Page 81 of An Earl for the Archeress

“That’s enough from you,” Nottingham snarled, yanking off his glove and lashing it across Robert’s cheek.

No, that is enough from you. Robert lunged forward as the guards slackened their grip. Fools, thinking that a pair of shackles meant he was incapacitated. Throwing the chain around Nottingham’s neck, he yanked hard with both hands, kicking a foot back at Crawford who came to his friend’s aid and sending him staggering backward. But soldiers were landing blows upon him and Crawford lifted a knife.

Nottingham gained freedom from his choking grip and took a step back, filling his lungs with air once more.

“Ye certain I can nay kill ’im?” Crawford rumbled.

“Yes,” Nottingham wheezed, rubbing his throat and staring with hateful eyes at the young earl. “I’ll take him alive and let King Richard see the dishonest, violent man he has become.”

“This discussion is far from over,” Crawford said, and brought the butt of the knife down on Robert’s crown.

Robert buckled, his eyes rolling back, and he fell limply into the soldiers’ grips.

…

Crawford collected his good-for-nothing daughter, hoisting her up.

“What am I supposed to do with her? Ye were supposed to marry her.”

Nottingham grinned wickedly. “My lord, I’m a selfish man. Your daughter seems a hellion. I fear she would murder me in my sleep. I have the culprit of these raids in custody now, and I can’t tell you how pleased I’ll be to inventory the Huntington vaults. Until Robert’s fate is decided, ’twould seem she is trapped in marriage.”

Crawford looked ready to rage. “We had a deal. You help me and I help you.”

Nottingham’s men dragged Robert’s body away. “And I am good on it. We’ll figure out another arrangement. After all, I helped you find Mariel in the first place, and you helped me bag my bandit. But I believe I dodged the arrow of matrimony with that spawn of yours. And oddly, I have Robert of Huntington to thank for that.”

He offered a shake of his wrist, and Crawford, resisting the urge to spit on him, shifted Mariel in his arms and forced his hand out to shake, as well. Indeed, Nottingham had helped him end a months-long search for Mariel that had proven fruitless before. He carried her to her horse from Huntington’s stables and tossed her belly-down over the saddle. After lashing her into place with extra ropes, he mounted his own horse, looked to where his men stood ready to depart, and parted ways with Nottingham’s contingent, heading north.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Mariel woke to a setting sun, her mind a haze. Where was she? Her neck ached. Someone was holding her body upright, and she soon realized she was clenched within Teàrlach MacGregor’s vise of a grip. At her stirring, he tightened his grip further.

Her nose throbbed. Had it been broken? Looking down her nose, however, nothing seemed out of alignment, though she could tell whatever had caused the pain had made it swell and her lips were fattened. Her father had done it, she remembered. She was lumbering on a horse. Men surrounded her, ahead of her, all wearing her father’s Crawford plaid. Teàrlach was holding her prisoner. Harold Crawford was taking her back to Ayr.

Finish him… Her father’s order rang through her mind. “Robert!” she exclaimed, her voice scratchy.

“Wheesht, woman,” Teàrlach spoke in her ear.

“Nay!” she said on a strangled cry. “What happened to Robert? Did that bastard kill him?”

She contorted herself in his grip, and he readjusted his hold to keep her in his lap.

Her father turned around and trotted his horse up to her. “Silence, lass!” Lifting his hand, he threatened to strike.

“Do you think your threats scare me?” she wailed, twisting fruitlessly in Teàrlach’s grip. “Strike me until I lie dead in a pool of my own blood, Faither, but I’ll never fear you! Do you hear me? I hate you! I hate you! But I love Robert! What have you done to Robert?”

She wailed and twisted for her freedom, except she knew she wore herself out and would soon lose stamina. And then her father’s mouth twisted up into a grin. It did not bode well of his next words.

“The Earl of Huntington is dead. Slain for his crimes against the Sheriff of Nottingham and his crimes against me. I watched his blood soak the forest floor. Ye’re a widow, and despite spoiling yourself like the filthy wee trollop ye are, I can still find you a suit of my choosing, because of my rank and name. Until then, you will learn your place! And that place is in my prison for shooting me, if I do nay kill ye first myself! Now shut up!”

He followed through on his strike, though thankfully it was an open-palmed slap and not his fist. Still, her face twisted sideways under the force and her head knocked into Teàrlach’s chest. It didn’t matter. His words had disrupted her anger. Robert was dead and she was frozen. She didn’t feel the sting of the slap smarting her cheek, didn’t feel the throbbing in her head she had been feeling moments ago. She felt like losing her stomach.

Surprisingly, Teàrlach eased his grip, as if he could sense her shock. She doubled over the horse’s mane and felt a fountain of tears bloom in her eyes as Crawford turned his reins to regain the lead of his contingent. A mournful wail worked its way out of her throat. Her father turned to look at her and nodded once at her agony.

“Good,” Crawford said. “Mayhap finally you’ll realize I control you and you’ll submit to my authority.”

As the men lost interest in her and her sobs turned into silence, Teàrlach gathered her back in his arms and tightened his hold. Then she felt his face lean down to her ear. Disgust roiled through her. Did he think to start taking liberties with her now? She would never want another after Robert, and most certainly not her father’s hated head guardsmen who followed his orders without ever questioning the right of them. Except he whispered something, and in her growing rage, she missed it.

She stilled, hoping he would repeat it. He did.