Chapter Seven
Mariel woke to a dim morning, the sun having yet to rise above the horizon and shoot slats of light through the branches. She was comfortable, warm, and could not remember such peaceful sleep in a long time. Which was odd, because sleeping on the ground usually left her stiff and sore, even after all these months. She snuggled further against the warmth and adjusted her grip on the man beside her.
Wait a moment. The haze of sleep dissipated. She opened her eyes fully and could see, could feel, Robert’s chest rising and falling under her cheek. His arm was securely around her, her head resting on the crook of his shoulder with her cheek upon his heart. Her head popped up and she looked up at him, noticing he was fully awake as well. Gazing down his chest at her, he kept his arm snugly around her.
“Good morn, Lady,” he murmured, his voice scratchy from lack of use. Confusion sparked in her eyes. “We seem to have joined together in our sleep. I didn’t have the heart to jostle you off. ’Twas a pleasant favor to awaken like this.”
Her nerves thrummed alert. Lying against him felt too right. It was a pleasant favor.
“I’m sorry,” she said, starting to sit up, except Robert’s arm did not let go.
“Apologizing would indicate you did something wrong. Which you didn’t. ’Twas sweet.”
She looked into his hazel eyes, his other arm propped under his head, his wavy hair mussed from sleep, his stubble thicker than the night before. He smiled, a gentle upturn of his mouth, and finally let his arm drop from around her, using the same hand to strum through her curtain of hair as if it were the strings of a harp. Mariel felt her face reddening. It was so personal, the simple act, their closeness. It felt like a special moment, private as it was, as if they had spent the night making wild love and awakened comfortable with each other’s touch. Something in her heart shifted and she cursed inwardly, pushing to her feet.
“I have ablutions needing attention,” she murmured, and, snatching up her saddle pack and grabbing her boots, she walked down to the stream without looking back.
How could she feel so heartsick over such a man? One she hardly knew? Charlotte had been right. She knew nothing of the real Robert, and she feared he was actually the decent and kind man he seemed to be. Which made it hard to dislike him. It was ridiculous. But there was no denying her attraction to him.
She took care of her necessities and sat to put her boots on by the water so that Robert wouldn’t see the state of her stockings’ decay. Taking out a comb, she fought through the knots in her hair and braided it into a long cord, tying it off with a string of leather.
And she freshened her teeth. It was foolish to think he might kiss her again, but just in case he did, she wanted to be prepared.
…
Robert remained on his back, his arms flopping outward. Yes, he had been awake for quite a while, enjoying the feel of her nestled against him while he pondered all that had happened the night before.
Crawford, he had heard her say. She hadn’t referred to the man as Faither or Papa, but Crawford. The tone in her voice indicated she knew his proposition to protect her was preposterous. And no. In truth, she was right in her sentiment. If she remained at Huntington as he had requested, if her father eventually discovered her whereabouts, the man would be entitled under the law to reclaim and punish her for defying him. The thought of how the Beast of Ayr would punish her formed a dark shadow in his mind. The Beast might be uncontrollable in his anger. And she might never be the same, if she even survived. She might end up like his mother.
He had stifled his shudder at the thought, lest he wake Mariel, and God, but he wanted to remain lying together for as long as he possibly could. She had been a warm surprise in his arms when he had awoken. The sky had yet to lighten. While sleeping, with her forked tongue at bay, she was angelic, her hair golden like barley in the late evening sunset when the light cast low across the meadows. Her face was smooth, despite a few tiny freckles from her time in the sun. They were so small, one needed to be intimately close to notice. And her lips pouted slightly, full and pink like a flower bud. How her father could not see her as the prize she was, Robert had no earthly idea.
How could he protect her from a man like that? He knew the only way to do it. Yet the very idea made him nervous, restless. He didn’t even know her. He had just admitted such the night before. And wouldn’t King Richard be annoyed if he undermined royal authority and eloped with a Scottish woman instead of one of the English courtiers? He might even be sanctioned.
Marriage.
It would protect Mariel and it would protect him from future marriage pressures from every direction he turned, unless the Beast of Ayr slaughtered him in a fit of rage and made Mariel a widow. But that seemed unlikely. Robert ranked too high as an earl, and if Ayr was smart, he would realize it was a shrewd marriage, regardless of whether or not his daughter had permission. But it could get him stripped of his title for marrying without the king’s consent. That, too, though unlikely, was more realistic.
But the Scottish lord was acting with relative impunity with Ranulf de Blondeville’s consent. He had doled out cruelties in Scotland just as the Sheriff of Nottingham was doing here in King Richard’s absence, increasing taxes on all low liege lords, merchants, and peasants alike until they were forced to cede their lands. De Wendenal of Nottingham had no qualms subduing those who rebelled against him with his authority. Many serfs and landowners alike had been forced off their land, Jonathan being one of those. Many of those casualties had ended up on his doorstep.
He had barely managed to stay in the Sheriff’s good graces himself, though “good graces” really was a nice way to put it. Their relationship was more of a strained truce, mainly because of his wealth and the reputation of Robert’s father for being a hard man, something Nottingham respected. That, and right now, King Richard favored Robert, knowing the young Huntington heir to the earldom had declared his support for Richard during all of the Plantagenet squabbles over Richard’s succession. Knowing Nottingham’s tactics, he could only imagine the suffering in Ayrshire under Crawford’s watch.
But what if he approached Crawford about marriage before the man found Mariel? What if he filled his father’s place in the alliance his father and Crawford had once sought? He would need to tread carefully in such waters, to ensure Mariel’s safety.
He gave himself a mental shake.
Was he actually considering marriage, as if it was a viable option? With a woman who refused to wear skirts? She would challenge him on everything, argue about everything, compete with him on everything…or she would complement him well, have a valuable perspective on issues of importance, hold him accountable should he ever act the arse. Nor would she ever kiss his arse. And if they married, she would bring her sharp mind and trained skill to their union, and he would benefit greatly. He needed someone like that in his close council, and he liked that quality in a woman.
And her kiss…her sweet, desirable kiss… It would be his to savor for the rest of his days should he protect her with marriage. She was sensual, confident, and he knew taking things further would feel incredible. He would want to beg for her favors again and again. He would willingly supplicate himself with no shame. He could sense how much she had desired him when he’d held her. The little hitches in her breath, her confident exploration of his mouth, her soft moans of pleasure…it all pointed to an attraction more potent than a lightning bolt. But such an attachment would be dashed if she departed him at his southern borders.
Yet, if she was safely his wife and they could force her father to accept it, she would not be afraid of anyone anymore. She could wear gowns freely, and would she not be the envy of every woman who tried to snag his attention? There was no comparison to her beauty, a healthy, naturally rosy-lipped wildflower blossom of beauty, not to mention, there was no comparison to her intelligence. So her father was cruel? She had found a way to escape him and improve her situation. And though she lived little better than an animal in the fields, he suspected being poor and having free will was a far cry better than being a caged, unwanted woman dressed in finery and jewels.
He had willed himself to relax and keep a foot of space between them as they fell asleep. He knew his response to whether or not he could protect her from her father’s hand had disheartened her. He had secretly wished he could pull her close to him again, feel her body heat against his, feel her breath upon him, tangle his legs with hers, have passionate intercourse together, and sleep like lovers. If he were truthful with himself, it was why he had chosen to lie beneath the covers with her in the first place.
But alas, it was time to rise and face the day. He pushed to his feet, catching glimpses of Mariel through the trees as she put on her boots. God willing, he would be able to sway her desire to go to London as they traveled.
…
Upon arriving back at camp, Mariel noticed their fire banked and no sign of the firewood he had pulled out the night before. Where had he gotten it from? Looking around for the tarp she was certain she had seen, there was nothing. Leaves, underbrush, tree trunks. No tarp. Robert had the horses saddled, and she made haste to secure her packs to her mount, hoisting herself into the stirrup like she had done a thousand times before. It was only after she was astride and gathering her reins that she noticed Robert had come to her side to offer assistance.
“I’m sorry, Robert,” she said as he turned away. “I’m used to looking out for myself.”
“No matter.” He shrugged, then mounted up without looking at her.
He led the way out of the campsite, down the incline he had said was treacherous. She scowled at his back. It was simple and easy to navigate, the liar. He had wanted her to remain with him and had lied to do it. Mayhap he wasn’t a kind man after all. Cheeky, certainly. Kind? Questionable. They crossed a burn, the horses’ hooves sloshing through the water, and continued on in silence until the morning sun was well above the trees.
Arriving in a clearing with lush grass, Robert finally stopped and turned in the saddle to look over his shoulder.
“This is a good spot to break our fast. The horses can graze and the main road is right through there. We can continue once our stomachs are satisfied. What say you?”
Was she being asked her opinion on the matter? He didn’t just assume that since she was a woman, he would make the decisions?
“It-it’s a sound plan.”
“You seem unsure,” he replied, turning his horse so he could look at her, but she was already dismounting.
“No. Your suggestion is fine. I’m also starving.”
Robert nodded and also dismounted, pulling out a loaf of bread and cheese. Mariel went about removing the bridles, hanging the bits on a branch that had broken off and formed a nub, and turned the horses into the grass so they could graze.
She joined Robert, realizing he was watching her.
“What?” she questioned, sitting on the ground beside him.
“Nothing,” he replied. “’Tis just nice to see a woman so comfortable around horses. Normally, it’s a task I would have done.”
“You should be well aware by now that I don’t expect to be coddled.”
“No, you certainly don’t.” He tore off a piece of bread and held it toward her.
“On second thought. I need a moment of privacy after so long in the saddle,” she said.
She stood, uncomfortable under his scrutiny, and strode across the clearing into the trees, past a rock covered in lichen, and behind a fallen log out of sight. Dropping her trousers around her ankles and adjusting her infernal corset, she took care of business quickly and then stood, securing her fastenings at her waist, when she thought she heard the faint sound of horses on the high road. Instead of turning back to camp, she listened. There were voices rising, and though they were inaudible, the hair on her arms stood up.