Page 34 of An Earl for the Archeress

He stood back and folded his arms, perturbed yet amused. “Pray tell, woman. When have you ever given a compliment? My guess is the very words would be hemlock on your lips.”

…

“Well, man, if I need to prove you wrong, so be it. I find you to be, eh…” Lord, he is right. She searched for a way to compliment him without sounding like a sorry sop of a lady. Robert scowled and shifted his weight, leveling an I-told-you-so glare at her. “To not be as bad as what I initially thought. At least, you seem to be better than the rogue you’re thought to be.”

“That’s a compliment?” He shook his head and turned back to his horse, swinging up into the saddle to abandon her.

“Wait!” she exclaimed. He turned, looking down from above. “You’ve been ever kind and patient. And truth be told, though I swear if you ever use this against me I’ll aim my next arrow at you.” He grinned at her words. “You are, indeed, handsome enough that I can see why women would vie for your attention.”

His chest expanded and a cocky grin, much like the one he’d given her when he’d teased her about the whores at the tourney, grew on his lips.

“But do not expect me to fall at your feet should you dally with another,” she added hastily. “A pretty face isn’t enough to keep me begging.”

“Oh no.” He chuckled, jumping back down and sauntering back to her. He took her about the waist as if claiming a war spoil, dragging her to his chest. “You’ve already proven you’d fall at my feet.”

“How so?” she demanded.

He leaned in, kissed her, rolled his tongue over her lips, nibbling at her skin. She turned to warm, wonderful putty in his hands. And as soon as he had her bent backward, arching over her, he whispered, “Just now, my dearest, when you thought I’d leave, you fell very hard at my feet to stop me.”

“Not literally, I did not,” she breathed back, staring at his lips in wait of further affection, wholly unaware of the crofter and his wife staring at them with ready gossip on their lips for the villagers.

“Concede the winning point to me this round, for I was right,” he teased. “And now. My council. You will be there.” That broke the trance, but as soon as she began to argue, he silenced any further criticisms with his next words. “You deserve to be there, Mariel Crawford. I would value your thoughts, and with your father just gone, I need to act.” He pecked her gently on the lips and nose with such ease, it was a wonder they had only recently met. “I believe you will see the merit in my offer.”

Chapter Eleven

I am never going to escape Huntington. She sighed as she walked down the castle corridor above the great hall terminating at the doors of Lord Huntington’s solar. Robert. Rob. The beautiful, disheveled lord who was actively trying to seduce her. And she was supposed to think clearly, at a council, no less, when he would no doubt remind her at every glance that he felt like pinning her to a tree, stroking his tongue against hers, nudging his manhood against her stomach or more… What on earth was she doing, falling for such a scoundrel?

The doors were grand and imposing with heraldic banners flanking either side, biblical figures carved into relief on the doors themselves. ’Twas a grander solar than her father’s, whose castle in Ayr was imposing but had been built as an impenetrable medieval fortress on a cliff and nothing more. Mayhap it was all her blackened memories tainting her opinion, but her proud home of Castle Ayr had always felt like a primitive dungeon.

When the doors to the solar opened upon her knocking, her awe only increased. The ceilings were nearly as tall as the great hall, with impressive banners hanging in succession from front to back over a large round board. The board itself looked ancient and was polished smooth, so that it gleamed in the daylight flooding through the arched windows. A map was laid across the surface. Intricate woodwork paneled the walls, and the room contained not one, but two hearths on opposite ends, both as tall as she was, and both sculpted by stonemasons and plastered with whitewash, matching the stone walls extending above the paneling to the ceiling. Over one hearth hung the Huntington coat of arms in its black, green, and silver splendor, and over the other hung the king’s red colors, to whom it was clear Robert was loyal.

She did her best to pick her jaw up from the floor and proceeded inside, where Robert stood at a sideboard established for refreshments, while four other men, including Jonathan, stood in a cluster next to the table, watching her come inside like she were a novelty. She supposed she was.

“Ah, the final piece of the puzzle arrives,” Robert said, acknowledging her like one of the men as he corked the wine decanter. “You may wait outside,” he directed the doormen, and walked to her with two goblets.

She shifted, unsure of what to do. Walk forward under their awkward scrutiny? Stand still and await Robert’s arrival with her wine? Hold her hands before her? Or perhaps place one on her hip in a casual stance? Take a seat along the wall or beneath a window and wait demurely with her hands folded in her lap, like a woman would be expected to do in the company of men?

“Come to the table, Elmer,” Robert said, a tease in his eyes.

He walked toward her, stopping at the table’s edge, and he set down her goblet. His fingers remained on the stem as he eyed her. She came forward.

“Will, Alan, David, this is Elmer, my archery competition. John, of course, knows her,” he added, and Mariel knew the scowl he sent to his giant of a man had true feelings fueling it. “And I believe you, Will, met her once.”

A man of Robert’s age, tall, and cleanly put together, with red embellishments woven into his coat, sporting a dark goatee of hair trimmed upon his chin, scrutinized her. She remembered seeing him upon the dais, chatting with Lady Anna. He nodded. “Quite right,” the man finally agreed. “She and her brother are one and the same. You had a good eye at the tourney, Cousin, to recognize a woman archer. And you have bollocks, woman, slipping into the tourney as you did.”

Confused, she looked to Robert for clarity. The man did indeed look familiar, and not just from supper the other night.

“Will was in the registration tent with Wesley and me when you registered,” Robert clarified. “He’s also my cousin.”

“I see,” she said, arriving by Robert’s side to pick up her goblet, which he didn’t release until he felt her fingers brush his. “And my name is really—”

“Elmer,” Robert interrupted. “Your name is Elmer.”

“Elmer?” She scowled.

Robert grinned, as did Will, John, and the two others. “Yes, a fitting name. ’Twas indeed the name you gave yourself, was it not?”

“I didn’t come here to be mocked,” she snapped. “Or was that the sole reason for inviting me? Warm her with kind words about how deserving she is, then have a grand laugh at her expense the moment she walks through the door?”