Chapter Six
Jonathan’s kiss was sweet. Mariel had known he intended to kiss her the moment she’d felt his fingers mingle with hers under the table. And up here, in the nighttime air, overlooking the inner workings of the castle, the bright torchlights and the burning lights of the village beyond, she waited patiently for him to make his next move.
But as his kiss grew, she felt no exhilaration humming through her blood like she had when Robert kissed her. She gave herself a mental shake. Robert meant nothing to her. Why think of him when an attractive man was dallying with her right now? Robert was a philanderer, intent on amassing broken hearts. She kissed Jonathan back with further resolve, feeling his tongue touch her lips to request entry. She opened for him, holding him more tightly around his neck. He groaned his approval and pulled her flush against him so that she could make no mistake about his desire for her. And that desire was most certainly massive and straining for breathing room.
I won’t be one of Robert’s broken hearts. She felt one of Jonathan’s hands slide down to hold her rear while the other migrated toward her breasts. Which was why she would never throw herself at his feet like the others. If he wanted to trifle with an endless supply of the fairer sex, then she wanted nothing to do with it. Partaking of Jonathan’s eagerness would be her first defense against the earl, for Robert wouldn’t want the same woman his good friend had just had. And Robert’s revulsion, she thought, would give her the opportunity she needed to leave unimpeded.
Jonathan slid his hands around her waist, settling on each hip. Gripping her, he walked her backward to stand against a merlon. She felt his pelvis nudge her suggestively, no doubt creating friction that both sated and further excited his smaller man.
“Smaller man” really was a relative matter. His endowment boasted a thickness of girth and a healthy height, if she were to judge through their clothing. He was likely an exceptional lover.
“Woman,” Jonathan groaned, thrusting his tongue in for a second helping. “I’ve wanted you since that day at the tourney, and you don’t disappoint.”
Though willing enough, Mariel felt awkward. She didn’t feel much of a spark, even though Jonathan was doing nothing wrong. His seduction was well-developed with nary a complaint to be made. Except, said that foolish voice in her mind, he’s not Robert, and Robert is the one you really want. It was silly. She was with a willing man now, and it had been a few months since last she had succumbed to the desire. Except, that blasted voice said again, you do this to get back at Robert, not because you desire Jonathan. It was unfair to Jonathan, using him in such a way.
“Neither do you,” she replied, trying harder to make herself like it.
He growled his appreciation for her compliment and continued his efforts.
“Sir Naylor,” came a steely voice.
…
Jonathan pulled apart from Mariel, but the image of him enveloping her in his arms with his tongue down her throat was forever branded in Robert’s mind, causing a shadow darker than the nighttime sky to fill his eyes.
“Yes, Robert?” John replied as he wiped his lips.
“Your services are needed on the front curtain.”
“Is there something wrong?”
“Yes. The men off duty argue over a chess match,” Robert said, his eyes slicing to Mariel, who regarded him with a scowl on her face.
John furrowed his brow. “What’s the issue? Have they come to blows? Men argue over games all the time—”
“Leave.”
He folded his arms as John glanced back at Mariel, her face brewing with anger as if it were a cauldron about to boil over, her fists balled at her sides. Robert felt a wave of satisfaction. Good. Let her be as frustrated as I am.
“I’m sorry, my lady,” John apologized.
“Don’t be. You have nothing to apologize for,” Mariel replied, haughtily flipping her braid over her shoulder. “I was quite enjoying myself, if truth be told,” she added, and flashed a glare back at Robert as if to challenge him.
Robert bit back the ready retort on his lips. Lord, but he wanted to accept her challenge. Instead, he composed himself, placed his hands behind his back, and turned his gaze to Jonathan. “Don’t make me say it again.”
John backed away, his face stern with irritation, and walked down the roof walk, jogging down the stairs. His head disappeared into the keep. Mariel watched him go, then she rounded on Robert in disbelief.
“What unfortunate wasp climbed up your arse and stung you?” she asked.
If he wasn’t so angry, he would have laughed. This woman held nothing back. She was nothing like the tittering maidens vying for a ticket to marriage.
“Do you always fornicate so willingly with the male folk?” Robert bit out, no longer able to control his irritation.
“Does that bother you?” she snapped back. “That I like men? That I’m not afraid to like men? Oh Laird in heaven m’ reputation!” she dramatized, acting faint. “Because if you consider me some vestal virgin to seduce, you’ve barked up the wrong tree. Mayhap you should just bury your head in your mistress’s bosom and let the one woman who cares not to pursue you, me, enjoy whom she pleases.”
“Are you saying I don’t please you?”
“Must you actually ask that?” She folded her arms and popped a hip.
“You wish to enjoy my hospitality and still treat me thus?”
She laughed, though he detected nothing kind in her tone. “Treat you how? Did I capture and imprison you in a tower, starving, and then flaunt my lover in front of you after kissing you and inviting you to supper? Such hospitality! Jonathan, little as he is,” she jested in her finest English accent, “was the only one to welcome me, whilst everyone else gossiped and stared. He was kind, and I like him. I’m sorry I did not interrupt your meal with your mistress to ask your permission to consort with him, but last I checked you have no claim on me.”
Oh the sarcasm, he noted. Mariel could dish it out in spades.
“Did you know that my faither used to lock me in his tower?” she seethed, barely stopping for breath. Robert noticed her voice shaking. “Once, he locked me in for days because I was young and had cried when my mither left me alone during a thunderstorm. He thought by forcing me to be alone, it would cure my fear. ’Twas of humor, too, because fear was the only thing that intensified as I sat in the dark, screaming at the rats that bit my toes and legs! So, I thank you for the hospitality, for reminding me of such a cherished moment betwixt faither and daughter!”
He smarted.
“I’m grateful that you brought me back from the brink of starvation, but clearly your ‘hospitality’ is one kindness in which I can’t partake.”
…
She shoved past him, following the path Jonathan had taken moments before, and ran down the stairs, uncaring of whether or not he followed. She wound around the gallery overlooking the great hall, arriving at her chamber, and threw on her cloak. Sweeping up her saddle packs, she pulled free the coin purse from her pocket and gave it a disgusted toss upon the bed, snatched up her bow and quiver, and burst out of the room again, colliding with Charlotte.
“Goodness!” the lady exclaimed.
“Bloody—” Mariel bit back a curse. This woman had some nerve coming to her.
“I’m sorry, I had not a chance to announce myself,” Charlotte confessed, swallowing at the anger bubbling in Mariel’s eyes. “Are you leaving?”
“Yes,” Mariel snapped. “I should have done so already. That arrogant…pompous…shite of a scoundrel,” she said, pushing by the other woman.
Charlotte gasped amidst her flurry of curse words. “He said you were unconventional, but…”
“But what?”
“Why, you’re just as ill-mannered as a foot soldier.”
“I’ve spent much time living like a foot soldier.”
“It shows,” said Charlotte.
For some reason Mariel was rendered wordless and worried her hurt showed on her face. She liked being a woman. She had once loved pretty gowns and makeup and wildflowers. But her father had cared little for that sort of thing. Aside from giving her a few fine gowns and possessions befitting her high-born status, he had taken his sword to any desire she had for appreciating her femininity. She’d had to be tough to survive his wrath, and flowers hadn’t helped her.
Her father had once given her a ribbon. When she’d fled Scotland, she had taken it with her, though only heaven knew why. She had lost it at Robert’s tourney. It was the only gift her sire had ever given her. Once a powdery pink, over the years, she had kept it close as it grew dingy. And when he had punished her, she’d clung to the ribbon as she’d cried alone. Surely her father loved her beneath his thorns and anger. Fathers who loved their daughters gave them gifts. She had relied on the thought to see her through the worst of his treatment and had devoured a book given to her by her tutor, the writing of Evagrius and Gregory of Tours, particularly the story of the boy who had been thrown into a fire by his father, to be saved by the Virgin Mary. She coveted that book, just like the ribbon, to keep hope alive that someday things would get better and mayhap, just mayhap, a miracle would happen to her.
Until the day she had accepted it for the fantasy it had been.
Harold loved power, control, secrets, politics, and rutting. But he would never love a woman, least of all his own daughters, especially his “uppity” older daughter who never knew when to keep her mouth shut or her eyes downcast. So she had hardened her edges as sharply as his and threw her all into the priest’s lessons. By doing so, she could protect her pride and intellect from the Beast of Ayrshire’s dictates and disciplines. She could remain defiant, even if she did so in secrecy.
She cleared her throat, hoping that the burning sensation in her eyes didn’t show, and turned to leave once again. “Life has afforded me little other choice.”
Charlotte gentled. “Robert wouldn’t want to see you go.”
Mariel whirled around. “Pardon?”
The other woman shrank back. “He meant to seat you beside himself tonight. I…I didn’t know.”
“That changes nothing.”
Charlotte shrugged. “Don’t avoid him on my account. He couldn’t take his eyes off you all evening. He would want you to stay.”
“See here. I know the two of you are involved, and that’s fine by me. I met him amidst a gaggle of whores and therefore his promiscuous ways are no surprise to me. ’Tis clear it’s your seat next to his on the dais. Not mine. He’s not the sort of man in which I hold any interest. Enjoy him.”
She turned to leave again, when Charlotte’s next words stopped her. “You know nothing about Robert or his kindness.” She shook her head with dismay. “He isn’t how you describe.”
“My eyes do not lie,” Mariel said. “Truly. I’m not angered at you, or even him. I’m angered at his presumptions and attempts to control me. I bid you a good night, Lady.”
“And I you, Lady,” Charlotte replied. “Please reconsider. He’s a good man…”
Mariel was already going down the stairs into the great hall as Charlotte’s words became inaudible behind her. Ignoring the stares and gossip, she strode through the doors opened by the guards and descended into the bailey. Stopping, she looked around. Where was the stable? She had not been outside of the keep since her arrest and knew not the layout. Looking past the shops and stone houses built against the inner wall, she spotted the obvious stable and strode across the dirt, shoving through the door.
The groom, a lad, sprang to attention. “Can I help?”
“Aye. My horse was seized, and I wish to leave. In which row of stalls might I find him?”
The lad pointed, and she said nothing more as she marched in the direction he indicated until she found her horse not only stabled properly, but also in good health.
“Thank goodness the arse has an appreciation for fine horseflesh,” she said, though it would be just like a man to care about a horse above all else.
She saddled her mount efficiently, finding the horse’s tack nearby, and after mounting up, rode out into the night. Coming upon the inner portcullis, Robert was jogging toward her.
“Lady!” he called.
She ignored him.
“Lady! Wait!”
“Should we detain her, my lord?” called the guards now blocking her path.
Robert slowed to a walk and approached her, taking her horse by the bridle.
“Please, Lady. Come inside to talk.”
“There’s nothing to say,” she snapped.
“There’s much to say,” he said. “I apologize for my rude interruption on your privacy. I bid you come inside and give me another chance to offer hospitality.”
“I would prefer to leave,” she said, turning the horse’s bridle, though he didn’t let go and his guards moved into position to defend the open portcullis.
She gave them a slow perusal and then looked back down at Robert with a knowing expression that spoke of anger directed entirely at him.
“So I truly am your prisoner. Not your guest.”
“You’re free to leave at your leisure,” he replied, tossing her something.
Not expecting it, she barely caught it. It jingled. The bloody coin purse.
“However, I won’t have it on my conscience that you’re riding unsafely through the forest. Therefore, I’ll accompany you to my borders, at which point you may be rid of me.”
He summoned another guard. “Tell the groom to saddle Goliath in full tack, and see to it a page fetches my jerkin, my full quiver, bow, sword, and two extra daggers from my solar. I’ll also need a pack well-stocked with food. I’ll be escorting ‘Elmer’ to the edge of Huntington lands.”
“This is absurd.” Mariel huffed, rolling her eyes as Robert’s soldier dashed away to relay the messages, and tossed the coin purse back. “And I’ll not take your charity.”
He tossed it back. “You’ll need someone’s charity, woman, for believe me, with your forked tongue, no one else will be offering.”
She scowled at him, irritated even more when he laughed his pleasant laugh. She sat restlessly in the saddle, her horse stomping and shifting, until his mount was finally brought forth. If she hadn’t been so anxious to leave, she would have admired his beast more. The horse, a rich chestnut-brown with a feathery mane and tail, stood to regal height, at least seventeen hands, shining in the nighttime torchlight. The stallion was perfectly sculpted for both speed and brawn.
His other effects arrived, and Robert allowed a page to help him don his jerkin, buttoning closed his vest and sliding the leather over his head. He held his arms out, and the boy worked the lacing closed down each side until it hugged Robert’s frame. Mariel realized, moments later, that she was staring. Watching him dress was intimate, not to mention the jerkin now accentuated his broadness of shoulder and narrowness of waist. His eyes glanced to hers, noticing her staring, and the corner of his mouth twitched upward. She looked away.
With his arrow, quiver, and pack of food secured to his mount and his cloak of dark green donned, he hoisted himself aloft. Magically, Mariel noted, the guards blocking her path stepped wide to allow them passage, as if Robert was Moses parting the sea. With Robert leading the way, Mariel rolled her eyes again and turned her horse to follow, trotting to catch up.
They rode in relative silence for close to an hour before entering a clearing. Moonlight bathed them both, making their expressions visible. Mariel noticed Robert’s lips quirking into a smile, then a grin. Then he shook his head, trying to suppress a laugh.
“What is of such humor?” Mariel demanded.
“Nothing,” he replied, then could not contain the laugh any longer.
“Oh, nothing, to be certain,” she remarked.
…
Her sarcasm only made him laugh again. “It’s just, you called John ‘little.’”
She cracked a smile. “I did what?”
“On the roof. Back there. You said, ‘John, little as he is.’ ’Tis humorous, for the man is at least as big as my northern bastion.” He grunted, chuckling. “‘Little John.’ Wait until he hears such a nickname.”
Her smile broadened, and then she laughed, too. Robert glanced at her, the moon illuminating her skin, her lips full, her eyes shining like silver in the darkness, and soaked it in. She was directing her smile at him. Finally. It was a superb reward.
It didn’t last, however. As silence fell between them, her brooding mood persisted. So he steered his horse up a steep incline, climbing a deer path until they reached an overlook camouflaged by trees. Robert stopped his horse and dismounted, stretched, and began to unstrap his packs from Goliath, who grunted his approval.
“What are we doing?” she demanded.
“Stopping,” he said, stating the obvious, his torso jerking with each tug on the straps. “I’ll build us a fire for the night.”
“For the night?”
Yes, she is irritated. It only made him smile. He would break the woman to his good nature if it was the last thing he did.
“How long is your personal escort going to last?”
“A full day, at least, in every direction,” Robert replied, ignoring her incredulous stare. “I would prefer to feed my stomach and rest my head, then start anew with daylight. I’ve eaten little and am tired.”
Mariel uttered a curse beneath her breath, and he did his best not to laugh at the yawn in her throat threatening to spread her mouth wide. “Just remember that I never asked you to accompany me. I’ll keep pushing onward.”
She began to turn her reins, when Robert leaped forth and grabbed the bridle. “Lady Mariel.”
Now she laughed, but it was not a merry sound. “Admit that I’m your prisoner. The farce is easily seen, for every attempt I make to leave, you hold me back.”
Robert sighed and shook his head. “You’re not my prisoner.” He threw his hands up and stepped back. “Fine. You wish to leave, so go. I’m making camp here. The forest only gets thicker, and you know not the direction we travel, but by all means, go. One of my men out patrolling will certainly find you at some point, and whilst I have made it clear my rules on molesting women, they are still more my father’s men than mine in that regard, so tread carefully. And be mindful of the descent from this camp. ’Tis rocky, and in the dark ’tis impossible to see the horse’s footing. I’ve attempted to demonstrate that I’m a gentle man.” He kicked out a heel and swung his arm across his middle in a practiced bow. “But clearly you wear too many thorns to notice any kindness. So please. Go.”
He began collecting kindling, preparing a pile in the fire ring barely visible beneath the trees’ canopy. Then he walked to a secret stash of firewood that was shielded from view beneath a camouflage of leaves and twigs. She was watching him, he noted, trying to make sense of what he was doing in the murky darkness, and he returned to the fire ring with an armload of split logs.
She shifted in the saddle. He glanced sidelong at her, her indecision evident on her face. That he had used her unfamiliarity with the forest paths against her, he knew was probably wrong, and she was clearly weighing the possibility of risking injury to her horse descending from the campsite, which was indeed on high ground.
“Fine.” She sighed, casting him a frown. “We’ll play it your way. So it will take a full day to reach the edge of your property?”
Robert smiled but didn’t show his face. “Usually. In which direction do you travel?”
A brook bubbled by, trickling down the hill and pooling beneath them. She dismounted and brought her beast alongside his.
“South. Toward London town.”
“Southwest then. Better plan on two days of my desirable company instead.” He smirked.
…
Wonderful. She unstrapped her packs and rolled her eyes.
She moved opposite the fire ring from him, plopping down against a log in the secluded campsite. Where had he gotten the logs from? It seemed as if he withdrew them from under a tarp, though it was too difficult to determine in the sheltered darkness of the trees. Robert squatted and struck his flints until the sparks ignited a piece of kindling, the ensuing fire making light and shadows lap at the surrounding tree trunks. She examined him in the dimness of the light, noticing how the earl, so pampered in his estates and riches, seemed not only at ease with the mundane activities of a commoner, but actually seemed expert, as if he always camped in the woods with nothing but a bedroll. In fact, he looked rugged on his splayed knees in the dirt, with his jerkin creaking, his hands dirty, and his disheveled hair falling around his face.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, reaching for a pack and dragging it to him. He pulled out a pouch of dried meat and jammed a chunk into his mouth.
She shook her head. She had made a point to eat her fill every day of her recovery and was stuffed. “My thanks, but no.”
“Ah, manners,” he teased, dropping to his rear and extending his legs, crossing them. “You have them.” She scowled at him. “So tell me, since we’re in each other’s company. What prompted the Beast of Ayr’s daughter to flee?”
“Why should I tell you? You’re practically his peer. Since I’m nay your prisoner, you surely have nay considered sending a missive to tell him of my capture. The less information I give anyone, the better. I intend to never let him get his hands on me again.”
The teasing in Robert’s expression vanished, replaced by gentleness. “I haven’t written your father, and I won’t, if that’s your wish. I’m not escorting you to keep my eye on you in some conspiracy to return you to your father, despite what you might think,” he replied. He was looking at her intently, and she shifted under his scrutiny. “I don’t know what life was like for you in your father’s charge, and I believe that property laws pertaining to women are antiquated. But I can imagine that if living with him was anything like living with my father, he ruled with a heavy hand.
“I know your father, though I was the son on the occasion he visited, not the earl. Your father and mine became friends after King Richard left for the Holy Land.” Silence lingered and he averted his eyes from her, toward the inky blackness of Huntington Forest. “The Sheriff of Nottingham introduced them at the request of Ranulf de Blondeville. They seemed very much alike.”
Mariel pondered his words before gentling herself. “Did your father raise you with a heavy hand?”
“Me? No,” Robert replied, still looking away and tearing off another bite before folding his arms. “No, I was the favored son. His heir. Any siblings I had died at childbirth. But my mother, yes. I once begged him to hit me instead, on an occasion when he was particularly angry at her, for as a lad of five and ten I was certain I was tough enough to take it. He just laughed and told me a husband needed to guide his wife with an ‘iron fist’ when necessary.” Mariel shivered at his description, thinking on the words her father had spoken to her about her betrothal. “She died a week later,” Robert added. “Supposedly she hit her head on the bedpost whilst stumbling in the night for the chamber pot, but in sooth, I never saw her after that moment with my father. I know he killed her.”
“I’m sorry,” Mariel whispered, covering her mouth at his bluntness.
He shrugged, looking into the fire, but didn’t look up. She thought on his confession, how freely he had given it with no concern for appearing soft. And yet, oh, to have been a son and not a daughter. She would have been the favored heir, too, instead of loathed for her gender. She cleared her throat. Robert’s confession threatened to soften her anger.
“’Tis clever, this camp, how you have hidden a supply of firewood.” She changed the subject.
He welcomed the diversion. “I keep track of who’s on my land. I started the scheme a few months ago when my father was finally too weak to give orders. It provides ready supplies for when I, or a handful of my men, are in need,” he said cryptically. “There are other necessities here, too, hidden to the naked eye.”
“Why do you tell me secrets such as this? Surely it’s a breach in your security.”
Robert shrugged again, eyeing her with a secret she could tell he wished to share. “I know I can trust you.”
“Why is that? I might be prepared to tell all about your strategy.”
His lips curled up knowingly. “But you won’t. Because I’m not a horrible urchin. You like me, and you have a particular disdain for authority…and it’s not as though you know exactly where my stashes of firewood are hidden, now do you?”
What arrogant assumptions to make, except they were true. All of them. “I suppose I don’t. I, eh, I did not mean any ill by stealing your hare. I’m sorry.”
He waved his hand dismissively and seemed to smile at her Scottish brogue. “I never would have apprehended you. I would have bid you enjoy it, at least, invited you to my hall, at most. My men are adapting to my change of philosophy toward the poor. Wesley, however, is as determined to prove I will drain my father’s coffers as Noah was of building the ark. Yet my wealth only continues to grow. Why is that?”
She shrugged. “Though he is a pompous arse, I would agree that his concern is real.”
“Most would.” Robert nodded. “But you see, my idea is novel and seems to be working. It breaks the normal convention that people are born into an impoverished station to serve as lowly serfs and that they deserve no respect. If I ensure that the poor beggar that ends up on my doorstep knows charity, he is more inclined to stay in my village.”
“Which again might be a drain on resources, food supplies and such, for your lands have not grown, but now your population has,” Mariel replied.
“And that is the typical concern. But you see”—Robert shook his finger at nothing in particular for emphasis—“every person can be industrious. And if that person can cultivate and farm one more field, well, that is several bushels more of corn, barley, and such. And since I have a surplus, once the castle stores are filled, the rest can go to market to bring in more coin. And if it doesn’t sell, it can be given to Barking Abbey in place of my annual tributes made in coin.
“But say that beggar is a skilled weaver, or smith, or woodworker, or perhaps though not skilled, is inclined to learn. For example, I give you a family that came to me as my father lay dying. The husband is a skilled leatherworker, and his craft brought in a fair price at the tourney. He keeps most and pays a contribution to me as fealty. Both of us have benefited. That, and his wife has a particularly green thumb. She is now in charge of the herb garden behind the kitchens.
“People want to be productive, all of us in some way. We wish to know that we matter, and hard work gives us a sense of worth. Some, through tragedy or accident of birth, end up lowly. But I am of the opinion that it’s not what station a man is born into that defines his worth. So far, my ways seem to be working. Their industriousness brings in more coin over the long run, which balances out what is given in charity now, and if they should stay on, the more men, the merrier.”
“And women,” Mariel added.
“Of course,” he conceded. “It takes time to change the allegiances of men, and women, who have only known one path. Sometimes it can take generations. But I do know that if King Richard doesn’t return soon from the Crusade, your father’s corrupt ambitions will be ruinous.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, sitting forward.
“Surely you know he vies to usurp the Scottish crown and will go to great lengths to do so,” Robert said. “Why do you think he tries to strengthen his English familial ties with the Duke of Brittany? De Blondeville took over the Dukedom by marrying Prince Geoffrey’s widow, and your father claims King Richard, Geoffrey, and their two other brothers are his second cousins. If he can make a case for his royal relation and show that he has influence here in England, and that those Englishmen are willing to support him with either men, finances, or both, he hopes it will be enough to force King William to abdicate.”
“’Tis preposterous,” Mariel said, scoffing. ’Twas ridiculous of her father, and yet, such an ignorant, power-hungry ambition didn’t surprise her. “Surely he doesn’t think it will work, does he? King William is unequivocally entitled and already has recognized two bastard sons that we know of. His line is secured and unquestioned.”
“True,” he said, lingering on her response. “Had you any idea your father’s wiles?”
“No.” She shook her head. “But I’ve never been privy to his plans, being the ill-favored heiress. And to be honest, I don’t give credence to his plotting. I imagine many nobles scheme away their lives, hoping to someday wear the jewels. I did know that he wished to marry me off to a powerful English earl. Rumors were that the earl was harsh with his women.”
A knowing expression fluttered across Robert’s face. “Do you know who he was?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No. He told me it did not concern me. It’s the reason I stole one of his horses and fled. I could endure his lashings, knowing I might one day marry and escape him, but I could never submit myself to a lifetime of matrimony to someone just like him.”
“I’m glad you did.” Robert leveled a gaze at her. “I’m aware of your father’s marriage efforts on your behalf.”
“How so?” she demanded, straightening and then crossing her legs.
A mistake, she realized. His gaze dipped to the junction of her thighs. To his credit, he quickly looked away, but did she detect a hint of redness creeping onto his cheeks? Mayhap shame? It was too difficult to determine in the poor, flickering light.
“You’ve come by your calluses honestly, Mariel,” he conceded. “Your father sought to arrange a marriage betwixt my father and his oldest daughter—”
She gasped, speechless, then narrowed her eyes, and whispered, “What?”
“’Tis true. Your father was dissatisfied with what he called King William of Scotland’s ‘ineptitude.’ He hoped that marrying you into a powerful English earldom would strengthen his case to usurp King William’s authority, for then he would also have my father’s backing.”
“A foolish plan,” Mariel interjected. “For he’s only second cousin to the Plantagenet brothers, and unrecognized at that.”
“To be certain. I assume the daughter he sought to marry off was you. My father would have been your husband.” He shook his head, his gaze on her gentle but still steady through the flames. “Trust, Mariel, now that I know who you are, I’m glad to God that your flight and my father’s illness stalled your marriage. I wouldn’t want to know you now and see you in his clutches, unable to do a thing about it.”
Mariel looked away. She shivered, at first from the thought of Robert’s father, then because it was chilly in the nighttime air when they weren’t exerting themselves, and finally from the unmistakable affection in his words. She pulled loose her bedroll, a tattered blanket that had seen so many campsites and clandestine visits to haylofts, it had thinned to a threadbare rag. Still, it was all she had, and she wrapped it around her shoulders.
Robert eyed her again, then pulled loose his thick, woolen blanket and tossed it over the flame to her. “There. Use that.”
Startled, she looked at the blanket, then freed a hand and tossed it back. “What about you?”
He huffed with uninhibited irritation. “Why must you always complain at every charitable thing done for you?” He tossed it back, and because she was stubborn, she tossed it back once more.
“Because men are only charitable when they’re scheming something. I do not want any man’s pity or charity, for I do not want to be indebted to him. This way, I can continue to live freely, just like a man has the right.”
“If your brand of freedom—hiding and sneaking and playacting at entering archery contests is truly freedom, I’m sorely glad I’m not so trapped.”
His gaze was unwavering through the flames, his hazel eyes dancing with light as he folded his arms over the blanket. She could tell the battle of wills was not over. It was written all over his face as he considered her. He might not get her to use the blanket, or keep the coin purse, but he would finally win. It excited her, annoyed her, scared her, and yet, already she was building a fantasy about him being kind and benevolent, not another actor in the twisted game of power and domination the peerage played.
“I haven’t liaised with Charlotte in more than five months,” he finally started. Here it is. His next strategy to disarm her emotions. It was effective, too, because for some reason his mistress throwing herself at him had gouged her near the region in her chest where the heart typically lingered. “I broke it off when she became betrothed and my father took to the sick bed, for I had no interest in pursuing her. I truly am sorry she came tonight. It wasn’t my plan. She thought to rekindle an affair since her fiancé died.”
“You owe me no explanation,” Mariel said, looking away. “Sleep with whom you like, ’tis not my affair―”
“It bothered you, and you and I both know it. Just as it bothered me to think that John was swiving you. Why is that?” he asked, though the tone in his voice suggested he already knew.
“I suppose you have some grand notion in mind already,” she said with a roll of her eyes.
“I do. I think you allowed him to proposition you in order to make me angry. Or jealous.”
“I did nothing of the sort.” She huffed, rolling her eyes again.
He smiled. “You did, too. And it worked. I was downright pissed and wanted only to smash John’s face in, snatch you away from him, and seat you beside me where I had intended to dine with you in the first place.”
The remark rendered her speechless. So he had intended to place her beside himself. So she had made him jealous. At her silence, Robert stood, then walked around the flame toward her, blanket in hand. Mariel bit her lip and dropped her gaze. She shrank back. She had not shied from a man since that final day before she had left home, when her father had threatened to punish her for her disobedience. Why she did so now, she couldn’t say, for there was nothing threatening about Robert’s approach. Seductive, mayhap…definitely. But not threatening.
He arrived at her side and squatted so he looked at eye level, his thighs spread wide as he settled on his knees. Dropping loose the blanket, he laid it carefully around her shoulders. Then he lifted her chin with his finger like he had the first day they met.
“You’re a hard one to win over,” he murmured, brushing the loose strands of her braid behind her ears. She shivered. “I wish you would at least give me a chance.”
“A chance for what?” she whispered.
“I think you know that answer,” he replied. “To get to know you. I’m not your adversary. I’m not a hard man. I like women, but I don’t respect them for throwing themselves at me. You haven’t done that.”
“But why me?” she whispered. “Of all the women you can pick from, you pick me—skinny, dressed as a common lad with nary a notion of femininity, no rouge to darken my lips, no gowns to make me fuller…”
She swallowed the cursed vulnerability that threatened to weaken her. She needed the barbs she wrapped herself within, needed to protect the desperation kept locked in her heart for fear of it weakening her. She couldn’t allow him to look at her as he was, with desire, with compassion, with pity. She needed her old trousers and quiver of arrows to keep a man from loving her, because men never lasted. They were like her father, or they loved and left. She was on her own, and her heart couldn’t take the pain of caring for someone who would let her down.
He caressed back the tendrils of hair hanging loose around her face, whimsical and free, smoothed her skin with his fingertips. She watched his hazel gaze dip from her eyes to her lips, her jaw, following the path his fingers blazed across her skin. His gaze was sincere, and his touch, oh-so-gentle. How was it possible to feel weak in the knees when she was not even standing, to feel her heart race like a horse galloping through the woods, even though she sat at rest? In that moment, her heart betrayed her. She wished he would kiss her again. There was no denying it anymore.
…
Her eyes, so very green, her lips, so lush and kissable, her delicate jawline and classical nose, her slender legs, curved hips, a bosom that boasted good health, all of it captured Robert’s attention. But not more than the urge he felt to envelop her in his hold, to make promises and assurances he knew he couldn’t keep. God, but she was a beauty, even bundled within her coat of arms protecting her heart. And there was no mistaking it: she might comport herself with bravado, but she was vulnerable. Only a rogue would take advantage of it for his own gratification, and he was most definitely not the rogue she thought him to be.
He thought of the ribbon that still sat against his chest within his coat. If it was hers, it held a special meaning and had once been beautiful. Whatever the reason for keeping it, despite its faded state, it must have reminded her of a time when beauty had mattered.
And her aim. She had a talent he wished he could convince her was worth employing. He also understood now why she had become so good at vanishing, now that he knew more about her. If she took up residence anywhere, if he employed her, her father would sooner or later learn of a lady archer residing at his home and know it was her. The sheriff would come for her and the law would be on his side. Robert would have to let her go because the only way he would be able to intervene on her behalf was if she were his wife. And didn’t Richard Plantagenet’s court already know he was reluctant to get to the altar?
But when he looked at Mariel, he saw someone who needed him yet would never chase or beg him, who wanted his affection but would never lower herself to competing with others, who was strong and independent but deep down was desperate to belong somewhere, perhaps to someone, which made her entirely too enticing to pass up. If he wanted not only her kisses, but also her heart, she would challenge him, and instead of handing herself over on a platter for him to pick from, the idea of having to win her trust and affection was more than appealing.
“Because you’re the most beautiful one of them all.”
She swallowed, clearly confused by his statement. His fingertips continued to caress paths promising affection on her cheekbones.
“Tell me you don’t want me to kiss you,” he whispered. “Tell me and mean it.”
Her mouth opened but no answer came out. Her pulse was thumping rapidly at her throat, and for a moment, her reaction piqued his curiosity. It was the reaction of a lovesick virgin losing her heart. ’Twas preposterous, for she had made it clear she knew well the attentions of a man’s body, and he had indeed seen her encouraging John’s lust only hours earlier. He gazed into her mossy eyes, searching for her response.
Finally, the honest desire vanished from her face. She lifted her chin in that defiant way he was growing to like and looked him straight in the eyes. “Telling you such would be a bold lie.”
His lips split into a relieved smile. “I knew it.” His fingers kept retracing their caress across her cheeks. “All thorns and prickles…”
His mouth descended to hers, softly, brushing across them. Excitement was not an accurate description. What he was feeling was much more complex. He was certain he had never beheld lips so sweet, for unlike their kisses before, she was an active participant now, gently pecking his lips in return, acquainting herself in a curious yet tentative manner to the feel of his mouth. He was inclined to allow her explorations.
The fire popped softly, nighttime shadows danced on the tree trunks near them, and he cradled her cheeks in his hands, his fingers splaying into her hair. He heard a soft moan escape her, as if she hungered and he satisfied the appetite. It did nothing but stoke his excitement and his thumb teased her chin, enticing her to open for him. As soon as she did, his pulse galloped away from him.
…
Mariel knew this kiss was going to be different from the others. Yet she was not prepared for his honest sensuality. Or the shiver of gooseflesh that spiked up her back. Or the moan that escaped her throat entirely of its own accord. He begged entry, and she opened her mouth. It would have opened with or without her consent, for she wanted the sweet taste of his kiss to progress.
She suddenly wondered at everything about him. What did he look like bare-chested? Did he have ribbed muscles across his stomach? Toned arms as tanned as his face from the sunlight? Hair dusted upon his pectorals and navel? What did those jewels behind his codpiece feel like? The thought, despite no longer being innocent to the ways of men, still scandalized her. Yet she couldn’t help thinking it. Would he be well-endowed?
And had he been serious? She was more beautiful than the other women who paraded their wares in front of him? Had he not noticed the rags she wore? Had he not noticed she wore neither makeup nor fixed her hair properly? Surely he was blind or she was a fool, allowing him to dominate her now, only to leave her behind when they reached his borders. And he had indeed managed to get the blanket around her after all. And her teeth! She had not cleaned them since waking that morn. Heavens, she thought, but she had an obsession with cleaning her teeth. What if she tasted awful?
Yet his tongue acquainting itself with hers didn’t seem to notice anything wrong. In fact, it seemed like he was drinking her in, in liberal delves. And he had not taken care to ensure the cleanest mouth right before kissing her, either. He tasted of the salted meat he had been eating minutes ago, wine from the flask in his saddle bag, mixed with the flavor that was uniquely his. She wanted to keep tasting him. His tongue, caressing hers, offered ample opportunity.
“Mariel,” he whispered as he took a breath, resting his forehead to hers. “Your lips are so sweet…I knew there was a rose hidden in your thorns.”
He started kissing her again, delving more deeply, sliding his hands around her waist, his arms pulling her up to her knees so she pressed against him, chest to chest. Her breath caught, and by the way she could feel him smile against her mouth, she knew he heard it.
“My beauty, you are too tempting.”
He pulled her tightly against him, settling back on his haunches, his knees still splayed, pulling her knees around his waist so they sat flush and her most intimate parts rested snugly against his codpiece. He simply held her and rested his chin upon her shoulder. She could tell, resting against him as she was, that she had his full attention, and she warred with pushing relations further, for his gentle pulse promised ecstasy. She cinched her arms around his neck. He would be an amazing lover. They would make a flawless fit. She knew right then that she would feel perfection lying in his arms as he brought them both to their moment of ecstasy.
“We should go to bed for the night,” she whispered, her meager voice of reason giving her clarity. Taking it further with Robert would feel wonderful for a night, but she could already tell it would lead to a deeper attachment on her part and would hurt far more when she departed his borders. “Before we go too far.”
“Yes,” he agreed, his throat bobbing as he swallowed, his fingers gripping her hair as if to deny he had just agreed to anything of the sort. “I’ll tend to the horses.” He didn’t let go right away, but finally he relinquished his grip. She rose reluctantly, putting distance between them. She gathered up her supplies and hastened toward the brook. For the first time in eight months, Mariel’s “liberating” trousers made her feel restricted. She wanted to lie by the campfire in a finely woven chemise, with her hair unbound and rosewater dabbed upon her neck so that she might feel as beautiful as Robert seemed to think. And though Robert Huntington thought her intriguing, she didn’t want to be a novelty to him. She wanted to shed her filthy trousers and tunic in sore need of restitching and don a gown again. She wanted to be recognized as a beautiful woman, without fear of her father finding her.
Untucking her tunic so that it billowed below her rear, and removing her leather boots, she used the time that Robert was busy with the animals to freshen her teeth and wash her face. Then she loosened her corset and twisted inside of the tunic until she had removed the garment. Relief rippled over her and her breasts relaxed, grateful for the breathing room.
Yet relief was short-lived. She looked down at her feet with dismay, covered in old stockings that had once been white. The fabric was holey enough to be a saintly relic. She peeled them off, too, and stuffed them down in her boots so Robert wouldn’t see.
Laying out her bedroll and pulling forth a saddle pack to use as a pillow, she unbound her hair and lay down, pulling Robert’s blanket over her. Working her fingers through the tangles, her hair soon sat in a pool of tresses around her head. She tucked his blanket under her chin and rolled on her side to face the fire. The fabric filled her senses, the smell a combination of soap made with heather, leather, and his unique scent.
As she inhaled again, Robert returned through the trees, and by the look of his washed face and untucked tunic, he, too, had taken care of his personal freshening. He dropped his jerkin upon his saddle packs, but to her surprise, he kept walking around the flame until he stood over her. She rolled on her back and looked up as he glanced down at her, pulling loose the fastening of his belt.
“What are you doing?” she asked, furrowing her brow.
“Preparing to go to sleep,” he replied.
“Here?”
“You have all the blankets,” he countered, the corner of his mouth tilting up, causing his stubbly cheek to dimple on one side. “I don’t want to catch a chill, either.”
“I’m sure that’s precisely what you’re worried about.” She rolled her eyes and shifted back to face the fire.
“You roll your eyes heavenward often, woman,” he teased as he pulled the end of the blanket up and slid underneath, propping his hands under his head to stare up at the trees. “I wonder if God has taken notice yet.”
“You are so humorous, I was too distracted to laugh.” Mariel rolled her eyes again, scowling when she realized what she was doing.
Robert chuckled, making himself comfortable. Mariel grew rigid beside him. Neither of them spoke again. She felt his warmth at her back, smelled his smell, felt the slight lifts and drops of the blanket as his chest expanded with each breath. His closeness sent a tingle of awareness across her skin, settling right in her belly. Lord, but she was wildly attracted to this man. What was he thinking? Was he looking at her? Was he as attracted to her or merely attracted because her presence was convenient? He must have been pondering her, too, since he was so quiet… Either that or he slept. ’Twould be like a man to just fall asleep when a woman’s mind was running wild.
Except, he finally broke the silence. “I don’t know you well, and I can’t say I understand you, but I consider you a friend.”
Friend? Lovely. He may as well have stated, I’ve thought it over and I’ve decided that a woman who cannot even keep her teeth freshened is not the woman for me.
“’Twill take another night before we arrive at the border of my lands at the junction to the high road to London. I’ll be honest, that in that time, I hope to persuade you to return to Huntington instead. The idea of a woman facing the dangers of the world alone doesn’t sit well with me.”
“Would you be able to protect me from Crawford?”
A long pause ensued, so long she wondered if he had truly fallen asleep now.
“I wish I could,” he finally replied.
His words, for some reason, gouged her. It wasn’t as if she expected him to declare his unwavering, eternal love to her. She knew that he couldn’t protect her from her father. But she heard what his words really meant, a verification of the truth. He couldn’t protect her. No one could.