Page 30 of An Earl for the Archeress

Robert’s pulse jumped, peering at Crawford over John’s shoulder. “What are you saying? Did he attempt to force himself upon―”

“No, nothing like that. Grabbed her and accused her of smarting off to him,” his guardsman replied, shaking his head. “But I wouldn’t put anything past him.”

“Bridget’s a sweet maid. She’d never be rude to a lord,” Robert said.

“And she wasn’t. She tried to reassure him you would return. He just doesn’t like a woman who speaks freely, ’tis all.”

“I’m aware.” Robert nodded, slapping his arm. “My thanks for the briefing.”

He continued forward, his eyes leveled on Mariel’s father, sitting with his legs splayed in the chair, a boot propped upon a stool as an ottoman. Arriving in front of him, Robert placed his hands behind his back and stood still, leveling a gaze at him, not uttering a single word until finally, Crawford huffed, dropped his boot to the floor with a thud, and heaved himself up. Robert smiled and offered his greeting, though his smile was insincere. Stiffly, they clasped wrists.

“Good eve, Lord Crawford,” he said. “What brings you all the way south to Huntington?”

Harold Crawford gave a brief shake and dropped his wrist, though Robert felt the man’s grip upon the dagger up his sleeve. He smiled. He had felt Crawford’s dagger, too.

“I was visiting my cousin’s former wife and her new husband—”

By this, Robert deduced that he spoke of Geoffrey, the Duke of Brittany and Earl of Richmond who was recently deceased. No doubt, he thought the casual reference to the new Duke, Ranulf de Blondeville, would make him sound more important. Robert resisting a smirk.

“—and I decided to inspect Huntington.”

Robert sighed, folding his arms. He had only met Crawford once before, but already he knew he didn’t like him. Presumptuous and power hungry, just like his friend, our dear Sheriff of Nottingham. “Inspect my home? And under what authority, pray tell?”

“My own.” Crawford grunted, looking about. “Ranulf suggested I come here again, seeing as it’s been several months.”

“Then I must kindly advise you that this is not Lord Ranulf’s estate, and unless my king authorizes it, no one searches my home without my permission first. Mayhap you aught commence your visit with a kind salutation and share with me what troubles you. Does Huntington offend you all the way in Scotland?”

He bit back further sarcasm as he flagged down Bridget and took another tankard from her, offering it to Mariel’s father. Harold, however, had taken note of his sharp words and clenched his jaw.

“Of course. Nay, Huntington has always been powerful and prosperous. I search for a woman.”

“A woman?” Robert feigned confusion. “What woman, sire?”

He watched as Crawford chewed on the distaste in his mouth over the inevitable next words. “My daughter. She ran away December last.”

“Your daughter? Which one? Do you not have two of them?”

“Two legitimate, five bastards,” he replied, adjusting his belts. “Mayhap more, but I have nay the time to verify. Mariel is my oldest. She’s the one I educated when I realized my wife would nay give me a lad. I’ve always assumed I might have to use her to secure my bloodline.”

Robert watched Jonathan’s reaction to Crawford’s words. If it wasn’t obvious the Scottish archeress with matching green eyes was Crawford’s seed, and if Robert’s mock surprise didn’t indicate he knew who the woman was, then the man was daft. But Jonathan’s pulse in his corded neck was jumping. Robert suspected that his guardsmen understood all too well and already hated Crawford.

“Mariel was the one you betrothed to my father, was she not?”

“So you were paying attention,” Harold said, smirking.

Yes. Robert had been a playful young man before his father’s death, content with his outings, his benevolence, his female company when it suited him, avoiding the tittering skirts as if they were the black plague when it suited him not. But it was no excuse for Crawford’s overt rudeness now.

Robert folded his arms, inhaled, then exhaled. The man pissed him off just being near him. “My home thrives, despite so many others floundering whilst our king is away in the Holy Land. I dare say, I paid attention well to all my lessons of life and use my skills now to better my people. Despite my young age.”

“Aye, and how many years have you now? Twenty?”

“Sire, I don’t wish us to get off on the wrong foot. That said, I would clarify a few things so we might get on to more fruitful discussions,” Robert said, his arms still folded, taking a step toward the formidable sheriff. Jonathan must have sensed his lord’s tension and stood up taller, and Robert sent a quick glance around the room to his other guardsmen.

Crawford seemed to feel an awakening of arms around the hall and lifted his bearded chin. “What might those be?”

“It’s clear to me that you hold disdain for either me or Huntington itself, though I request you remain civil, for I care neither that you’re my senior nor that the Plantagenets are your alleged second cousins. And using Ranulf de Blondeville as leverage to sound important is like me using my pet hound as leverage over you. Hardly intimidating.”

Crawford’s face reddened with anger at Robert’s affront.