Page 73 of An Earl for the Archeress

She shook her head, lowering her gaze in an uncharacteristically modest expression. “I’m just nervous. I wondered if you had regrets, and then my imagination ran away from me and I had a fleeting fear that you in sooth took me to my faither to exchange me, or gather a reward, or some such. It was nonsense,” she added, “but it still frightened me for a moment. I’m sorry I—”

“Mari, I’m pleading with you. Your father was an awful man to make you so wary,” he said, taking her arms once more and pulling her to him. “But don’t keep punishing me because of it. I have been good to you and will continue to be so. This I vow.”

She nodded and stepped out of his embrace, reaching up to her saddle once more. He wanted to hold her a moment longer, but there wasn’t time. He lifted her aloft, and she swung her leg over. Continuing in silence, they finally wove through a widening path that broke out onto a road toward a clearing. In the clearing, she realized a torch stood within an iron sconce on the door of what appeared to be not only a chapel, but also an abbey. The outer walls were stone, the roof timbered, and the location bucolic. Robert stopped, coming to her side to help her down, and this time, unlike all times before, she waited for him. He smiled but didn’t speak.

Placing one hand at his back, he held out his other to her, which she took. The two of them walked to the front door.

“Rob, are you sure you want to marry—”

Robert whipped a finger up and rested it on Mariel’s lips. “Hush, woman. Don’t make me regret this marriage before it’s even happened,” he teased, his eyes twinkling, “Or you’ll turn me into one of those crotchety men who does nothing but complain of bad weather and his wife’s peevish nagging.”

Mariel cracked a smile and turned to face the door. She squeezed his hands so hard he felt the need to twist his fingers to ease her grip. He lifted his other fist and rapped the door.

After some minutes, a metal latch began to clank and was lifted. A round-faced priest in a cassock held out a lantern to see their faces, his belly bulging and his chin hanging low. His face brightened.

“Ah, my Lord Huntington. I received your missive and have been waiting up for you. So you’ve finally settled on a woman to tie the proverbial knot with, eh?”

“I have indeed,” Robert replied, the cheer in his voice overdone, when in reality, his stomach was twisting nervously.

“And she is a beauty, I see,” the priest said, shifting the lantern to illuminate Mariel’s face. “Come inside, my children, and welcome to Creake Abbey, my lady. Mind not the bodies lying in the corridor. They’re weary travelers needing a roof under which to sleep. We’re an almshouse and sadly, business is booming. We ran out of pallets and blankets sennights ago, so they must sleep on the cold floor.”

He led the way toward the chapel through the humble entrance. The walls were not adorned with niches and fine woodwork, but were plastered and whitewashed, and only a few tallow candles burned in plain sconces. On either side of the entry, against the walls, lay people sleeping. Some had their own blankets or cloaks, most had naught. Snores and breathing of weary folk filled the void and yet succeeded at making the void emptier.

The priest opened another door, thick and wooden, rounded over the top. They entered a small chapel. The walls here were also plastered and plain. There were no gilded shrines to the Virgin Mary, Jesus, or any saints. No stations of the cross were inlaid into the floor or hanging upon the walls. Plain benches were aligned for travelers and holy men to hear mass, and to one side were four small prie-dieus for receiving communion. An altar of roughly hewn wood sat at the front flat on the floor with a goblet of earthenware and a clay platter, with a cut of bread upon it.

The only candles lighting the darkness sat perched in a candelabrum upon the altar.

“Remove your cloaks,” Father Tucker said, “and come stand before the altar.”

They did so. Robert took Mariel’s cloak, laying them both across a bench. He guided her to the front of the chapel, flashing her a smile, before Mariel’s face dropped.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” she exclaimed, hoisting up her bunches of skirts to reach into the pocket of her trousers.

“My lady!” exclaimed the priest, shielding his eyes.

“I nearly overlooked this.” She pulled out something. “Don’t worry, Faither, I’m wearing trousers. You’ll nay go to hell.”

Robert chuckled, folding his arms, and watched her with amusement. His Mariel was always a surprise and thankfully, it put his nerves at ease. Mariel reached over her head and dropped Robert’s necklace down so it settled upon her breast. The pink stone glittered in the candlelight, matching her flushed cheeks. With embarrassment? Or with nerves? Or mayhap excitement?

“I could nay forget my pendant. ’Tis the most meaningful item I’ve ever been given.”

His smile softened. Yes, he had made the right choice in Mariel. He just hoped he had cast his dice accurately regarding Crawford and Nottingham.

“Then you would honor me to wear it always, love,” he murmured, taking up her hand.

“I will.”

“Turn toward me, my lord and, eh, lady?” Father Tucker questioned, for certainly a lady would never rip her skirts up in a house of worship.

“That’s correct, Father Tucker. My lady,” Robert said.

“You said an expedited ceremony was required, and so I will cut to the necessary parts. Kneel, children of God,” the priest commanded, still red-faced. They did so. “A marriage is a sacred bond, made in the presence of God. It is a bond that cannot be broken except by death. The commitment to cherish and protect that you are about to make to this woman, Robert of Huntington, and the vows you are about to make to this man, eh…”

“Mariel Crawford,” she finished for him.

“Right, Lady Crawford. The vows you are about to make to this man, to be faithful in mind and body, and to be obedient and honor your husband and lord—”

Their eyes sliced sidelong to one another. Be obedient? Lord. This should be entertaining. Robert waggled his eyebrows at her.