Page 71 of An Earl for the Archeress

He returned with wine for everyone, noting the fine velvets and leather of Nottingham’s outfit, finer than Robert’s own clothing. The materials were expensive, luxurious, and rings lined his fingers. Nottingham was stealing from the poor to make himself richer, because Robert knew he had not been a wealthy man before accepting his post as Sheriff. In fact, he had hardly been noteworthy. Rumor had it the only reason William de Wendenal had acquired the post was because so many qualified nobles were away fighting in the Crusade. And the only reason Robert had not been recruited to the Holy Land was because his father had been in poor health and had no other heirs.

“My family extends back several generations, having arrived with the Normans, and these banners you see have been in the family for two centuries,” Robert stated. “As you know, the Earl of Huntington is a title that grows in wealth with each generation.” He turned to Crawford. “A fine family for any daughter to marry into.” Crawford watched him, calculating him. “Your daughter begged the charity of one of my crofters, who took her in. I discovered her and locked her in a guest chamber so as to write to you and ask you what should be done with her. And I must say, feisty as she is, my lord, she is indeed a fine specimen. Having already had one rejection from you, I wish to offer on the woman again.”

Crawford and Nottingham exchanged a look.

“Is there something to which I’m not privy?” Robert asked, eying them.

Crawford looked back at him and took a swig of the wine as though it was a clay jug and he a tavern letch. “Aye. I’ve betrothed her to William of Nottingham here. He’ll marry her in front of the first priest we find after she’s captured. Hopefully, that will be in the next few days or sooner.”

Robert didn’t let his eyes betray him and slice over to Nottingham, but there was no negotiating elopement with Mariel any further. Nottingham would probably chain her in the bedchamber. If Nottingham was anything like his own father, he would take great pleasure in breaking her.

“The woman attacked us in the woods with a band of thieves. William got a good look at her,” Crawford said, smoothing his beard but not mentioning getting shot by her, though Robert noted a bandage over his right wrist and his fingers didn’t seem to work properly. Thankfully, his own injury hadn’t interfered with the function of his arm, and his bandaging was well hidden beneath the fabric of his tunic.

Now he shifted his gaze to Nottingham, who stood silently with a triumphant smile.

“Whilst I intended to end her life,” Crawford said, “Nottingham devised a better punishment. If he takes her to wife, she can be reminded each day of her transgression, and I tire of the lass’s antics. Best to pass her off to someone else who will bring her to heel, and I will still benefit from an alliance with Nottingham, whom I trust with my estates.”

Chains, bedchamber, broken spirit, and misery.

Nottingham nodded. “I saw the tart straight on, and though your family would offer a nice alliance, I am the Sheriff of Nottingham, in charge of the king’s business at my discretion until he returns, so I believe I offer a, shall we say, better option.”

Did Nottingham sense competition in Robert?

“Ah, there’s the rub. King Richard is due to return soon, and is his kingdom not suffering in his absence? From the amount of folk coming to my door, asking for a bit of food or a place to remain until they can find a new home, I’d say being poor is quite the dangerous predicament these days. I wonder if King Richard will be pleased with the state of his affairs?”

“Are you suggesting I do my duty dishonestly?”

Robert and Will exchanged a glance. If the boot fits, of course you ought to don it proudly. “Ah, good man, I suggest nothing. I’m simply saying things change like the wind. Both of us would offer a fine suit for marriage, and yet the power or influence one has can change courses with little to no notice…” Robert trailed away cryptically. “But alas for me, if you are Lord Crawford’s chosen son-in-law, despite mayhap being older than him, who am I to complain?”

He turned back to Crawford. “I have little else to offer you. Your betrothal contract with my late father is locked in my drawers, and I was hoping we could simply amend it to my name. More’s the pity for me.” He added a perturbed sigh. “Lady Mariel ruined two sets of bed linens, French imports, I should add, by making a rope and escaping out her window. Mayhap I would have made a poorly husband if I cannot even keep track of the girl for one night. And unless you plan to recompense me for the loss”—he paused, though no such offer materialized; not that he thought it would—“I suppose there’s no business to conduct here at all.” Robert smiled, motioning for all to finish their drinks, and then ushering them out the door once more.

Yet Crawford took his time with his drink. He seemed reluctant to leave. Perhaps with just a little more time, Robert could have swayed the man to agree to a marriage between himself and Mariel. But time was not a luxury either Robert or Mariel possessed.

“We’ll partake of some food and be on our way. I’ll not let the wench slip through my fingers again,” Crawford said, seemingly coming to a decision and throwing back the remains of his goblet.

Chapter Twenty-One

Mariel paced to her window, looking at much of nothing for the hundredth time. The sky grew dim, and though she had picked at her trencher brought up from the kitchens, she was too nervous to eat much. She couldn’t see the approach to the castle, which was good, because her father would spot her if he had a view to the old guard tower she was entombed within.

The tower was small and circular with arrow slits meant to protect the side wall of the castle. Still, Robert had gone to pains to make it comfortable. Only one candle had been provided to keep the light dim, but a rug, a chair and table, and a mountain of blankets upon a single pallet had been moved in so she might stay warm, since the tower had no hearth. She smiled, even if it was strained. It was clear Robert didn’t want her associating the old tower with the prison her father had used on her. After Alice had brought her dinner, the woman had clicked her tongue at Mariel and deposited a fur-lined cloak upon the pallet along with the same pink gown she had worn the night before, chemise, stockings, comb, and ribbons—things a lady might need for a special liaison—but had left promptly.

She sighed. It was clear Alice didn’t approve of Robert’s interest in her, and yet it was also clear the woman had resigned herself to her master’s whim. If Robert did, in fact, succeed in stealing her right out from underneath her father’s nose to marry her, she would have to learn to get on with the head servant, and it was clear the woman didn’t think a Scottish wildling was good enough for her earl.

She paced once more, fidgeting her fingers together, and returned to the pallet where she sat and shivered, pulling a blanket over her. Perhaps the gown would be the better garment right now, for it was thicker with its underskirts and she would be warmer. Her mind made up, she threw off the blankets once more and stripped out of her tunic, dropping the chemise over her head and trousers, then the gown, which she fastened up as far as she could go before the assistance of a maid would be needed. Letting her hair down, she combed it out, making two thin braids at each of her temples, which she then pulled back over her loose tresses. Mayhap the hair could also help to insulate her.

She stripped her trousers and pulled on the woolen stockings, pulling the trousers back over them and fastening everything beneath her skirts. Wind howled against the walls and shot through the arrow slits, and she returned to the bed, lying down, and pulling the pile of blankets up and around her head. At long last, the shivering subsided, and with the sky darkening and the single candle so dim, she yawned, fought the urge to sleep, and ultimately failed, drifting off, just as the door was pushed open.

Instinctively she darted upright, whipping loose a dagger she had placed within her skirt pocket.

“Easy, Mari.” Robert smiled, taking in her mussed hair and the quickness in which she rallied her arms. “’Tis only me.”

She relaxed. Lord help him if he ever startles me awake in our marriage bed. He might end up without an important appendage, and wouldn’t that be a shame? “I’ve been unable to see a thing from this horrible vantage up here. What a misplaced tower,” she grumbled. His smile grew. “I’ve been expecting Crawford to shove through my door for hours. What took so long?”

“He’s just now gone,” Robert said, coming to her pallet and retrieving her cloak, noting a pair of slippers as well as a pair of boots.

She pushed back the blankets and he turned. A pleased light twinkled in his eyes. “You donned your gown. I had Alice bring it to you, for alas, Bridget was unaccounted for, but I wasn’t sure you would want it…for tonight.”

Bridget was always about and ready to jump at her lord’s command.