Page 72 of An Earl for the Archeress

“Well, I have it on account that you liked it, and I was bloody freezing—”

“You wore it because I liked it?” The revelation didn’t inflate his arrogance as she thought it might, but instead made him step back and look at her, taking her hand at arm’s length and holding it outward as if making an inspection as his eyes drifted up and down. “I cannot believe all of this will be mine.” He shook his head, taking up the ends of her hair to rub them with his thumb. “I’m a lucky man.”

“Well, here, future lord and master. Do me up, if you would. I haven’t a lady’s maid to tend to the hard to reach places.” She turned around and swept her hair over her shoulder, revealing her back and chemise exposed as the fastenings hung open partway down to her waist.

…

A wash of dirty thoughts tumbled through his mind. Do her up? Indeed. Up and down and up again, to all the hard to reach places she had. And yet the way she stood so comfortably requesting his assistance spoke of the trust he wanted from her. It was the trust a woman had for her man of many years, a simple, intimate, yet routine task that spoke of comfort many never achieved in their lifetime with their wives, but only with their mistresses.

Lord and master of Huntington? Slave and pawn was what he sensed he was becoming. Because aside from his king, the only other person he would willingly bow down to was this woman, right before he started kissing his way back up from those feet before reaching her lips, where he intended to plant kisses for the rest of his life until they were old, shriveled prunes of their former selves.

His hands came up to her shoulders, gently, sliding to the exposed skin on her back. He sensed her inhale and watched gooseflesh rise on her skin. His fingertips made tender circles at her nape, before he snapped out of it and began securing the delicate fastenings.

“We mustn’t dawdle,” he whispered beside her ear. “I decided to make your father an offer for your hand, but he has already given you to the Sheriff of Nottingham. As soon as they find you, Wendenal’s to take you to the nearest church by force.”

He took her shoulders once more and turned her around to see her stunned eyes.

“I’m sorry I won’t be able to give you a beautiful ceremony full of fanfare and entertainments…” he said, hesitating with the next part. “And in order for no annulment to be possible, I cannot waste time in…”

“In bedding me,” she finished for him.

He shook his head. “No, Mari. Whilst our marriage union might be in haste, with you…” He brushed her hair back, unable to look into her eyes, and instead taking in her hair and lips and cheeks, fighting to force the intimate words over his lips. “With you, it can only be loving, not bedding. But I’m sorry all the same that you’ll not have the perfect night you deserve.”

She reached up and cupped his cheeks. “You give up your freedom in order to protect me. How could I feel entitled to more? Even if you never touch me again, you will have given me protection under the law of the king and the law of God.”

“Make no mistake, woman, I’ll be touching. If we are to marry, we ought to make the most of it, no?” He teased, though he sensed her growing nerves.

“I can nay go to Nottingham. I can nay ever let my faither find me.”

He felt her shiver, heard the brogue she tried to mask reemerge in her nervousness.

He offered the crook of his elbow. “Then we leave without further delay. Come, future Lady Huntington. Father Tucker awaits.”

…

They rode separate horses through the forest, he on Goliath, she on a horse from his stables, taking deer paths that only a native to Huntington would know. They connected to other deer paths, crossing through trickles of streams. The wind was blocked deep in the forest, but it was still cold and Robert’s nose and ears stung.

He glanced back at Mariel, bundled in her fur cloak, gown, and boots, with a hood draped over her head. Nothing about her appearance denoted a wedding. There were no flowers, no maids-in-waiting to bathe her and dress her, no rosemary scattered at the church door. And yet, he felt…excited? Was he actually excited to marry her? What they were doing was forbidden, more rebellious than Mariel running away from home. What Mariel was doing was handing over her life to him, putting herself in his control. No doubt a part of her heart rebelled violently at the notion of having a new lord and master, making this gift from her all the more profound. If there was any part of her that still believed in a happy future, in spite of her dreadful past, he was resolved to make it reality, for Mariel’s sake and in his mother’s memory. Her threat was genuine, that much was certain. She would leave him if he ever hurt her.

…

They continued on for the better part of two hours, Robert’s eyes and ears open to every sound, every little movement. He refrained from looking back at her, but rather sensed her there and kept his words to himself. He might admit he was excited, but he was certainly nervous, too. She stopped suddenly.

He turned and looked over his shoulder at her halting. The foliage and undergrowth was so thick that turning his mount around to face her would be impossible.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, worried. “Don’t tell me you’ve decided not to go through with it.”

“Why? What if I have?”

“Dammit,” he cursed, his good nature gone. He swung his leg over, hopped down, and marched to her. He swung her down from her horse before she could register what was happening. “Why do you do this to me?” he demanded.

She flinched from him, only for a split second, but regained her composure quickly. He dropped his arms and took a step back, raking his hand through his hair. If he wasn’t careful, he would make her fear him, too. No words emerged from her lips.

“Mariel.” He breathed her name. “God, woman, you make me feel more irritated than I’ve ever felt. I’m sorry. I just, I can’t understand what I have ever done to make you wary of me. You’re on your way to marry me, of your own volition. Why do you keep bouncing back and forth?”

“It’s silly of me,” she said, then fell quiet.

“Speak to me,” he urged. “Have I done something?”