Page 10 of An Earl for the Archeress

“I don’t abide by keeping prisoners unfairly, men. You know this.”

“But your father would have wanted the thief punished,” argued his man.

Robert felt the blood at his temple throbbing. “I’m not my father,” he said quietly. The guard stepped back. “You should be well aware of this, for the man has been dead and buried for nigh three months. Squire duties, the lot of you. Jonathan!” he bellowed for his friend who had a serving girl, Bridget, upon his knee.

The man jumped to attention and jogged forward. “Yes?”

“See to it these two are stripped of their weapons and forced to scrub piss for the next four days. Perhaps it will remind them to treat others justly, especially women.”

“Women?” Jonathan looked down at the girl in Huntington’s arms.

“Yes, your date at the tourney. And also my competition. She entered her brother, when really she was entering herself. Here she is.”

“The woman?” Jonathan asked. “She was the archer?”

“I’ll explain in due course,” Robert said.

Comprehension dawned, creating a resolute glare on Jonathan’s brow, and he rounded on the guardsmen. Ah, so it’s true. John had fancied the girl, if his protective stance now said anything.

“Aye. I’ll make sure they’re smelling piss on their skin for sennights to come,” growled John.

Robert turned away, nodding. “Alice!” he called to the head servant, a handsome woman in her later ages, her hair a robust red streaked with silver. She pushed through the onlookers. “See to dressing the bed in the guest chamber at the end of the gallery, and see to a full meal for the girl. She hasn’t eaten well in some time.”

The woman nodded and hustled away, and Robert, carrying the now unconscious female, followed his servant and strode from the hall, climbing to the gallery two steps at a time. He hastened down the corridor and through the doorway, Alice bustling into the darkened chamber and around the massive four-posted bed draped in blue canopies. She grabbed the cord of wick and dashed into the hall to light it from the torch ensconced outside the door. Then she used it to light the kindling in the grate as well as the bedside candles.

Hastening to the wardrobe, she thrust the doors open and withdrew a stack of linens, handing them off to a maid, who stretched them tightly upon the mattress and draped a down blanket over them. Robert settled “Elmer” into bed, and as the fire warmed the room, he noticed streak marks in the dirt on her face. Dried tears. Guilt and anger spun through his mind.

His stupid guardsmen. Between Wesley and his underlings at the tournament and his guards just now, today was his limit for daft men. He released the clasp on her cloak. Her clothes were dirty and in sore need of repair, and a bruise marred her nose. It looked like a blow. If he found out his man had also struck her, he was going to satisfy the urge that always reminded him whose seed he was spawned from and beat the guard senseless. So the girl had poached a hare. He had stolen her only chance to eat when he’d come home forty shillings richer.

He began to untuck her tunic, only to see her stomach encased in bindings. Lifting her tunic farther, he could see that the bindings had flattened her chest.

“I need shears,” he demanded.

Alice withdrew a pair from her apron pocket. Robert snatched them and cut the bindings from her navel to her breasts. The encasement fell open and he might have appreciated the lusciousness of the most perfect breasts he had ever seen, except that her ribs looked like a washboard. Guilt slammed through him once more. “Elmer” had been desperate.

He dropped the tunic and turned away. He should have asked his maids to do such an intimate task.

Alice, on her way to retrieve the ordered food, hastened out the door.

“Alice,” he called. She peeked her head inside. “Send another maid to help wash and dress her. And send word the moment she regains consciousness and has eaten her fill. I’ll be in my solar and wish to see her.”

The servant curtsied and disappeared again, and Robert, relieved to have finally found the girl who had vanished, hoped it was not too late to help her…or for her to help him.

Chapter Four

When Mariel woke to the taste of salty broth on her lips, she almost bolted upright to devour the goodness. Except she couldn’t. Weak and aching, she allowed the spoon to be placed in her mouth and sucked upon it until every drop was gone. The ritual was repeated until the bowl was empty, and then a slice of warm, heavenly bread was placed in her fingers.

Gingerly, she held it to her lips and nibbled until all was eaten. Her eyes finally opened and revealed before her an ornately carved mantle over a roaring fire, finely woven tapestries covering the plastered stone, and a canopy of soft blue draped above her. Her bed was also carved with intricate details, thick and sturdy, and polished to a shine. How she had gotten from the prison tower to this, she couldn’t remember, but she seemed to recall being dragged into the great hall and seeing the look of disbelief on the earl’s face as he had spewed anger at his guardsman. Had he not known they had captured her?

And though she had probably dreamed it, she recalled the taste of wine and water and the warm feeling of his arms, his strong muscles lifting her and tucking her protectively against his chest as he had carried her upstairs. A lingering smell of leather, soap, and wine followed, and though the soap was a new scent, she had known it was still the same bewitchment she had smelled at the fair when he had leaned close to her.

There was nothing after that. No memories whatsoever, only the comfortable feeling of this soft mattress and the extreme hunger which had made her slurp desperately on the spoon moments ago. Ah, the bed. It had been months since she had lain in such luxury. Since the last night she’d spent at Castle Ayr. But there, she’d always slept with one eye at her back.

“How do you feel, miss?” asked a woman beside her, a beautiful woman, older but with thick red hair and creamy skin.

Judging from her attire, she was a servant, though the clean state of the garments she wore showed she ranked high.

“Starving,” Mariel whispered.