Page 32 of An Earl for the Archeress

“Don’t let him wander off,” he said. “Keep him well-sated with ale and make certain the female servants remain clear of him.” Jonathan nodded and Robert turned back to him, a look of amusement teasing the corner of his lips. “Ah, I meant to tell you. The lady came up with a pet name for you,” he whispered.

“Did she now?” John replied, his interest piqued.

With arms still folded, he leaned in. “Indeed she did. It’s in relation to your, shall we say, size.”

Jonathan’s chest puffed up and he grinned a cocky grin. “Most women do have pet names for that.”

“Ah, my good man, I’m sure they do,” Robert teased, patting his cheek. “But her pet name is, let’s just say, not what you might think.”

Leaving John with a curious crinkle to his brow, Robert walked away with a laugh working its way out of his throat.

…

Crawford said nothing as dinner began, and sopped up his stew and venison with his bread so that it dribbled in his beard. Indeed he was not burdening himself to use any manners, Robert thought, glancing beside him and refraining from calling the man a barbarian. Instead, he picked up his spoon and chewed a bite of food, washing it down with a swallow from his goblet. Wiping his mouth, he turned toward Harold Crawford and cleared his throat.

“I apologize if I seemed vexed earlier. I’m only recently returned from my outing and my tourney before that. Admittedly, I’ve not had a chance to recuperate.”

“No matter. We leave in the morn.” Crawford grunted. He offered nothing more.

Robert should have been satisfied at the decision and left well enough alone. He didn’t.

“I’ve been giving an idea some thought,” Robert began, testing Crawford’s reception.

“What is it?” the sheriff replied.

“I was thinking, should you find your flighty daughter, I might consider taking my father’s place in the betrothal contract. If you find merit in the idea, I would welcome a discussion.”

Crawford eyed him, paused, and ultimately set his meat down, wiping the sauce from his beard with his cuff. Robert resisted the urge to squirm in his seat under Crawford’s scrutiny. Finally, the sheriff showed a hint of a smile.

“You’re the first man since her disappearance to show any interest. Why is that? She’s unruly and hardly advertises herself as a useful wife.”

Robert shrugged. Just like Mariel would. “I have my pick of the English ladies and haven’t found one to which I wish to attach myself. Since my king has been eager to see me married, I’m certain a betrothal would please him.”

Not true, you liar. A formal betrothal to a wealthy English family who supported the crown would please King Richard. But the verdict was most definitely out on a Scottish one. The only reason a marriage between his father and Mariel had been tolerable was the fact that his father was an aging man with a ready, grown heir in place. An English one. Robert.

“My younger daughter, Madeline, is much more agreeable and would make a better prospect at this point. For I can tell you, Mariel’s prospects look bleak when I finally get my hands on the wee wench,” Crawford said threateningly.

He released a belch and Robert recoiled inwardly. The man spoke of Mariel as if she were a criminal, not a daughter. Instead, Robert took to play-acting. “I have to admit a demure, agreeable woman is not to my taste. She needs to have some, fire, shall we say, in order to hold my interest. I like to submit a woman. And to be honest, I’m tired of the search. ’Twould be easier if I could just put my name to paper and say to hell with it. My father said Mariel was fair and I’ll trust his judgment on that, but I know not what your other daughter looks like and her looks would need to appeal to me, if I’m supposed to sire heirs.”

The look on Harold Crawford’s face seemed to change. Robert couldn’t determine what that meant, but the man seemed to understand his sentiment—a grand lie—and nodded. Still, Mariel might embrace motherhood if she married, but Robert should in no way expect her to be beholden to the birthing bed. She was too spirited, would want the freedom to ride, to shoot, not to be tethered to a gaggle of crying mouths. And as enjoyable as it would be to take her to bed, he had no desire to ever douse her fire. It was that very fire that was scalding him and the burn from it was most pleasant. She would submit to him of her own will. He would never force her.

He slammed a portcullis down on his thoughts. He hardly knew the young woman. How on earth could he consider her wishes about children, as if they had been planning on them all along? He was daft. He didn’t even want to be married. Not really. Though the idea didn’t sound so much like a death sentence anymore.

But he did want to save Mariel from this arse next to him, consuming his food with exactly the manners Robert would have expected from a barbarian.

“If you seek to enter into a betrothal contract, then what if I agree but can nay find the brat for some time to come?” Crawford finally said.

Robert shrugged again, plucking grapes from a stem in the center of the dais. So the key to gaining a little of the man’s respect, or at least his attention, was to behave like a callous husband. “I might want the contract to placate my king, but make no mistake, I’m in no hurry to be shackled at the altar. If you cannot produce her just yet, I wouldn’t complain overmuch.”

“And what if she’s ruined herself already? I wouldn’t put it past her to be promiscuous, given her wild ways.”

No, not the question Robert wanted to ponder. Mariel was indeed versed in men. On the one hand, he was excited by what little of her passion he had tasted, knowing he would get to benefit from her experience. But on the other hand, he wished he could have been the man to teach her about loving. Alas, some other lucky bastard—or bastards, the thought hit him—had taken the pleasure. Hell, even Jonathan had taken his taste before Robert had intervened.

Most women would be ashamed if a man questioned their bedchamber behaviors. But again, not Mariel. Does that bother you? That I like men? That I’m not afraid to like men? Oh Laird in heaven, m’ reputation! Because if you were looking at me like some vestal virgin to seduce, you’ve barked up the wrong tree… She had turned his criticism on him. If men could love women, women could love men.

He shrugged again. “That’s a bridge to cross only if reached.”

Crawford was clearly thinking. “How would you subdue her? Word has it you’re soft on those in your charge.”