He had willed himself to relax and keep a foot of space between them as they fell asleep. He knew his response to whether or not he could protect her from her father’s hand had disheartened her. He had secretly wished he could pull her close to him again, feel her body heat against his, feel her breath upon him, tangle his legs with hers, have passionate intercourse together, and sleep like lovers. If he were truthful with himself, it was why he had chosen to lie beneath the covers with her in the first place.
But alas, it was time to rise and face the day. He pushed to his feet, catching glimpses of Mariel through the trees as she put on her boots. God willing, he would be able to sway her desire to go to London as they traveled.
…
Upon arriving back at camp, Mariel noticed their fire banked and no sign of the firewood he had pulled out the night before. Where had he gotten it from? Looking around for the tarp she was certain she had seen, there was nothing. Leaves, underbrush, tree trunks. No tarp. Robert had the horses saddled, and she made haste to secure her packs to her mount, hoisting herself into the stirrup like she had done a thousand times before. It was only after she was astride and gathering her reins that she noticed Robert had come to her side to offer assistance.
“I’m sorry, Robert,” she said as he turned away. “I’m used to looking out for myself.”
“No matter.” He shrugged, then mounted up without looking at her.
He led the way out of the campsite, down the incline he had said was treacherous. She scowled at his back. It was simple and easy to navigate, the liar. He had wanted her to remain with him and had lied to do it. Mayhap he wasn’t a kind man after all. Cheeky, certainly. Kind? Questionable. They crossed a burn, the horses’ hooves sloshing through the water, and continued on in silence until the morning sun was well above the trees.
Arriving in a clearing with lush grass, Robert finally stopped and turned in the saddle to look over his shoulder.
“This is a good spot to break our fast. The horses can graze and the main road is right through there. We can continue once our stomachs are satisfied. What say you?”
Was she being asked her opinion on the matter? He didn’t just assume that since she was a woman, he would make the decisions?
“It-it’s a sound plan.”
“You seem unsure,” he replied, turning his horse so he could look at her, but she was already dismounting.
“No. Your suggestion is fine. I’m also starving.”
Robert nodded and also dismounted, pulling out a loaf of bread and cheese. Mariel went about removing the bridles, hanging the bits on a branch that had broken off and formed a nub, and turned the horses into the grass so they could graze.
She joined Robert, realizing he was watching her.
“What?” she questioned, sitting on the ground beside him.
“Nothing,” he replied. “’Tis just nice to see a woman so comfortable around horses. Normally, it’s a task I would have done.”
“You should be well aware by now that I don’t expect to be coddled.”
“No, you certainly don’t.” He tore off a piece of bread and held it toward her.
“On second thought. I need a moment of privacy after so long in the saddle,” she said.
She stood, uncomfortable under his scrutiny, and strode across the clearing into the trees, past a rock covered in lichen, and behind a fallen log out of sight. Dropping her trousers around her ankles and adjusting her infernal corset, she took care of business quickly and then stood, securing her fastenings at her waist, when she thought she heard the faint sound of horses on the high road. Instead of turning back to camp, she listened. There were voices rising, and though they were inaudible, the hair on her arms stood up.
Chapter Eight
“Ho there!” Robert said, hearing the party of horsemen come around the bend before he could see them.
“Good day!” came the call of a guard. “Make way for His Lairdship Harold Crawford, the Sheriff of Ayrshire!”
Robert tensed. Mariel. What on earth had brought Crawford here? A visit from this ever-traveling Scot had only been a matter of time. Yet today of all days?
Protecting Mariel was his only concern. He dashed into the trees where he had seen her disappear and saw her frozen by a fallen log. Her eyes shot to his, his haste causing obvious alarm. The look of mortification on her face tore at his resolve. Unabashed, unbridled fear. She was covered in so much fear he could smell it, feel it wafting off of her in waves. Placing his finger over his lips, he beckoned her. She began to follow him with a look on her face like that of a lamb being led to the slaughter, and watched as he bent next to the lichen-covered rock and pulled up a pile of underbrush.
Her eyes widened, shocked, as if she witnessed a trick of the eye, a blanket woven from nature, concealing a chest of supplies and a stack of firewood. He motioned more forcefully. There was no time to explain the stashes of supplies he kept concealed throughout his forests, and thankfully, she had the good sense to run. Motioning her under the tarp into a depression dug into the ground, Robert let the cover fall on her.
Crouching down, he whispered, “Remain still. Trust that I’ll not hand you over to him.”
There was no response.
He stood and marched back into the clearing, noting that Mariel’s horse had wandered into the trees and was concealed by branches, and saw the party trotting down the road into view. Good. Because if Crawford was as astute as his reputation made him out to be, he would remember one of his horses just by looking at it, regardless of eight months passing since its disappearance.
Despite the sweat breaking out on his brow, Robert actually smiled. The sheriff traveled on Huntington land and therefore he, not the sheriff, made the rules. He made a point to step into the very middle of the road.
“Step aside, I say,” said the guard, though Robert was not looking at him as much as he was assessing Harold Crawford in the saddle behind him, flanked by two more guards, and trailed by a contingent. “The Sheriff of Ayrshire is passing through.”
“Then I must insist on stopping His Lordship,” Robert replied, folding his arms.
“I have business to conduct with the Earl of Huntington,” stated Crawford for himself, his voice low and gravelly. He was a hardened man, thick of stature and burly with muscle. Despite his age, he was formidable, with the same mossy eyes he had passed on to his daughter as well as the barley hair, but much, much colder. So this was the man who had terrorized Mariel and turned her into the guarded woman she was. He had disliked him before, but now he hated him. “Move, man, or you’ll be trampled.”
Robert held out his ring. “I am the earl, and this is my forest you traverse. I kindly request you stop.”
His eyes locked with Crawford and the man ordered his guards to halt.
“You say you have business with me,” Robert said, folding his arms again. “What might that be?”
Crawford, still locked in his gaze, adjusted his reins with a creak of leather. After a moment of calculation, he finally spoke. “I see it now. You’ve grown up in these months since your faither’s death, Robert. What are you about out here in the woods alone?”
“I’m always vigilant of my landholdings. I make it my business to know who trespasses.”
Crawford’s jaw hardened at the remark, trying to determine if he had been slighted. “I request hospitality at Huntington Castle. Or more directly, I shall be partaking of your hospitality.”
“You were actually right in requesting, sire,” Robert replied, nothing hidden in his meaning. Crawford had no jurisdiction in England. “I shall be returning later this day and will meet you by supper. But I’m certain my staff will make you feel welcome in the meantime.” He stepped aside. “Your party may proceed.”
He gestured for them to move onward and offered a nod, but there was no mistaking the strain it took to produce his smile.
Mariel. How in the hell would he protect her? As soon as the party was gone, he turned back to the clearing, making a straight line for his hidden supplies. He pulled back the tarp.
She was gone.
Dammit! He looked around. She had fled. Crawford and his men were still too close for him to call for her. He kept looking in each direction, concentrating on every movement, but knew she wasn’t there.
Seeking his horse, he noticed hers was gone, too. And her bridle was still hanging with his on the tree. Which meant she was handling the horse expertly with no bit to guide it. With little thought, he jumped upon his mount, weaving Goliath through the trees and onto the main road in the opposite direction, what would seem like her obvious choice. And he was right.
Thundering down the path, her horse’s tracks finally emerged through the trees and he spotted the trail. He slowed to a canter, making a point to follow the hoof marks, noting that they diverged into the woods again. He slowed to a walk so as not to get whipped by branches and watched the forest floor for disruptions to the underbrush. Despite the early hour and the fall weather, he broke into a sweat again. Was he feeling worried? He shouldn’t. The girl was obviously capable of handling herself alone without injury. Had she not done so already for eight months?
Still, as he looked through the trees, following what seemed to be the likely path, he felt an anxious pinch somewhere in his chest, a nagging ache that had no source to pinpoint. He looked skyward, slants of light shooting through the canopy of pines, and heard water from a stream bubbling nearby. And then he heard a horse whicker.
He sighed a breath of relief at the same time his chest pinched further, hoping it was her. Dismounting, he walked carefully, though his horse made no effort to tread quietly. And as he peeked through the tree trunks, he spotted her horse standing with two hooves in the water, drinking and flicking his tail, then the top of her head thrown down on her knees pulled up to her chest as she sat on the ground. At first she held so still he thought something might be wrong with her, and then a sob racked her frame.
And for some reason, the desperate sound that escaped her, a sound that begged to release a pain so deep, caused his chest to squeeze and his throat to thicken.
“Mariel,” he said, swallowing the thickness and dismounting Goliath.
In a few swift strides he arrived at her side just as she looked up and flinched at his approach, jumping to her feet. Just as quickly, the flinch vanished as she registered his face. But that flinch angered him, that she should be so wary of her father that her first reaction was to flinch. Yet before he could do anything further, she launched herself into his arms, curling into his chest.
He wrapped his embrace around her, a hand coming up to cup her head to his heart while the other cinched about her waist, feeling both anger at her father and strengthened that she sought comfort from him.
“Mariel, sweeting,” he whispered. “Don’t ever fear me.”
She wiped at her face, yet the water kept leaking down her cheeks. He gripped her protectively, ignoring her stubborn efforts to push her tears away. She refused to look up at him but took long, steadying inhales, burrowing more deeply against him.
“Why did you flee from me?” he asked, placing a kiss on the top of her head. “Don’t you know he might have seen you?”
And yet he hadn’t, Robert realized. She had slipped away undetected right under their noses. Like a ghost.
“I can nay go back to him. He would have discovered me there.”
“He didn’t,” Robert replied. “You risked more by fleeing—”
“Please do nay let him find me,” she begged, not having heard him.
He looked down and lifted her chin. Staring into her mossy eyes, he wiped a thumb beneath them to push another streak of tears away. “I meant what I said. I’ll not hand you back to him, if you don’t want to go.”
“You would break the law for me?”
He gazed at her, letting her Scottish brogue roll over him like gentle ripples, then slowly nodded. “I’ll do what I can to protect you. Stay with me and I’ll harbor you.”
He watched her war between trusting and fearing. True, he was sincere, but they both knew the harsh reality was that he wouldn’t be able to stand in the way of a father reclaiming his property, if their secret was discovered. The repercussions against him could be serious.
“What if you’re discovered? What if you suffer sanctions? What if you’re punished? I can nay allow that in good conscience.” Mariel gave voice to his concerns that he was trying to suppress. She took a step back, averting her gaze. Reluctantly, he let her go. “Nay. We must continue to your border. I can’t put you in such a position.”
She turned to collect her horse. She was attempting to regain composure. He stared at her, his arms hanging limply.
“But I don’t want you to leave.” He left the words hanging between them. She paused, turning back over her shoulder to look at him. He raked his hand through his locks, setting the tangles into even more disarray, and exhaled. “I don’t know what to do. Your father is welcoming himself to my hospitality right now. But my gut doesn’t sit well knowing you’re out there alone with your father so close. ’Twould only be a matter of time until he finds you.”
She looked ashen and took another step back. “He’ll be residing at Huntington Castle?”
He sighed. “Not residing, just visiting—”
“Why?”
“I know not his reasons, but he hasn’t visited since he arranged your betrothal. I’ll need to go back to see what he’s about.”
“Then I’ll continue onward alone,” she said.
“Mariel—”
“Nay,” she interrupted. “You can’t make me go there knowing he sits in your hall.”
“I could hide you. Keep you in the village. He’d never know you were there.”
“Nay, Robert.”
He stepped forth, pulling her fingers into his, and for some reason felt his hand tremble as he searched for the right words. Emotion overtook him and he squeezed her hands, squinting up at the sun, then the water, then the trees, anywhere but her face. How could he feel so drawn to this woman he had barely met? He tugged her to him, torn inside as to what to do. Yes, he would break the law by not handing her over, for she would surely suffer harshly for undermining such a father. Any man who could lock away his young daughter for days at a time to be feasted on by rats had probably already demonstrated his lack of compassion in many ways. Her simple act of flinching told him so.
And sadly, if braving the world penniless with its highwaymen, roadside thieves, disguising one’s self as the stronger sex, living in a constant state of fear rather than getting caught was the safer option, her life in Ayrshire must have been hell. Yet the law was the law, whether or not some men ought to be entrusted with their rights over their wives and children, Robert reasoned. He had to help Mariel, in spite of the law. Hiding her from Crawford was the logical first step. The next logical step, well, he didn’t want to think of eloping. He didn’t want to marry anyone, he reminded himself. It might give her legal protection as his property, but he would then be bonded to her.
He thought back to the night before as he had pondered marriage by their campfire. Did he want that union with her? The fact he was even entertaining the idea told him there was merit in it. But when King Richard returned, he might be sanctioned for not awaiting his royal blessing and find himself penniless. He needed his king’s approval to wed if he was to comport himself in good taste. Oh, to be a common man who could marry whom he wished.
Unable to get any words out to express the cacophony of thoughts raging through his mind, he did the only other thing he could think. He leaned down and kissed her again. Except this kiss was in earnest, not gentle. His tongue pushed through her lips moist with tears, danced with her tongue, offered her a taste of his full passion. His hands dropped hers and wo
ve through her hair at the base of her neck, his palms cradling her jaw. And to his surprise, she returned the fervor, arching into him, her hands sliding beneath his cloak and settling upon his back as he leaned over her.
He felt her grip his tunic, her nails scoring him through the fabric, and a groan worked its way up his throat. She whimpered in return and it threatened his resolve. He groaned again, taking a breath, basking in the favor she was pouring upon him.
“Mari, my beauty,” he whispered, delving in for a second helping.
He couldn’t think, couldn’t see, couldn’t feel anything except her. She was thin, to say the least, and yet by some miracle of attraction, she felt soft and pliant in his arms. Her hands were kneading his back now, running up and down as his fingers, too, began a wild grope upon her back, her rear, and he could feel her pressing her breasts against him. Taking a step, then another, he walked her backward and soon had her braced against a tree. She didn’t fight him as he took charge over her. In fact, she seemed to acquiesce to his tactic. It emboldened him and he growled his pleasure.
And then she moaned.
God, but her desire for him was enough to undo him. He swallowed her moan, bearing down harder. Kissing her wildly, his hands couldn’t hold still, cupping her cheek one moment, rubbing her waist the next, and then his hands roved over her breasts of their own accord. She sucked in at the intimacy, as he nudged his pelvis against her. Her hands ran madly up and down his arms, over his shoulders, unfastening the buckle of his cloak so she could push the disruptive garment to the forest floor.
An Earl for an Archeress Page 10