Chapter Twenty
The wind was blowing cold. Robert stood upon the barbican with a fur-lined cloak wrapped over his shoulders, his hair ruffling on the blast of air rolling across the meadows that smacked the castle like a tidal wave. His guards were lively, watching the ascent of the Sheriff of Ayrshire ride up the road through the village.
Just as Robert had ordered, John had seen to stationing Huntington soldiers strategically to ensure he was informed of Crawford’s arrival well before his party broke through the trees, though Robert had yet to see John since then. He hadn’t realized how deep John’s interest in Mariel had run, how much the man might truly want her, and part of him was saddened by the rift that had come between them.
He refocused on the contingent riding toward him, pushing his concern for John’s whereabouts out of his mind, and shifting his gaze between Crawford and de Wendenal. They had become inseparable, practically like lovers. Robert chuckled wryly at the image in his mind of Nottingham and Crawford sitting hand in hand by the firelight.
“He’s going to want to know how you ‘captured’ her,” Will said, arriving at his side, his scarlet embroidered cloak draped over his shoulder.
“That I know,” Robert replied. “I’ve a ready excuse made. Now to see that they leave swiftly.”
“You must be ever the gracious host.” Will smirked.
“Indeed, and I dare say Crawford has trouble being a gracious guest. I wouldn’t say our last meeting promised the beginnings of friendship.”
With his hands behind his back, he turned away from the embrasure and walked past the crenellations to a set of stairs spiraling down. Striding through the enclosed yard, he walked under the next portcullis into the inner bailey and up the steps into the keep. The sun would be setting soon and the hall prepared for supper.
He arrived beside the roaring hearth and stripped his cloak, passing it off to his steward, and took a seat beside the flames. A maid offered him a tankard as she passed, and he accepted, if only to keep his hands busy. But as he took a sip, the liquid tasted heavy and dead, much like it felt in his stomach. Right now, his web of lies thickened, though he would lie again and again if it meant protecting Mariel.
He lost track of the time as he drank the tasteless beverage until the doors opened.
“My lord, your guests are arriving in the bailey,” a guardsman informed him.
He stood. “My thanks, man.”
Leaving his chair, he wove through the trestle tables and the busy staff, then arrived at the door. The sky was already dimming as twilight fell, and Robert knew he would need at least a couple hours to arrive at the chapel, some minutes for Father Tucker’s nuptials, and at least another hour if he was a self-respecting man for consummating his union, a half hour if he wasn’t, not to mention another couple hours riding for home.
Stepping out, he placed his hands at his back once more, waiting for Crawford and Nottingham to greet him. They arrived beneath the inner gatehouse and rode their mounts to the front steps, dismounting, and handing the reins to three of Robert’s pages.
“My Lord Crawford.” He smiled. “An unexpected surprise. I had meant to dispatch a rider to inform you that I had captured your daughter, but the wench escaped, and though my men have scoured well my forest, they find no sign of her.” His eyes roved to Teàrlach’s, whose own expression remained impassive.
“So I’ve heard. ’Twould be like her to do so,” said Crawford, draped in a fur.
“Yes. I can see why her escape from you has chafed,” Robert said. The scowl on Crawford’s face showed that Robert had needled a sore spot. “But now that I’ve seen her in person, I have a business proposal for you—eh, William de Wendenal of Nottingham? Good eve to you, Sheriff. I was so intent on discussing Lady Mariel that I failed to see you there.”
Nottingham dipped his head in greeting, though he scowled at the young earl’s careless dismissal. He might be more politically powerful than Robert, but Robert’s estate was by far the most successful in England, surpassing his own in terms of wealth and command of the countryside. And where his own reputation was far-reaching, Robert’s influence was far-reaching, too, if only for being more likable.
“I bid you welcome to Huntington and invite you to warm yourselves from this blast of winter wind,” Robert proclaimed as he ushered in his guests with a sweep of his arm, biting his tongue further as he noticed Nottingham salivating over his prosperous estate. No doubt, the greedy bastard chomped at the bit to figure out a way to get his hands on Huntington’s wealth. “Your soldiers are welcome for the evening meal and should be comfortable in the overflow barracks for the night.”
“We’ll partake of your food, but we will nay stay the night. Mariel was spotted a couple days ago, farther into the forest. I must press on with haste. I’ve almost got that wee bitch back in my clutches, and I’ll nay rest until I’ve wrapped my fist around her hair and dragged her back to Scotland.”
Robert led the men into the hall and looked for Bridget, though she couldn’t be found. Instead, he flagged down his steward. “I shall be conducting business in my solar and should like no interruptions. Make it known to the staff. Remember to follow my instructions.”
The steward bowed, eyeing the Sheriff of Ayr carefully, and left to deliver the message. Robert led the men with Will at his side and began climbing the stairs in the corridor off the great hall that led to his solar and personal chambers.
“Where’s John?” he asked.
Will shook his head and shrugged. “I’ve no idea.”
“I haven’t seen him since this afternoon,” Robert said.
“Nor I,” said Will.
It chafed. It was entirely unlike John to disappear with no explanation. As he entered the solar, he took the torch once more and strode in to light the candles, and this time, both hearths. The others walked in, Will closing the door, and Robert began to turn around, when right there, on the fur rug he had lain upon with Mariel, was her old ribbon, in front of all the men to see. He picked it up, shooting a glance at Harold, who was watching him like a hawk. There was no way the man would recognize a ribbon he’d given her years ago that was now discolored and gray. Was there?
Robert gave a suave chuckle and turned to Will.
“A woman I entertained in here yesterday. I must have forgotten that she gave her favors to me.”
Will played along and chuckled, too. “Always the bachelor, are you not?”
Tucking the ribbon into his coat pocket, Robert moved to the sideboard. “Drinks, men?”
“Aye,” Crawford agreed, and so did Nottingham, both men perusing the cavernous chamber in slow sweeps.
This was where Robert always conducted business, but he had never done so with either of these men, and he knew it had been rare that his father had used the room for meetings. His father had been more accustomed to sprawling in front of the great hearth in the hall below with his fellows—and foes—on which he wished to keep an eye. Both men had clearly never seen the inside of the Huntington solar before.
He returned with wine for everyone, noting the fine velvets and leather of Nottingham’s outfit, finer than Robert’s own clothing. The materials were expensive, luxurious, and rings lined his fingers. Nottingham was stealing from the poor to make himself richer, because Robert knew he had not been a wealthy man before accepting his post as Sheriff. In fact, he had hardly been noteworthy. Rumor had it the only reason William de Wendenal had acquired the post was because so many qualified nobles were away fighting in the Crusade. And the only reason Robert had not been recruited to the Holy Land was because his father had been in poor health and had no other heirs.
“My family extends back several generations, having arrived with the Normans, and these banners you see have been in the family for two centuries,” Robert stated. “As you know, the Earl of Huntington is a title that grows in wealth with each generation.” He turned to Crawford. “A fine family for any daughter to marry into.” Crawford watched him, calculating him. “Your daughter begged the charity of one of my crofters, who took her in. I discovered her and locked her in a guest chamber so as to write to you and ask you what should be done with her. And I must say, feisty as she is, my lord, she is indeed a fine specimen. Having already had one rejection from you, I wish to offer on the woman again.”
Crawford and Nottingham exchanged a look.
“Is there something to which I’m not privy?” Robert asked, eying them.
Crawford looked back at him and took a swig of the wine as though it was a clay jug and he a tavern letch. “Aye. I’ve betrothed her to William of Nottingham here. He’ll marry her in front of the first priest we find after she’s captured. Hopefully, that will be in the next few days or sooner.”
Robert didn’t let his eyes betray him and slice over to Nottingham, but there was no negotiating elopement with Mariel any further. Nottingham would probably chain her in the bedchamber. If Nottingham was anything like his own father, he would take great pleasure in breaking her.
“The woman attacked us in the woods with a band of thieves. William got a good look at her,” Crawford said, smoothing his beard but not mentioning getting shot by her, though Robert noted a bandage over his right wrist and his fingers didn’t seem to work properly. Thankfully, his own injury hadn’t interfered with the function of his arm, and his bandaging was well hidden beneath the fabric of his tunic.
Now he shifted his gaze to Nottingham, who stood silently with a triumphant smile.
“Whilst I intended to end her life,” Crawford said, “Nottingham devised a better punishment. If he takes her to wife, she can be reminded each day of her transgression, and I tire of the lass’s antics. Best to pass her off to someone else who will bring her to heel, and I will still benefit from an alliance with Nottingham, whom I trust with my estates.”
Chains, bedchamber, broken spirit, and misery.
Nottingham nodded. “I saw the tart straight on, and though your family would offer a nice alliance, I am the Sheriff of Nottingham, in charge of the king’s business at my discretion until he returns, so I believe I offer a, shall we say, better option.”
Did Nottingham sense competition in Robert?
“Ah, there’s the rub. King Richard is due to return soon, and is his kingdom not suffering in his absence? From the amount of folk coming to my door, asking for a bit of food or a place to remain until they can find a new home, I’d say being poor is quite the dangerous predicament these days. I wonder if King Richard will be pleased with the state of his affairs?”
“Are you suggesting I do my duty dishonestly?”
Robert and Will exchanged a glance. If the boot fits, of course you ought to don it proudly. “Ah, good man, I suggest nothing. I’m simply saying things change like the wind. Both of us would offer a fine suit for marriage, and yet the power or influence one has can change courses with little to no notice…” Robert trailed away cryptically. “But alas for me, if you are Lord Crawford’s chosen son-in-law, despite mayhap being older than him, who am I to complain?”
He turned back to Crawford. “I have little else to offer you. Your betrothal contract with my late father is locked in my drawers, and I was hoping we could simply amend it to my name. More’s the pity for me.” He added a perturbed sigh. “Lady Mariel ruined two sets of bed linens, French imports, I should add, by making a rope and escaping out her window. Mayhap I would have made a poorly husband if I cannot even keep track of the girl for one night. And unless you plan to recompense me for the loss”—he paused, though no such offer materialized; not that he thought it would—“I suppose there’s no business to conduct here at all.” Robert smiled, motioning for all to finish their drinks, and then ushering them out the door once more.
Yet Crawford took his time with his drink. He seemed reluctant to leave. Perhaps with just a little more time, Robert could have swayed the man to agree to a marriage between himself and Mariel. But time was not a luxury either Robert or Mariel possessed.
“We’ll partake of some food and be on our way. I’ll not let the wench slip through my fingers again,” Crawford said, seemingly coming to a decision and throwing back the remains of his goblet.