She looked more closely. Her eyes widened and she looked back at him. “They aren’t growing up the trunk. They’ve been put there.”
He smiled and nodded at her astuteness. “If trouble should befall us. You are to run back from whence we’ve come and convene at the horses. Look for that tree to know you’re on the right path.”
She thought for a moment, realization dawning on her face. “Was there a tree like this one when we stopped in the forest to break our fast the other morn, when Crawford—”
He held up an arresting hand, but nodded. “Wherever you find a tree so marked, you find a rock chosen for its covering of lichen and you then find our hidden supplies. Both the rock and the tree are references for us.”
“’Tis ingenious,” she said, glancing back up to the tree. “I never would have noticed. I never would have noticed any of it at all.”
“Now that you do know, you must keep the secret,” he said, reaching up to run a thumb down her cheek. He dropped his hand, sensing she blushed. Such an endearing sweetness, her blush. That she could be so toughened by life, and yet so fragile as to blush at his affection told him she truly did hide a rose beneath all her thorns. “I’ll show you where to hide. You’ll not need to shoot anyone, but you will need to aim your arrow at a rope knotted high above. Can you do that?”
She nodded.
“’Twill require precision, Elmer. You must strike it through immediately, no questions asked. Lest we be captured by your failure to do so.”
She lifted her chin. “I can shoot a knot, Rob, so long as I can see it to aim.”
“Good.” He grinned. “Whatever else you see, remain steadfast in your patience and have faith in us to be well. And don’t forget, if we run into trouble, you are not to go down with us. You’re to—”
“Find that tree for bearings and return as fast as possible to the horses.”
He nodded, then dipped his mouth to hers for a brisk but firm peck through their hoods. The sentiment struck him. It was as if he claimed a favor from a lady before going into battle. In a way, he was. But there wasn’t time to assure her further. She would be nervous on her first raid, for certain. Best to keep her participation limited at the beginning. Make use of her skill but minimize her chance for a blunder. If this went well, then he could up the ante for her on the next one.
He led the way up the incline. They crested the hill, paused, and made note of the little cottage just waking in the late morn, smoke curling from the stone chimney rising from the thatched roof. That bastard must have drunk himself into a gay old stupor last night. Judging by the sun rising toward mid morn, most men—noble or serf—would be well about their business by now.
He motioned to his men. They dispersed into the trees, disappearing. Taking her by the hand, he led her forward. Silently. The rush that always accompanied a raid sped his pulse. Glancing to Mariel, her eyes were blank and riveted on the cottage. And then, the door to the cowshed pushed open with a thump. A guardsman clad in the blazon of William de Wendenal stepped through the gate, leading two mounts already saddled.
Robert froze, looked at Mariel, and placed a finger across his mouth for silence. Mariel gulped, nodded, and looked back to the cottage. The cottage door pushed open. Out sauntered the Sheriff of Nottingham, his hair dark and oily, falling in waves about his shoulders. Robert felt a shimmer of gooseflesh bristle his skin. He hated the man. From his dark stare, to his pillaging hands, to his toes booted in fine leather imported from the Continent.
Maneuvering Mariel behind a tree, he tapped her. She looked up as he removed his hood so his lips could be seen.
“We creep behind that tree, and then that one. I need you there to have aim at the rope,” he mouthed.
She nodded, the skin around her eyes pale. And it was then that she seemed to realize she squeezed his hand too hard, because her grip, causing his hand to tingle, eased.
He put his hood back in place and led the way, moving up behind the next tree, then when he sensed Mariel behind him, moved to the next one. Mariel glanced up at the tree limbs above. Her eyes landed upon a piece of vine. She looked him in the eye with unabashed curiosity, but he didn’t have time to explain. He and his men had come here in the middle of the night, rigged their trap as Nottingham and his men had passed out one by one, and he had marked this tree for Mariel. None of them had slept since the beggars had arrived at his gates. And if Nottingham caught wind of their presence now, all would be lost. They needed to act swiftly, before Wendenal’s men were fully organized.
He pointed between two trees arching over the path leading to the cottage and the obvious route out of the camp. Mariel followed his point until she saw the netting strung up by its four corners overhead. Her eyes shot to his, eyebrows raised. He nodded, then pointed to each corner of the net, each tied to the trees. He leaned down to her ear.
“I, Little John”—he smiled—“Alan, and you will each shoot a knot to let the netting fall. You shoot that one, on the left, closest to you.”
“Right. When?” she asked, her gaze focused. God, but he could kiss her again for the conviction on her face. In spite of her obvious nerves, she was rallying her determination not to fail him.
“I’ll shoot an arrow at this tree.” He gestured, patting the one they hid behind. “Do not flinch. Do not cower when it lodges beside you. Have your arrow nocked and release the projectile that moment without fail. Do you understand?”
She gave a curt nod, taking deep, measured breaths. Her eyes darted to Nottingham now facing toward them with his back to his man readying their mounts. Nottingham grunted and tossed the flaps of his surcoat over a shoulder, so he could unlace his trouser front. The sheriff dug into his breeches, and pulling out his cock, released a steady stream of urine. Ah, bloody hell. Robert winced. Mariel grimaced beneath her hood. He could see it in the way her eyes crinkled.
“Damn but my head is pounding,” Nottingham groused to his guardsman over his shoulder. “At least they had a good barrel of ale, even if it was watered.”
“Aye, sire, but it was the spirits that did me in,” the guardsman said.
“Any sign of the forest thieves this morn?”
“None that I could determine,” said his man. “I made a sweep of the area before breaking my fast.”
“Good,” Wendenal said, shaking his drips off and tucking himself back into his clothing. He righted his surcoat and moved to his horse. “Lord, but what a nuisance they make.”
“We’ll catch the bastards,” the guardsman replied. “And then you can have your fun with them.”
Robert couldn’t help but grin. Though anything were possible, the guard’s remark was unlikely. He leaned down to Mariel, lifted both of their hoods, and planted a final kiss upon her lips. “Remember,” he whispered. “Shoot the knot, and if trouble arises, run back to the horse and do not stop—”
“What about you?” she asked.
He looked into her mossy depths. “Don’t worry for me. My men and I can get ourselves out of a fight. Courage.” He inspirited her with a grip to her shoulder.
He dropped their hoods and didn’t give her time to protest before creeping back into the trees and leaving her alone.
Chapter Thirteen
Mariel didn’t realize she was holding her breath. She exhaled slowly, her heartbeat so loud in her ears it sounded as if it roared. She pulled her bow off her shoulder, her palms sweaty. Had she known that she would awaken to a raid on Nottingham, she might have had more time to prepare herself. True, she had perfected the art of being elusive, could shoot targets, and dodge animals. But never had she blatantly attacked anyone.
You are not attacking anyone now, either, she reminded herself. But Robert might. He swore no one would be hurt intentionally. But he also reminded her that, like any scheme as such, things could go wrong.
She took in a steadying lungful of air, then released it, a
nd withdrew two arrows, lodging them between her knuckles. One for the initial shot, one ready to nock should the first fail. She could lob them in quick succession. In her haste to leave, she hadn’t worn her gauntlets, and now she was thankful. They would have creaked miserably.
“Too bad about the woman,” Wendenal said, knocking on the cottage door to hurry his other men along. They filed out. “She was a fetching little thing, even if she was carrying. I’m certain we could have entertained ourselves well with her.”
“Who knows where they ran off to? No one was in the shed this morn,” his guardsman said.
“Just as well,” Nottingham said. He secured his belts around his waist, an unmistakable purse jingling at his hip. “The beggars are probably behind on their taxes. Serves them right, scattering as they did. They probably ran off to Robert of Huntington, and like the tenderhearted fool that he is, he took them in.”
Another guardsman snorted, but didn’t speak as he, too, released his piss from the night before. Mariel looked away. Finally, the men congregated before the cottage and mounted their horses. As they readied to depart, they took formation, with two guardsmen side by side in front, Nottingham in the middle, and two side by side in the rear.
“Let’s away to Nottingham, men. Harold Crawford is visiting,” Wendenal said, and the party nudged their beasts into a trot.
Mariel’s heart jumped just knowing her sire was nearby.
An arrow whistled and lodged beside her head. She snapped out of her horror, dragged back her bowstring, and released her arrow. It cut clean through the knot Robert had indicated, just as three other arrows did the same to the other knots. A wide net fell down upon the traveling party.
“Damnation!” exclaimed Nottingham.
His men twisted in the netting. Confusion upset the horses. They whinnied and stomped, tossing their heads. Mariel watched, fascinated. The guardsmen tried to push away the rope and reach for their daggers at their hips, further ensnaring themselves. Mariel clung to the tree trunk.
Robert jumped down from a tree limb in front of them, both feet thudding solidly to the earth. She would know his slender waist and tall height anywhere, having wrapped her arms around it more than once already. He marched to Nottingham, dragged the man off his horse, reached his pouch through the netting, and sliced a dagger through his belts.
“A good day for taking from others by force, is it not?” Robert quipped, sliding free the purse strings and giving the velvet pouch a jingle. He tossed it up and down then slid it into his coat, gesturing to the cottage. “I see you beat me to the sentiment.”
“You!” Nottingham erupted, still tangled in the netting on the ground. “You’re committing a crime by stealing from me!”
“Was it not a crime, you stealing from the fine fellow who inhabits this cottage?”
“I can demand quarters when I require it.” Nottingham fumed.
“Hmm,” Robert said. “Does the church authorize you to demand rights to another man’s wife?”
Nottingham scoffed, attempting to stagger to his feet. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, you coward. So cowardly that you must hide behind that hood of green to bedevil me and steal my coin!”
“I shall donate it to a charity of your choice,” Robert said, shoving the sheriff to the ground beneath his boot, “since you seem incapable of remembering the lesson I try to teach you: no harming innocents.”
A horse, stomping, tried to bolt, sending the other horses into a frenzy. Will appeared from the trees, as did Alan, who both took hold of a bridle to steady the beasts and keep them from noosing the soldiers in their attempts to flee. One by one, John dragged a floundering soldier down, lashing their wrists behind their backs with the ropes intended for their “boar hunt.”
Once each man was dealt with, Robert laughed his cheerful laugh. “Ah, no charity to suggest? Might it be that you know not even one name?”
“One of these days, I’ll learn who you are, and you will rue that day.” Nottingham growled as John tossed Robert a section of rope to bind the sheriff.
“I sincerely doubt it.” Robert laughed. “Disarm them!” he called to the others. With the horses settled, Will and Alan made rounds, pulling free daggers and sword belts, tossing them into the underbrush. “And now, my good men, it’s been a pleasure.” Robert bowed. “And please, do pass along our regards to the Sheriff of Ayr. I hear he’s in residence at Nottingham. Good day, and my thanks for your generosity!”
Robert gave the purse one more jingle in front of Wendenal’s face, earning a scowl. Nottingham spit on his boots, though Robert ignored it. David also emerged from the trees and took the flat of a sword blade to the now-disentangled horses, sending them scattering into the trees.
“Generous pouches of meat at their flanks indeed. A good quality in a pig I should say,” John said, garnering a round of chuckles from Robert’s men. Even Mariel couldn’t resist a smile as she watched. “I should say the beggars at the almshouse will eat heartily soon enough with such an abundance of fat!”
She remained frozen, watching the men squirming face-down on the ground. So focused was she on not moving, she jumped when she felt a hand upon her shoulder.
Robert was behind her, a finger across his lips. He grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the hidden supplies on the other side of the rising terrain. Arrow and bow still in hand, she jogged after him, trying to keep up and yet, pad quietly. They descended over the rise back to the tall tree with the vine. The other men were nowhere to be seen. Robert ripped off his hood, dragging hers over her head, too, and jammed them back under the camouflaged mesh of twigs.
He grabbed her hand again and whipped her around to continue jogging through the trees. He didn’t stop and didn’t let go of her. They ran onward. Mariel’s lungs burned. She was sweating. Finally, they reached the horses. And no sooner were they untethering their reins, did John, Will, and Alan emerge through the trees from other directions.
“Where’s David?” Mariel whispered, swinging into the saddle and turning her mount to follow Goliath through the dense trunks.
As soon as they all hit the main path, Robert kicked his mount. “Remaining behind to ensure we’re not followed. And so now,” he said, an exhilarated smile capturing his face, “what’s this I hear about a boar hunt?”
“What?” Mariel exclaimed. He flashed her a wink.
“You did well, Elmer, back there,” Robert complimented, giving her elbow a squeeze.
“Yes, she did,” John also complimented, riding up alongside her. “Fairly decent, for a woman.”
She rounded on him, her frown piercing him.
“I only jest,” John said, chuckling.
“Well then, I thank thee for the compliment, Little John,” she replied.
John groaned and tipped his eyes heavenward, his voice darkening. “Bollocks to you, Robert, for ever saying such.”
“What?” She shrugged, her lips curling up as laughter rolled from the others’ throats. “I only jest.”
He scowled at her, then at Robert.
“She fits in well, Robert.” Will grinned, and Robert also laughed.
“You two,” Robert directed Alan and Will. “Return to Huntington and tell the kitchens to prepare for a massive pig to be delivered this afternoon for supper, then find us in the thickets south of Huntington proper with a cart.”
“Now you jest.” Mariel rolled her eyes. “We’ve spent half the day in the saddle as it is and you already used your rope. And, as you well know, they’re rare. You could spend a fortnight in the saddle and not find one.”
“I assure you, my dear Elmer,” Robert said. “I am not a liar. If I told my people I was going on a hunt, then a-hunting I will go.”
“You can’t just promise something like that. You don’t even know if you’ll find such a boar.”
He grinned. “I keep a wild herd in my
woods, imported from France. I assure you, I know where to find a mean one.”
…
She had no idea how Robert did it. How he spoke with such confidence, even in the face of uncertainty or impending raids, and then made the results he was looking for happen. But they rode that afternoon for Huntington, a fattened boar with tusks as deadly as daggers in the cart Will had delivered, and Mariel smiled.
Robert rode high in the saddle, a boyish smile on his lips the entire time. Not once did he mention their attack on Nottingham, even though she sensed his satisfaction. He was proud of his accomplishments and his proven prowess. He’d made the final kill to the boar’s neck. The day’s successes provided not only for his people, but also for the downtrodden, and she felt her heart widen to him further. That, and she sensed the man had shown off just for her, if she were to judge the look of pride he flashed her when the hunt was done. Such a smile was endearing.
He felt her scrutiny and cast his hazel gaze toward her, his brow furrowing slightly in question. Mariel looked forward again, rocking in the saddle with her mount’s lumbering gait. She remembered Charlotte’s words, He isn’t how you describe. No doubt, being unable to do a thing about his mother’s death was rooted in Robert’s benevolence now. The vulnerable were safe and provided for in his care, a way to make amends for a time when he was once powerless.
And now, his coat removed and his tunic sleeves rolled up to the elbows, blood staining the billowing fabric from the minor injuries the pig had managed to inflict, he looked at home. His hair, loose from its tie, hung in tangled waves over his ears and cheeks, his jaw unshaved, and his sword belt cinched about his waist with his bow slung over his shoulder, accentuated his physique. The hunt had been terrifying. Mariel had hunted before, yes, but she had never been on a hunt like this one. Such animals were practically nonexistent in Scotland. She had only heard tales. Not to mention, boar hunting was a male endeavor requiring several people to safely manage. It meant something that Robert had wanted her to participate.
An Earl for an Archeress Page 16