Page 52 of An Earl for the Archeress

“Psst,” Robert said, leaning in the window.

Both whirled around.

“You’re in danger,” he whispered, though the command in his voice was palpable.

Mariel was too frightened to glare or offer her signature eye roll, and the old man looked as though his ancient heart might give out as he grabbed the wall for support. It was then Robert realized that, dressed in a hood, his face wasn’t discernible.

“Come,” Robert commanded, motioning to both of them. “Out the window.”

“Who are you?” began the old man.

“No questions. Come.”

Mariel exhaled as if she had held all of England’s air in her lungs and dashed to the window, snatching up her bow. She recognizes me. Could it be she was glad to see him? She lifted one leg over the sill, though Robert hauled her out the rest of the way. She clung to his arm, but he extracted himself. There was no time to take comfort in the fact that she sought safety in his arms. With a single gesture, he pointed at the ground to indicate she should wait beside him, and then turned back to the old man, holding his hands out to help him out the window.

The old man shook his head. “Who’s coming down this road?”

“The Sheriff of Nottingham, William de Wendenal. To collect your rents,” Robert said. “There’s no guarantee he won’t harm you.”

The old man shook his head. “I’ll wait and meet him. Surely he’ll be merciful to an old widower who has no money left.”

“Your trust in him is misplaced, old man,” Robert cautioned. “I’ve seen him cause great damage to others. Come, and I can at least guarantee your safety.”

The old man shook his head. “Me wife’s belongings are here and I’ve nothing else left. I can’t climb out windows or run away. I can barely walk. Take this woman away with you and be gone. I’ll fare okay. I have for eighty-eight winters already.”

Robert shook his head but acquiesced to the man’s request and took Mariel’s hand. He dashed back into the woods to the nearest tree and hauled her behind it. Bracing her to the bark, he ripped back his hood, letting it pool around his neck. He crushed his lips to hers, demanding a kiss from her in return, and gripped the sides of her face. Then he stepped back before she could respond, drew in a breath, and grabbed her shoulders, shaking her.

“You daft woman!” he whispered. “I didn’t go to Charlotte for her favors. I went to ask her a favor, to help me. To assemble for you the comforts of a lady, since you’re a noblewoman, for I wished to please you, and she’s the only noblewoman there aside from Anna—who I can hardly tolerate—and I trust Charlotte’s judgment. I went to her for you. I’m not a liar. I told you I have no interest in the woman and dammit, I expect you to start believing me. How many times do I need to explain myself? How much harder must I work to convince you I’m not the bastard you want to believe I am?”

He lunged in for another kiss again, but she fought her mouth away.

“Why did you not tell me?” she demanded.

“You did not give me a chance,” he said, venom flowing over his lips. “And you climbed out your window, so I could not tell you. Would you have listened? Or would you have called me a liar and an arse? Your ire was higher than I’ve ever seen. I don’t give a shite right now if you hate me and want to leave me. You’re unsafe at the present and I’m your only means for protection. So get off your high horse and submit yourself to my help. If only to escape your father right now, quit fighting me every step of the bloody way and submit, woman! I care for you whether or not you care for me, and you’re in grave danger!”

To his surprise, she had no retort, no shove to deliver, no tantrum to throw, and her eyes never once rolled. Her mouth fell open, but then it closed. She nodded. “I thank thee.”

Now it was his turn to be surprised, and a smidge remorseful for having been so forceful. But there was no time to take pride in his tiny victory. He had her back and that was all that mattered. He nodded once, took up her hand, his bow in the other, and hauled her farther into the trees, circling around to the front of the cottage. Beside a sturdy pine tree with several branches like shelves, he motioned for her to climb.

“Don’t rustle the branches or make a single noise,” he whispered in her ear. “Don’t come down until I tell you it’s safe. Do you understand?”

She nodded.

…

Cautiously, she began to rise, moving from one branch to another. By the time she climbed three branches, she looked down at Robert again, though the man had vanished, and her father, alongside Nottingham, began to pass under her. She froze and held her breath. If she could have paused her heart, she would have, for certainly the pulse knocking her chest was as loud as a festival drum.

The horses passed without issue. Mariel resumed climbing, pulling herself up, taking time to brace each foot, gaining just the right balance to rise up with the least amount of shaking. Finally, she sat on a high branch concealed behind boughs and needles, and watched. She had only been higher than she was now when standing on a castle parapet, and there was a difference between standing on a solid stone fortification and sitting precariously on a tree branch with the forest floor directly beneath, as a reminder of how violently one might die hitting the ground. If that were to happen, it wouldn’t matter one iota if her father was there to haul her away to his castle towers.

But now that she sat here, why on earth had the blasted earl convinced her that climbing this tree would be safest? Shouldn’t she be making haste to her horse to run as far away from here as possible? She exhaled, wanting to kick herself as she realized how easily Robert had bent her to his will…again.

A movement in the opposite tree caught her attention. It took a moment to decipher who it was, but there was no mistaking Little John’s broad frame. Though hooded, she could tell he looked at her. He gave her a single nod, then turned his attention back to the procession now halting in front of the woodsman’s door.

Comprehension dawned. This was the raid they had been discussing in Robert’s solar two days before. She had managed to get herself caught right in the thick of it. She looked down at Harold Crawford and could at least feel a jot of relief, that as long as he was still out roaming the countryside in search of her and in search of more political clout, he wasn’t at home terrorizing her fragile sister. Guilt washed through her again for abandoning Madeline to her own devices. What kind of a person was she, leaving her helpless wee sister alone?

Nottingham clearing his throat distracted her from her guilty conscience. A squirrel bounded over the roof of the hut onto a low-hanging branch. How Robert had known the woodsman was going to be Nottingham’s next target, she could not say, but it likely had much to do with the comings and goings of David, who Robert had said made an excellent spy. Come to think of it, she had seen him pass Robert a missive on her first night in the great hall while dining at Jonathan’s table. She hadn’t known David at the time. Clearly David’s role in Robert’s band of men was more about his sleuthing talents.

The Beast of Ayr turned to Nottingham and said something. Her nerves spiked, anticipating what she might witness. Nottingham was about to do something horrible, or disgusting, or even illegal. She had already seen him do such to the forest peasant and his wife. Robert was right. With no law in the king’s absence, someone had to act on the side of justice and take back what Nottingham had ill-gotten. If there was no recourse for the common people in the absence of King Richard, at what point did men decide to fight lawless sovereigns with lawlessness of their own?