Chapter Twelve
Harold Crawford continued to canter his horse northward toward Nottingham Castle with his contingent taking up his flanks. The afternoon sun beat down on them and, despite the crispness in the autumn air, they sweat. Glancing back, he could still see the Earl of Huntington’s escort remaining at the tree line demarcating his extensive property.
It was obvious, no, palpable, Robert Huntington’s wariness of him. The fact that the young earl was so wary caused his neck to prickle with both unease and curiosity. And what noble was fool enough to travel on his own, alone, without protection in the woods? A lord always had enemies, and thieves most certainly would have no qualms about stealing, especially from a noble, if they thought they could get away with it.
According to the Sheriff of Nottingham, there were thieves who used the East Anglian forests to conceal their moves and plan their next attacks. Nottingham himself had been confronted more than once…and bested, Crawford suspected, though Nottingham had not admitted it. Judging from where Crawford encountered Robert the morning before, the young earl must have traveled overnight for a few hours after swiving his peasant woman to make it as far as he had when they’d encountered each other. Dead fish were known to stink. And there was a dead fish somewhere in the tale Robert had woven for him.
He faced forward, glancing over the rolling fields cleared and separated by stone walls to keep the mutton within their enclosures. One thing was certain. Huntington had inherited power, along with vast sums of wealth and property. And despite being young, he was bold and sure-footed when standing toe-to-toe with a powerful man such as himself. If he thought the young earl an easy puppet, or a pushover, he would be sorely mistaken.
Yet the idea of betrothing Mariel to him held merit. Still. He wanted to drag her back to Castle Ayr by her blonde braid and beat some obedience into the lass once and for all. Each day that passed, leaving her unfound, was an added humiliation. And quite frankly, he really didn’t care if he sent the little wench to her grave at this point.
Yes, he did, he stopped himself. Bringing her within an inch of her life was one thing, but killing her would leave him with no one competent to inherit Castle Ayr should he be unable to marry her to a son-in-law worth his salt. He hadn’t educated Madeline, his younger legitimate daughter. The waif was as a woman should be. Quiet, obedient, ignorant, innocent. She didn’t have any qualities of a leader. And Mariel shouldn’t have those qualities, but it chafed him to know that she did. She was bold, surefooted, questioned things she shouldn’t, and despite having taught her the lesson time and again, could not be forced into submission. Time and again, she had stood tall and walked away from him with her chin lifted in defiant pride even when he knew her body felt broken. If she was no match for his physical strength, she was indeed a match for his fortitude.
His daughter Madeline could be married off to whomever he chose. But Castle Ayr needed to stay in his succession, and Mariel had just the guts for the job. Except, she had abandoned home. For a woman, Mariel was bloody smart and resourceful. Ah, the damned lass. As useful as she would be in a marriage alliance, one slap across her face would never suffice for the months of embarrassment she had caused him to endure. And too many slaps would kill her.
As the land rolled, hiding all signs of a forest behind them below the horizon, he held up his fist.
“Halt, men.” He growled.
The group pulled back on the reins, and Crawford turned to his lead guardsman who had accompanied him inside the Huntington keep.
“You, Teàrlach, will go back, whilst we continue onward to William of Nottingham’s castle.”
“Back, m’laird?” asked the quiet guardsman with rich amber eyes.
“’Tis nay a secret you’re skilled at blending in. Robert hardly noticed you in his keep, and he’s no dimwit.”
“Aye, but he still noticed me, Laird. He would recognize me.”
“Only if he sees your face. Which he nay will.”
“What did you have in mind?” Teàrlach asked, his dark curling hair ruffling in the wind as he eased a finger underneath the neck of his gambeson to readjust it.
“I want you to sleuth for me. Pick up clues. I was nay satisfied with Robert’s explanations about Mariel.”
“Do you think he harbors her?”
Harold thought for a moment, giving voice to the thoughts in his mind. “I can nay tell if he does so consciously or without any knowing. Mayhap she’s there or mayhap Robert’s overly wary, but I sense if ever there was a safe haven for the wench, that this would be the spot to hide. He welcomes beggars and offers them abode, and he can nay see everyone personally who seeks refuge. But one thing is certain: he’s fiercely protective of his holdings.”
On one hand, he thought, it made for a strong leader. He, too, was fiercely protective. On the other hand, he reminded himself, people who were fiercely protective often had much to protect.
“Am I to declare myself at all?”
“Nay.” Crawford shook his head. “You’re to spy on him, his activities, anyone coming and going from his gates, his guards. Anything that seems suspicious. Mayhap it’s for naught, but mayhap I’ll be rewarded for my intuition.”
Teàrlach nodded and turned his horse.
“Make certain you remain unseen, and rejoin me by the full moon at Nottingham Castle,” the sheriff said. “Unless something happens that warrants your return sooner.”
Teàrlach bowed his head in acquiescence before returning up the field from whence they had just traversed.
…
Knocking roused Mariel earlier than she would have liked, a soft rapping of the knuckles upon her bedchamber door. She rolled over and stared at the canopy above her, listening. The sound came again. She sat up and pulled aside a drape, noting that no light seeped through the window shutters, blocking out the crisp autumn wind blowing in surges against the latch. Which meant it was still dark.
She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and yawned, when the latch to her door began to lift. She bolted through the curtains to her feet, her hair mussed from sleep fraying loose from her braid. Her night shift billowed down to her ankles just as the door cracked open.
“Elmer?” Robert whispered, peeking inside.
She clenched the gown shut at her throat.
“Pardon me—”
“Hush.” Robert held up a hand to silence her. “You didn’t answer my knocking.”
He slid in through the door, pushing it closed, but not before she noticed Jonathan in the corridor, taking in the image of her in the thin fabric of her sleeping gown.
“You said you wanted to see firsthand that I’m not a fraud,” he said, moving to her wardrobe and swinging open the door. It was empty. “Where is your clothing?”
She frowned at him. He was decked in his typical coat with his dark green cloak thrown around his neck, his sword belt slouched upon his waist, and completely booted to head out the gates. He turned to look at her now and paused. She felt redness creep up her neck at being so exposed before him, and from his silence, he was taking notice of her, too.
His eyes, frozen upon her face, now dipped to her breasts pushing her garment outward, then roved over her hips and legs that she knew he couldn’t actually see, thanks to the folds of fabric. They stopped at her bare feet. His perusal roved back up her body, lingering at her hands still clenching the loose fabric at her throat.
“I apologize,” he said, as if just now realizing his rude intrusion. “I oft rouse my men when we must leave before dawn. I wasn’t thinking.”
She swallowed. Unabashed interest rested in his gaze, and whatever haste had caused him to enter so briskly had dissipated.
“Over there,” she swallowed, pointing to a chair.
He severed his gaze and walked to her chair, picking up her wadded trousers, tunic, and coat, bringing them to her. She took them, her nightshift now slackening down around her neck and exposing her stretch of skin from her neck to the valley between her breasts. His eyes dipped to the pulse at her throat and then to her cleavage, but he returned to her chair and collected her boots and stockings.
He paused again. She watched him rub his thumbs over her threadbare stockings. Heat burned her face. After a moment, he looked up at her, his expression blank, and brought her footwear to her as well.
“Ready yourself and meet us in the corridor,” he said, handing over her boots, his hazel eyes holding hers as he also passed along her stockings. “Bring your weapons and your packs. We ride, and will break our fast as we go.”
He strode to the door and exited, sweeping back into the hall. The embarrassment never left her cheeks as she pulled on the tattered stockings that Robert had now seen. Dragging them up to her waist, she pulled her night shift over her head and draped it across the foot of the bed. She found her infernal corset given to her by Huntington’s maids still resting upon her chair. Robert had to have seen it and elected not to pick it up. Heat flushed her face again as she wrapped it around herself and cinched the lacing up the front, hugging her breasts together. She donned the rest of her clothing quickly, slipping her feet into her boots and propping each foot on the bed to pull the laces tight. She moved to the chair, her weapons lying beside it, and belted her quiver around her hip, slung her bow over her shoulder, and snagged up her saddle packs.
John was waiting for her in the dark corridor. Only one torch for the wee hours of night was lit at the end, making shadows consume much of the passageway. He didn’t say a word, only tipped his head to nod that they should walk. He led her down the corridor, down the stairs, into the darkened great hall. A dog, curled by the hearth still glowing with cinders from the night before, lifted its head to gaze at them, then yawned and went back to sleep.
They exited into the bailey, the heavens still black and littered with millions of stars. The eastern sky was barely dimming with dark blue. Everything rested silent. Mariel looked around. The offices of the castle were still shuttered, and no fire had been lit in the smithies’ yard yet. No clinks or carts creaking or servants bustling intruded on the quietude. It was indeed so early it was still nighttime.
Robert was coming back through the stable door, leading Goliath and Mariel’s horse, both saddled for an outing.
“Where are we going?” Mariel questioned.
“Hunting.” Robert smiled. “Wild boars like to root about by one of my forest streams, and I thought ’twill be a great day for a hunt. The weather should be fair, crisp, and the sky, as you can see, is clear.”
“Boar hunting?” she asked, lifting an eyebrow. Robert’s mouth lifted up as he glanced at her. He was speaking in code, Mariel deduced. “Such creatures are rare in England. You can’t simply go hunt one. Don’t you have a better excuse?” A glimmer lit his eyes and a smirk teased the corner of his mouth, but he didn’t answer as he ensured his stirrups were adjusted. Not to mention that he had done the work of the stable groom, who by the look of it through the partially opened stable door, was lying abed on his stack of straw, sleeping.
“Surely your lad would have done this task, no?”
Robert shrugged. “He offered, yes, but he’s a lad still. He’ll be busy all the day. No sense making him rise earlier than expected just on my account. It’s not as if my hands are broken, now, are they?”
In spite of the confusing morning and Mariel’s bleary eyes, she smiled. Most lords cared not if their servants were children or adults. If they required service, their staff was expected to hop to attention.
“So you wish me to hunt wild boar with you?” She folded her arms.
John and Robert shared a knowing chuckle.
“Indeed,” John remarked as Will now exited the stable, leading two more saddled horses, one of which was John’s. He took the reins. “The kind with nice pouches of fat at their flanks. They’re ugly to look at, but they’re the tastiest kind with the most abundance to share.”
Will joined in the chuckling as Alan and David emerged from the stable, too. Robert sent a glance around the group. Mariel watched him survey their persons. All were armed, though curiously, John wasn’t carrying his quarterstaff. Tethered to their saddles were several coiled ropes for lashing a boar’s feet, and hunting daggers sheathed at their hips.
The men hoisted themselves into their saddles, though Robert lingered on the ground and eyed Mariel. He hesitated, then he reached to help her mount, but she looked away and checked the girth strap, ensuring her saddle was appropriately fastened. She put a boot in the stirrup and pulled herself up. So far she hadn’t required he coddle her like a lady, and if he thought her good enough to join his men, she certainly shouldn’t expect him to coddle her now.
They trotted the horses to the inner gate, waited for a guardsman to open them, then trotted into the outer yards and continued on toward the main portcullis.
“Good luck on your hunt, my lord,” called down a guardsman manning the barbican, and the cranking of chains ground as the heavy grate was winched up.
“We’ll bring back a fattened beast for all to share at board,” Robert replied.
“We’re looking forward to the treat,” the man replied, to affirmative utterances from the others inside the barbican.
Mariel pondered the exchange. The guard seemed none the wiser to the purpose of their outing, as if they really ventured out to hunt, and yet, mayhap he, too, was speaking in code and his entire estate knew the sort of activity their lord engaged in. Confusion furrowed her brow.
They rode through the massive curtain wall into the rolling fields surrounding the castle walls. The village in the distance was dotted with faint activity as peasants and crofters began to rouse. Robert nodded at everyone he passed, bidding them good morn, as if he had nothing to hide.
“Good day, my lord!” called the woman crofter who had taken Mariel in two nights before.
“Good day!” Robert called back, raising his hand in greeting. “And a better day still when we return with a fresh boar for the table! All will be welcome to eat heartily!”
The woman grinned. “Indeed, best of luck!”
Once beyond the village as they neared the trees, Mariel loped up beside Robert.
“I assume this is William de Wendenal we pursue? How do you know where to find him? I thought at our meeting yesterday, you said he wasn’t planning his next move for a couple of days.”
Robert nodded. “Indeed. Sometimes, when hunting, an opportunity arises unexpectedly, and only a successful hunter will take advantage of it.”
“I know you didn’t really plan a boar hunt.”
“How do you know?” he countered.
“Why wake me for a hunting excursion?”
Robert shrugged. “The guardsman who arrested you said he saw you arrow-shoot a running hare in the dark before going to alert the others on patrol. ’Tis admirable marksmanship that I am going to need today. As you know, hunting requires precision.”
He glanced sidelong at her, his ever-present smile curling his lips up.
“Do your guardsmen also know you do not really hunt? Are they in on your secret scheme?”
“But I do plan a hunt,” Robert replied, flashing a grin.
“Will you stop jesting? Aren’t you worried that your people will figure it out?”
“Figure what out?” Robert shrugged. “When they’re eating greasy, plump smoked pork at board tonight, I assume they’ll figure we had a successful hunt.”
“Do you know how to say anything without your nauseating witticisms?” She huffed.
“What? No roll of the eyes with your complaint?” Robert goaded her.
“Apparently you do not,” she said, ignoring him.
“When he’s angered, he’s a right cruel bastard,” Will said. “Otherwise, no. The obnoxious jesting comes part and parcel with his annoyingly affable personality.”
Mariel sighed, resigning herself to travel along and watch what unfolded. It was clear he had a plot up his sleeve and was determined to keep her guessing. They veered northward on the main trail, heading toward Nottingham Castle in Lincolnshire. Robert passed around cheese and dried meat, and they ate in silence, listening to forest critters and birds begin to fill the air with scuttling and song. Hours passed, until the sky was bright with morning sun blinking through the tree canopy, low on the horizon.
Robert finally eased his horse off the path, into a thick patch of brambles. The horses negotiated the way slowly, carefully. The tree trunks were dense, and more than once Mariel felt her knees scrape against bark. At long last, they arrived at a natural clearing. The ground was covered in thick underbrush. Fallen trees were soft and decayed with moss and fungi consuming them. Robert dismounted, as did the others. Mariel took their lead and followed suit, landing upon the spongey ground.
“We’ll leave the horses here,” Robert said.
“You would boar hunt without your mount?” Mariel smirked, crossing her arms with satisfaction. “And don’t talk in circles around me. I know we search for William de Wendenal.”
Robert cracked another smile. “Am I to suspect that you actually believed we came hunting?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she said, giving him the eye roll he seemed to want.
The men chuckled.
“Elmer,” Robert said, the mood sobering. “You’re inexperienced at what we plan to do. And so, I want you to stand aside from the main action. I want to see how you react and instead, be a marksman for me.”
“I don’t wish to shoot anyone,” she said.
“And you won’t. We don’t aim to injure anything but William de Wendenal’s pride. I know he is en route to Nottingham, and when a complaint arrived at my gates last night, it was a prime opportunity to ambush him, one I couldn’t pass up.”
“How would you know?”
Robert looked at the others, a knowing look that indicated they had already been briefed. “Last night, as I readied for bed, Jonathan alerted me to a couple of beggars at the main gates. ’Twas a man seeking refuge for his wife who’s with child. He stated that Nottingham had happened upon his cottage yesterday evening and demanded quartering. He and his wife were relegated out of doors to their cowshed so that Nottingham and his party could sleep within. They were on a return journey to Nottingham Castle to meet with an important lord, I assume, the Sheriff of Ayr, who just departed northward yesterday morn. But when he went back to his cottage to beg some food for his wife, Nottingham’s men had already depleted a sennight’s worth of meat and watered ale, and demanded that he bring his woman to them for entertainment instead.”
Mariel inhaled as Robert’s face turned to chiseled stone. “A woman with child? A married woman?” Her eyes widened. What a horror.
Robert nodded once. “They fled instead, and the man feels certain they weren’t followed, for they said Nottingham was already in his cups, thanks to the flask at his hip. They’ll be rousing now and readying to depart, if they haven’t done so already.”
“Why did the peasants think to come to you for aid?”
Robert’s jaw was pumping just speaking of them. “These are my forests, not Nottingham’s, and those who live here swear fealty to me as their lord. They know my benevolence and know I would never turn them out to fend off the wild animals roaming the trees, if they come to me for help. Unfortunately, I have no authority to tell King Richard’s sheriff to vacate my land. But these are my people he has wronged. And if they can no longer feel safe in their home because of our good sheriff, William de Wendenal will answer for it.”
“To think, she walked all the way to your castle yestereve carrying a bairn, no less,” Mariel said, looking down. “What sort of man does that to a woman, no matter her station?” My faither would.
Robert lifted her chin with his fingertip and looked into her eyes. The humor ever-present on his face was replaced with steel. “It pleases me to see you so impassioned, Elmer. Come. I’ll show you where to stand and what to do.”
…
The men bundled their cloaks to their saddle packs and left their horses in the clearing. Robert led the way onto an overgrown deer path, back into the inky thickness of the towering trees. He continued to glance back. His men were light of foot on the twigs and underbrush, and more than once he couldn’t sense Mariel’s added presence. She was always there.
He shook his head. Like a phantom indeed. When he had met with the peasant and his wife the night before, his blood had boiled. He should be used to the desperate folk and their desperate stories by now. They shouldn’t affect him as deeply anymore. But they always caught him off guard. As if it wasn’t already selfish enough for the sheriff to evict them from their home for the night and consume all their food, even if it was his right to expect quartering when he needed it, it was another level of depravity entirely for the sheriff to demand a husband hand over his pregnant wife for his and his men’s pleasure.
He had noticed the shock on Mariel’s face when he’d told her. Good. So often, men and women were numb to the ways of the world. But Mariel was visibly distressed by it.
At long last, he held up a hand to halt.
“The cottage is just over yonder, over this incline,” he whispered.
“They’re still here,” Will said. “I can smell the fire smoke.”
John was already creeping to a tree growing out of an outcropping of rock covered in soft green lichen. He pulled up a mesh woven from twigs and leaves. Mariel’s eyes widened just as they had when Robert had motioned her to hide beneath a similar one. John pulled out hoods of dark green and tossed them to each man, then looked to Mariel and tossed her one as well. She snagged it out of the air.
“Your hair will show,” Robert said, lifting Mariel’s messy braid from being roused awake. “Can you fix it?”
“I should simply cut it,” Mariel said.
“No,” Robert said, toying with the end of it. “Never cut such a glorious gift.”
She blushed and looked away. He watched as she untied the golden tresses and expertly pulled loose the braid. She folded her hair into a thick nub, the way she had worn it at the archery tourney. Their eyes met again and he felt the urge to ease her mind as he had done all morning with his teasing about a boar hunt. Trepidation pooled in her eyes. She didn’t know what to expect, and he had intentionally kept his plan vague. If she knew that as always, there was a realistic possibility that any number of them could be injured, including Wendenal himself, or that they could be captured and discovered, he didn’t yet know how she might react. Sure, she often spoke with bluster, but the last thing he needed was for her to capitulate to her fear and flee.
“Now put your hood over your head, like so,” Robert said, unfolding his and draping it over his head so that it obstructed his face and yoked around his shoulders.
His eyes dropped to her chest. She might be wearing a tunic and coat, but he had cut her stomach bindings, leaving her with nothing to flatten her obvious attributes. It was clear that she wore undergarments that enhanced her shape. No matter. He reached out to adjust her hood for her. She’ll remain in the trees where no one can see her, for Wendenal might consider it a boon to catch a forest thief and discover her to be a beautiful female.
“The men know the routine,” Robert said. “But you do not, Elmer. Can you remember the way we came from the horses?”
She glanced back along the deer path on which they had just arrived. “I’m fairly certain.”
Robert nodded. “Up there, you see that tree beside the hidden supplies?” She glanced to it. “Look up. To the first branch.”
She obeyed and furrowed her brow. Then she looked at him. “I don’t understand.”
He pointed to give her a hint. “Those vines?”
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.