Chapter Four
When Mariel woke to the taste of salty broth on her lips, she almost bolted upright to devour the goodness. Except she couldn’t. Weak and aching, she allowed the spoon to be placed in her mouth and sucked upon it until every drop was gone. The ritual was repeated until the bowl was empty, and then a slice of warm, heavenly bread was placed in her fingers.
Gingerly, she held it to her lips and nibbled until all was eaten. Her eyes finally opened and revealed before her an ornately carved mantle over a roaring fire, finely woven tapestries covering the plastered stone, and a canopy of soft blue draped above her. Her bed was also carved with intricate details, thick and sturdy, and polished to a shine. How she had gotten from the prison tower to this, she couldn’t remember, but she seemed to recall being dragged into the great hall and seeing the look of disbelief on the earl’s face as he had spewed anger at his guardsman. Had he not known they had captured her?
And though she had probably dreamed it, she recalled the taste of wine and water and the warm feeling of his arms, his strong muscles lifting her and tucking her protectively against his chest as he had carried her upstairs. A lingering smell of leather, soap, and wine followed, and though the soap was a new scent, she had known it was still the same bewitchment she had smelled at the fair when he had leaned close to her.
There was nothing after that. No memories whatsoever, only the comfortable feeling of this soft mattress and the extreme hunger which had made her slurp desperately on the spoon moments ago. Ah, the bed. It had been months since she had lain in such luxury. Since the last night she’d spent at Castle Ayr. But there, she’d always slept with one eye at her back.
“How do you feel, miss?” asked a woman beside her, a beautiful woman, older but with thick red hair and creamy skin.
Judging from her attire, she was a servant, though the clean state of the garments she wore showed she ranked high.
“Starving,” Mariel whispered.
“Take the food slowly,” the woman advised. “Too much too fast will only cause you to retch it back up. Here. Sip this. ’Tis the earl’s finest sweet wine. ’Twill make you feel better.”
Mariel took the goblet and sipped. It was crisp. Light. Robert not only made wine for alcohol, but also wine for a refined palate.
The woman stood and walked to the door, opening it. A guard outside peeked in to catch a glimpse of her then left his post at the woman’s bidding.
“Lord Huntington saw to it you were given a decent abode here and removed you from that horrible tower. He wanted to be informed the moment you were awake. He’ll be here momentarily.”
Lovely. Mariel rolled her eyes. He might have been kindly to place her in a bed with a servant to help her eat, but she had still stolen his game, and she would still have to face the consequences. And if the guard outside her door was any indication, she was still a prisoner.
“Can we just skip this part?” Mariel grumbled.
“Pardon?” said the woman, confused by her accent.
“Nothing,” she muttered.
She attempted to prop herself up, looking down and seeing herself dressed in a lady’s chemise and her hair unbound, combed, though in sore need of a good washing. Her hands were clean, and her wrists…Lord, when had she become so skinny? She’d known she was thin, but seeing herself when she was unawares caught her off guard. She was as thin as a twig.
“Let me help you.” The servant fretted, hastening to her side. “You should try not to move overmuch.”
“My thanks,” said Mariel.
She sank back into the pillows the woman placed at her back, when a knock sounded upon the door. The maidservant hurried to it and cracked it open.
“Is she decent?” she heard the earl ask.
His voice rolled over her ears and almost made her forget that she hated him. It was a deep, clear, youthful voice.
“She is, my lord,” said the servant, who pulled back the door.
“My thanks, Alice.”
And in strode Robert Huntington, just as perfectly disheveled as the first time she had seen him. His hair was just as loose and wavy, skimming his shoulders. His tunic and trousers were just as mussed. His leather boots were stately and his vest was hanging open lazily upon his shoulders, as it had that day of the tournament. His sword belt slouched upon his waist, and his eyes were an even warmer hazel in the soft glow of firelight that caused shadows to dance on the tapestries. And of course his codpiece… Her vulgar eyes couldn’t help glancing there as well. She reddened just thinking about it.
“So, Elmer,” he said, and she could see the teasing in his eyes. “We meet again. If you had needed food, you had only to come to my gates to ask.”
She rolled her eyes. “I told your guards I did nay know whose land I traversed. And I went without until I could stand it nay any longer—”
“You’re Scottish?” he interrupted.
She rolled her eyes again. It would seem she had let her guard down. Her Scottish brogue had been unmistakable. “Aye, a barbarian, as you Englishmen consider us.”
He stared at her for a moment then decided to ignore her barb. “Why didn’t you use the shilling I gave you?” he asked.
“I had hoped to save it for when I found a market.”
“My village has a thriving one, and the villagers would have traded you fairly for food.”
She could have simply told him she had not known his village was nearby, but anger lit her temperament and there was little she could do about her tongue in such a state.
“Oh aye, so I could spend it at your markets and you could recoup that shilling, too? You’re just like every other powerful man. Selfish and obsessed with amassing wealth. And now I’m your prisoner to be hit and punished and dragged about like a big spectacle for your entire hall to laugh at. Aye, like all other men. Most assuredly like my faither!”
His servant Alice gasped. “Lord, she’s vulgar!”
Mariel could see a tick in Robert’s jaw pop, sensing she had angered him but caring little.
“Alice, please wait in the corridor,” he ordered, and the maid hastened out, closing the door.
Huntington turned to Mariel, striding forth and cupping her chin in his hand. “Let me tell you something. My father was the arse you speak of. Not I. And praise the Lord he is just now dead. I have never turned away a man, woman, or child who shows up in need. No person who comes to me starves, and no man who cheats goes unpunished. I’ve no idea what your story is, but not all men are vile monsters who laugh at another’s downfall. Had I known my men had stumbled upon you, I would have remedied the mistake immediately. And had I known my man hit you…” His hand on her chin gentled to a tender hold. “The consequences for his actions would have been much swifter.
“Do you know that I searched for you? Wondering what had become of you, so I could give you this?” He withdrew his hand and tossed a coin purse into her lap. Speechless, she gaped at the purse and then back at him. “And then you liken me to other beasts of men, like that beast Crawford of Ayrshire making a name for himself in England as William de Wendenal’s best mate for certain—”
She nearly gasped at how on target his arrow was aimed.
“When all I have been able to think about was how you were wronged.”
“Me? Wronged?” she asked, her voice meek.
“Yes, you. I found out later that my officials threw the contest in my favor. Our arrows were a match. We should have tied.”
Despite the shock of learning that they had truly tied, she couldn’t help but notice his jaw had relaxed, too, as he sat beside her on the edge of the bed.
“But in sooth, I was going to give you the prize money, anyway, and beg you to consider my offer of employment. I need one more archer such as myself for a certain, shall we say, purpose, and I need not another purse of coins.” He gazed away at the fire. “I’m sorry for my men’s actions. Trust that it won’t happen again.”
She took a deep breath, still not having touched the coin purse. “I’m sorry, too, for I formed my opinion of you based on them. You seemed like the other men I know. Stealing from the poor to line your coffers, sleeping with any willing lass, whore or lady, loving the attention of any maid willing to stroke your ego in hopes of an offer, beating those less fortunate…”
Robert’s face creased with a smile as if something she said humored him.
“What?” she questioned.
He gave her a taste of her own medicine and shrugged, rolling his eyes.
“Tell me what you find so amusing,” she demanded.
“So you didn’t like me being serviced by a couple of whores,” he stated, the teasing in his eyes almost triumphant.
She shrugged and rolled her eyes just like he had, folding her arms on an exhale. “It doesn’t matter to me with whom you trifle. And that is one regard in which most men are similar, regardless of their philosophy respecting the less fortunate.”
He laughed now, then looked down his perfect nose at her, kicking out his boots to cross his ankles and folding his arms. “Admit it. You like me.”
“Do not.” She defended herself. “I like men, mind you, so mistake me nay for the female version of your bookkeeper. But I’ll nay squabble over a fine face like all the other women falling at your feet.”
“Do too. You like me. And you want to know how I can prove it?”
She shook her head on a haughty sigh. “Nay, actually―”
“Because I bet if any man tried to do something untoward that you didn’t like, you would have no qualms pushing him away and giving him a piece of your mind,” he said as if she had not said anything.
“I always have,” she replied.
“And if I did this?” His voice softened and he leaned down, his lips coming to rest upon hers in another oh-so-sweet kiss.
She sat still, did nothing but breathe in the smell that was uniquely his.
“That’s what I thought,” he whispered as he pulled back from her, caressing her chin with his thumb. “You didn’t push me away.” He sat up, leaving her speechless. “Any chance you’ll tell me your name?”
“Mariel…Mariel Crawford,” she said, so entranced by his kiss she had let her guard down.
“Crawford…” he replied, concern furrowing his brow. “As in, the Beast, Harold Crawford? The Sheriff of Ayrshire?”
She studied him, deciding whether or not she should tell him, though her hesitation answered his question.
“But weren’t you betrothed—” He seemed to catch himself. “Do you have any idea who I am?”
She furrowed her brow as if he were daft. “Theee…Earl of Huntington?”
“Yes but, did you know my father?”
Her eyebrows still scrunched, she shook her head.
“And you’re not married to the Sheriff of Ayr?” he clarified.
She shook her head, noting the disgust in his voice. “I’m nay married. He’s my faither. I can’t go back to him.”
“And your father never told you?”
“Never told me what? Robert, you make no sense.”
He asked no more questions, but it seemed his curiosity about her was placated as he nodded to himself.
“And you’d rather starve to death than ever submit yourself to him again, wouldn’t you?” He caressed her face, running a finger over the bruise his man had left. “You have a safe haven here, my Lady Crawford, for as long as you need.” He stood and walked to the door. “You could use more rest, but when you feel able, I should like to have you join me as my guest for the meals. Being of such nobility, anything less would be intolerable. Please consider staying and not fleeing again.”
“How can I flee when you have a guard standing watch?”
“My man is here for your protection, not as your prison warden,” he replied. “He’s named Jonathan Naylor. He’s my good friend and formerly the Earl of Lincoln, until Nottingham saw fit to strip his title and land after he argued the sheriff’s increase in taxes and refused to pay them. I believe you agreed to liaise with him at the tournament. He was quite disappointed.”
There was unmistakable distaste in his words as he pulled back the door. Jealousy? What right did he have to be jealous, with so many women ready to part their knees at his command?
“Alice, please see to it the lady has everything she requires whilst remaining as our guest.”
“The lady, sire?” the woman asked, her words laced with aversion as she eyed the young woman who had moments ago insulted her lord.
“Yes, she comes with quite a pedigree,” he replied. “And Elmer?” Mariel glanced up at him and noted the roguish twinkle back in his eyes. “The whores…” He grinned a cheeky grin, his cheeks dimpling in the most adorable way. “None of them were there on my account.”
She rolled her eyes heavenward and he laughed merrily as he walked away.