Page 43 of An Earl for the Archeress

“Right. When?” she asked, her gaze focused. God, but he could kiss her again for the conviction on her face. In spite of her obvious nerves, she was rallying her determination not to fail him.

“I’ll shoot an arrow at this tree.” He gestured, patting the one they hid behind. “Do not flinch. Do not cower when it lodges beside you. Have your arrow nocked and release the projectile that moment without fail. Do you understand?”

She gave a curt nod, taking deep, measured breaths. Her eyes darted to Nottingham now facing toward them with his back to his man readying their mounts. Nottingham grunted and tossed the flaps of his surcoat over a shoulder, so he could unlace his trouser front. The sheriff dug into his breeches, and pulling out his cock, released a steady stream of urine. Ah, bloody hell. Robert winced. Mariel grimaced beneath her hood. He could see it in the way her eyes crinkled.

“Damn but my head is pounding,” Nottingham groused to his guardsman over his shoulder. “At least they had a good barrel of ale, even if it was watered.”

“Aye, sire, but it was the spirits that did me in,” the guardsman said.

“Any sign of the forest thieves this morn?”

“None that I could determine,” said his man. “I made a sweep of the area before breaking my fast.”

“Good,” Wendenal said, shaking his drips off and tucking himself back into his clothing. He righted his surcoat and moved to his horse. “Lord, but what a nuisance they make.”

“We’ll catch the bastards,” the guardsman replied. “And then you can have your fun with them.”

Robert couldn’t help but grin. Though anything were possible, the guard’s remark was unlikely. He leaned down to Mariel, lifted both of their hoods, and planted a final kiss upon her lips. “Remember,” he whispered. “Shoot the knot, and if trouble arises, run back to the horse and do not stop—”

“What about you?” she asked.

He looked into her mossy depths. “Don’t worry for me. My men and I can get ourselves out of a fight. Courage.” He inspirited her with a grip to her shoulder.

He dropped their hoods and didn’t give her time to protest before creeping back into the trees and leaving her alone.

Chapter Thirteen

Mariel didn’t realize she was holding her breath. She exhaled slowly, her heartbeat so loud in her ears it sounded as if it roared. She pulled her bow off her shoulder, her palms sweaty. Had she known that she would awaken to a raid on Nottingham, she might have had more time to prepare herself. True, she had perfected the art of being elusive, could shoot targets, and dodge animals. But never had she blatantly attacked anyone.

You are not attacking anyone now, either, she reminded herself. But Robert might. He swore no one would be hurt intentionally. But he also reminded her that, like any scheme as such, things could go wrong.

She took in a steadying lungful of air, then released it, and withdrew two arrows, lodging them between her knuckles. One for the initial shot, one ready to nock should the first fail. She could lob them in quick succession. In her haste to leave, she hadn’t worn her gauntlets, and now she was thankful. They would have creaked miserably.

“Too bad about the woman,” Wendenal said, knocking on the cottage door to hurry his other men along. They filed out. “She was a fetching little thing, even if she was carrying. I’m certain we could have entertained ourselves well with her.”

“Who knows where they ran off to? No one was in the shed this morn,” his guardsman said.

“Just as well,” Nottingham said. He secured his belts around his waist, an unmistakable purse jingling at his hip. “The beggars are probably behind on their taxes. Serves them right, scattering as they did. They probably ran off to Robert of Huntington, and like the tenderhearted fool that he is, he took them in.”

Another guardsman snorted, but didn’t speak as he, too, released his piss from the night before. Mariel looked away. Finally, the men congregated before the cottage and mounted their horses. As they readied to depart, they took formation, with two guardsmen side by side in front, Nottingham in the middle, and two side by side in the rear.

“Let’s away to Nottingham, men. Harold Crawford is visiting,” Wendenal said, and the party nudged their beasts into a trot.

Mariel’s heart jumped just knowing her sire was nearby.

An arrow whistled and lodged beside her head. She snapped out of her horror, dragged back her bowstring, and released her arrow. It cut clean through the knot Robert had indicated, just as three other arrows did the same to the other knots. A wide net fell down upon the traveling party.

“Damnation!” exclaimed Nottingham.

His men twisted in the netting. Confusion upset the horses. They whinnied and stomped, tossing their heads. Mariel watched, fascinated. The guardsmen tried to push away the rope and reach for their daggers at their hips, further ensnaring themselves. Mariel clung to the tree trunk.

Robert jumped down from a tree limb in front of them, both feet thudding solidly to the earth. She would know his slender waist and tall height anywhere, having wrapped her arms around it more than once already. He marched to Nottingham, dragged the man off his horse, reached his pouch through the netting, and sliced a dagger through his belts.

“A good day for taking from others by force, is it not?” Robert quipped, sliding free the purse strings and giving the velvet pouch a jingle. He tossed it up and down then slid it into his coat, gesturing to the cottage. “I see you beat me to the sentiment.”

“You!” Nottingham erupted, still tangled in the netting on the ground. “You’re committing a crime by stealing from me!”

“Was it not a crime, you stealing from the fine fellow who inhabits this cottage?”