Chapter Eight
“Ho there!” Robert said, hearing the party of horsemen come around the bend before he could see them.
“Good day!” came the call of a guard. “Make way for His Lairdship Harold Crawford, the Sheriff of Ayrshire!”
Robert tensed. Mariel. What on earth had brought Crawford here? A visit from this ever-traveling Scot had only been a matter of time. Yet today of all days?
Protecting Mariel was his only concern. He dashed into the trees where he had seen her disappear and saw her frozen by a fallen log. Her eyes shot to his, his haste causing obvious alarm. The look of mortification on her face tore at his resolve. Unabashed, unbridled fear. She was covered in so much fear he could smell it, feel it wafting off of her in waves. Placing his finger over his lips, he beckoned her. She began to follow him with a look on her face like that of a lamb being led to the slaughter, and watched as he bent next to the lichen-covered rock and pulled up a pile of underbrush.
Her eyes widened, shocked, as if she witnessed a trick of the eye, a blanket woven from nature, concealing a chest of supplies and a stack of firewood. He motioned more forcefully. There was no time to explain the stashes of supplies he kept concealed throughout his forests, and thankfully, she had the good sense to run. Motioning her under the tarp into a depression dug into the ground, Robert let the cover fall on her.
Crouching down, he whispered, “Remain still. Trust that I’ll not hand you over to him.”
There was no response.
He stood and marched back into the clearing, noting that Mariel’s horse had wandered into the trees and was concealed by branches, and saw the party trotting down the road into view. Good. Because if Crawford was as astute as his reputation made him out to be, he would remember one of his horses just by looking at it, regardless of eight months passing since its disappearance.
Despite the sweat breaking out on his brow, Robert actually smiled. The sheriff traveled on Huntington land and therefore he, not the sheriff, made the rules. He made a point to step into the very middle of the road.
“Step aside, I say,” said the guard, though Robert was not looking at him as much as he was assessing Harold Crawford in the saddle behind him, flanked by two more guards, and trailed by a contingent. “The Sheriff of Ayrshire is passing through.”
“Then I must insist on stopping His Lordship,” Robert replied, folding his arms.
“I have business to conduct with the Earl of Huntington,” stated Crawford for himself, his voice low and gravelly. He was a hardened man, thick of stature and burly with muscle. Despite his age, he was formidable, with the same mossy eyes he had passed on to his daughter as well as the barley hair, but much, much colder. So this was the man who had terrorized Mariel and turned her into the guarded woman she was. He had disliked him before, but now he hated him. “Move, man, or you’ll be trampled.”
Robert held out his ring. “I am the earl, and this is my forest you traverse. I kindly request you stop.”
His eyes locked with Crawford and the man ordered his guards to halt.
“You say you have business with me,” Robert said, folding his arms again. “What might that be?”
Crawford, still locked in his gaze, adjusted his reins with a creak of leather. After a moment of calculation, he finally spoke. “I see it now. You’ve grown up in these months since your faither’s death, Robert. What are you about out here in the woods alone?”
“I’m always vigilant of my landholdings. I make it my business to know who trespasses.”
Crawford’s jaw hardened at the remark, trying to determine if he had been slighted. “I request hospitality at Huntington Castle. Or more directly, I shall be partaking of your hospitality.”
“You were actually right in requesting, sire,” Robert replied, nothing hidden in his meaning. Crawford had no jurisdiction in England. “I shall be returning later this day and will meet you by supper. But I’m certain my staff will make you feel welcome in the meantime.” He stepped aside. “Your party may proceed.”
He gestured for them to move onward and offered a nod, but there was no mistaking the strain it took to produce his smile. Mariel. How in the hell would he protect her? As soon as the party was gone, he turned back to the clearing, making a straight line for his hidden supplies. He pulled back the tarp.
She was gone.
Dammit! He looked around. She had fled. Crawford and his men were still too close for him to call for her. He kept looking in each direction, concentrating on every movement, but knew she wasn’t there.
Seeking his horse, he noticed hers was gone, too. And her bridle was still hanging with his on the tree. Which meant she was handling the horse expertly with no bit to guide it. With little thought, he jumped upon his mount, weaving Goliath through the trees and onto the main road in the opposite direction, what would seem like her obvious choice. And he was right.
Thundering down the path, her horse’s tracks finally emerged through the trees and he spotted the trail. He slowed to a canter, making a point to follow the hoof marks, noting that they diverged into the woods again. He slowed to a walk so as not to get whipped by branches and watched the forest floor for disruptions to the underbrush. Despite the early hour and the fall weather, he broke into a sweat again. Was he feeling worried? He shouldn’t. The girl was obviously capable of handling herself alone without injury. Had she not done so already for eight months?
Still, as he looked through the trees, following what seemed to be the likely path, he felt an anxious pinch somewhere in his chest, a nagging ache that had no source to pinpoint. He looked skyward, slants of light shooting through the canopy of pines, and heard water from a stream bubbling nearby. And then he heard a horse whicker.
He sighed a breath of relief at the same time his chest pinched further, hoping it was her. Dismounting, he walked carefully, though his horse made no effort to tread quietly. And as he peeked through the tree trunks, he spotted her horse standing with two hooves in the water, drinking and flicking his tail, then the top of her head thrown down on her knees pulled up to her chest as she sat on the ground. At first she held so still he thought something might be wrong with her, and then a sob racked her frame.
And for some reason, the desperate sound that escaped her, a sound that begged to release a pain so deep, caused his chest to squeeze and his throat to thicken.
“Mariel,” he said, swallowing the thickness and dismounting Goliath.
In a few swift strides he arrived at her side just as she looked up and flinched at his approach, jumping to her feet. Just as quickly, the flinch vanished as she registered his face. But that flinch angered him, that she should be so wary of her father that her first reaction was to flinch. Yet before he could do anything further, she launched herself into his arms, curling into his chest.
He wrapped his embrace around her, a hand coming up to cup her head to his heart while the other cinched about her waist, feeling both anger at her father and strengthened that she sought comfort from him.
“Mariel, sweeting,” he whispered. “Don’t ever fear me.”
She wiped at her face, yet the water kept leaking down her cheeks. He gripped her protectively, ignoring her stubborn efforts to push her tears away. She refused to look up at him but took long, steadying inhales, burrowing more deeply against him.
“Why did you flee from me?” he asked, placing a kiss on the top of her head. “Don’t you know he might have seen you?”
And yet he hadn’t, Robert realized. She had slipped away undetected right under their noses. Like a ghost.
“I can nay go back to him. He would have discovered me there.”
“He didn’t,” Robert replied. “You risked more by fleeing—”
“Please do nay let him find me,” she begged, not having heard him.
He looked down and lifted her chin. Staring into her mossy eyes, he wiped a thumb beneath them to push another streak of tears away. “I meant what I said. I’ll not hand you back to him, if you don’t want to go.”
“You would break the law for me?”
He gazed at her, letting her Scottish brogue roll over him like gentle ripples, then slowly nodded. “I’ll do what I can to protect you. Stay with me and I’ll harbor you.”
He watched her war between trusting and fearing. True, he was sincere, but they both knew the harsh reality was that he wouldn’t be able to stand in the way of a father reclaiming his property, if their secret was discovered. The repercussions against him could be serious.
“What if you’re discovered? What if you suffer sanctions? What if you’re punished? I can nay allow that in good conscience.” Mariel gave voice to his concerns that he was trying to suppress. She took a step back, averting her gaze. Reluctantly, he let her go. “Nay. We must continue to your border. I can’t put you in such a position.”
She turned to collect her horse. She was attempting to regain composure. He stared at her, his arms hanging limply.
“But I don’t want you to leave.” He left the words hanging between them. She paused, turning back over her shoulder to look at him. He raked his hand through his locks, setting the tangles into even more disarray, and exhaled. “I don’t know what to do. Your father is welcoming himself to my hospitality right now. But my gut doesn’t sit well knowing you’re out there alone with your father so close. ’Twould only be a matter of time until he finds you.”
She looked ashen and took another step back. “He’ll be residing at Huntington Castle?”
He sighed. “Not residing, just visiting—”
“Why?”
“I know not his reasons, but he hasn’t visited since he arranged your betrothal. I’ll need to go back to see what he’s about.”
“Then I’ll continue onward alone,” she said.
“Mariel—”
“Nay,” she interrupted. “You can’t make me go there knowing he sits in your hall.”
“I could hide you. Keep you in the village. He’d never know you were there.”
“Nay, Robert.”
He stepped forth, pulling her fingers into his, and for some reason felt his hand tremble as he searched for the right words. Emotion overtook him and he squeezed her hands, squinting up at the sun, then the water, then the trees, anywhere but her face. How could he feel so drawn to this woman he had barely met? He tugged her to him, torn inside as to what to do. Yes, he would break the law by not handing her over, for she would surely suffer harshly for undermining such a father. Any man who could lock away his young daughter for days at a time to be feasted on by rats had probably already demonstrated his lack of compassion in many ways. Her simple act of flinching told him so.
And sadly, if braving the world penniless with its highwaymen, roadside thieves, disguising one’s self as the stronger sex, living in a constant state of fear rather than getting caught was the safer option, her life in Ayrshire must have been hell. Yet the law was the law, whether or not some men ought to be entrusted with their rights over their wives and children, Robert reasoned. He had to help Mariel, in spite of the law. Hiding her from Crawford was the logical first step. The next logical step, well, he didn’t want to think of eloping. He didn’t want to marry anyone, he reminded himself. It might give her legal protection as his property, but he would then be bonded to her.
He thought back to the night before as he had pondered marriage by their campfire. Did he want that union with her? The fact he was even entertaining the idea told him there was merit in it. But when King Richard returned, he might be sanctioned for not awaiting his royal blessing and find himself penniless. He needed his king’s approval to wed if he was to comport himself in good taste. Oh, to be a common man who could marry whom he wished.
Unable to get any words out to express the cacophony of thoughts raging through his mind, he did the only other thing he could think. He leaned down and kissed her again. Except this kiss was in earnest, not gentle. His tongue pushed through her lips moist with tears, danced with her tongue, offered her a taste of his full passion. His hands dropped hers and wove through her hair at the base of her neck, his palms cradling her jaw. And to his surprise, she returned the fervor, arching into him, her hands sliding beneath his cloak and settling upon his back as he leaned over her.
He felt her grip his tunic, her nails scoring him through the fabric, and a groan worked its way up his throat. She whimpered in return and it threatened his resolve. He groaned again, taking a breath, basking in the favor she was pouring upon him.
“Mari, my beauty,” he whispered, delving in for a second helping.
He couldn’t think, couldn’t see, couldn’t feel anything except her. She was thin, to say the least, and yet by some miracle of attraction, she felt soft and pliant in his arms. Her hands were kneading his back now, running up and down as his fingers, too, began a wild grope upon her back, her rear, and he could feel her pressing her breasts against him. Taking a step, then another, he walked her backward and soon had her braced against a tree. She didn’t fight him as he took charge over her. In fact, she seemed to acquiesce to his tactic. It emboldened him and he growled his pleasure.
And then she moaned.
God, but her desire for him was enough to undo him. He swallowed her moan, bearing down harder. Kissing her wildly, his hands couldn’t hold still, cupping her cheek one moment, rubbing her waist the next, and then his hands roved over her breasts of their own accord. She sucked in at the intimacy, as he nudged his pelvis against her. Her hands ran madly up and down his arms, over his shoulders, unfastening the buckle of his cloak so she could push the disruptive garment to the forest floor.
“Lord in heaven,” he murmured eagerly against her lips, practically thrusting against her, lifting her thighs and hoisting her legs apart so he could settle his codpiece protecting his more intimate parts against hers, where he knew he needed to take root.
“Rob.” She breathed on a hitch, cinching her legs about him to hold herself aloft.
His common sense pushed through the haze of his lust. She would be a willing partner right now and he would not regret taking her down to the forest floor and swiving her to oblivion, but something about the fragility in the way she said his name, a nickname, slowed him. He gentled his kiss, softening the force of his hands practically tearing at her tunic, feeling her arms clinging around his neck. Nicknames were intimate, like you calling her Mari, his conscience niggled at him, and they had hardly known each other long enough to learn each other’s favorite foods, or hell, favorite anything.
“I like hearing you say ‘Rob,’” he murmured against his better judgment, nuzzling her neck. “And I hope I never see you kissing Sir Naylor again. God above, woman, don’t ever.”
Breathing heavily, she nodded.
Rob, he repeated, hearing her lips speak it again in his mind, not Robbie, like Charlotte would have said. But although the intimacy excited him, it also stayed him. It had the potential to lead to something deep. With her, he could feel it. He softened his kisses further until he was leaving gentle pecks across her lips, cheek, and then forehead. Holding her aloft with her back to the tree, he rested his chin atop her head and swallowed, unable to decipher the swirl of emotions pummeling his heart like tempest gales on a ship. How could he feel so protective, so lustful, yet so confused about his feelings? These were primal urges, to claim, to covet, and he was feeling them intensely.
…
Mariel lost herself in the tenderness of Robert’s embrace, his muscles and the firmness of his chest such a solid thing to grasp in a world where there was no telling the next moment she would have to flee and hide. His smell of mint, and leather, and soap was strong and comforting, and his heartbeat in her ear was rapid, hard, as if he had been running, yet steady.
She needed his steadiness.
But he had stopped kissing her. She felt his throat bob against her forehead as he rested his chin atop her, and sensed his withdrawal. Mariel lifted her head. He gazed down at her, his expression impassive. Unable to decipher the blank look. Self-doubt set in. Why did he stop kissing me? She let go, suddenly pushing against his chest.
“Oh God, let me down,” she said. “Let me down!” She shoved harder, until he stepped back and put her on her feet. “I’m an eejit…such an eejit…”
“Mari, no. You’ve done nothing wrong―”
“Stop, please,” she demanded, holding her hand up to him. She shook, her mind manifesting all sorts of reasons why his lust had waned, and she marched to her horse. “I’m leaving. I need my bridle―”
“Come to my village,” he said.
Her mouth dropped to the ground. “You have got to be out of your mind. That man is there―”
“Come to my village and I’ll protect you. On this I swear. Just…just come. Say you’ll come.” He strode to her and took her hand again. “I don’t know what this is, Mariel, this, betwixt us.” He gestured, pointing back and forth between them. “But my gut isn’t sitting well with the prospect of you at large.”
Dammit! She chided herself, wishing above all she could be back in the security of his arms. She could feel herself caving to his dictate already. Reaching out to take her other hand, he squeezed her.
“Don’t leave,” he whispered. “Promise me this. At the very least, don’t leave yet. I swear protection to you. On this, I won’t fail you.”
Won’t fail you. His words hung in her mind. Was it even possible for a man to live up to such a declaration when none had ever done so before? Did she dare place her trust in him?