her, she composed herself and shot him a smile as bright and piercing as a beam of sunlight off an assassin’s signal mirror. “I won’t be long, if you’d like to wait—”

  A few running steps launched Robin forward and he leapt onto the horse’s back from behind, using his hands on its muscled rump to give him the height he needed to land in the saddle. The dapple grey swung its head around, ears flattened, to give Robin a distinctly irritated look. Robin gave the beast a semi-apologetic shrug and grinned at a glowering Marian.

  Again, he watched her realize she was making an unpleasant face and shuffle her features into what he was increasingly certain she meant to be a coquettish smile, but was actually quite a frightening look somewhere between malice and I’ve-just-swallowed-a-bug. A shiver trembled down his spine and he couldn’t help but reflect that perhaps the secret he was now positive she held was something he should be wary of.

  Mentally, he started making a list of what her biological heritage might be, adding a temper to the list of likely characteristics that, up until now, had been limited to keen senses and a desire for the hunt.

  The stable boy watched them leave without making a sound, his eyes still a little too wide. Marian ignored him, guiding her horse down the long path that would lead them off her property, through the path in the forest, and out into the heart of the county where the sheriff would be waiting for her in the courthouse. Robin caught up to her, the dapple grey responding easily to his urging despite its continued annoyance as evidenced by the ears still pressed against its head. He opened his mouth to ask Marian how she planned to proceed with the sheriff, but was cut off when she turned that half-mad smile on him again.

  “I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but Catherine O’Hara has been seen prancing about town with Drake Gilley. It’s causing quite a stir, what with Drake being—”