Page 12 of An Earl for the Archeress

“Do you know that I searched for you? Wondering what had become of you, so I could give you this?” He withdrew his hand and tossed a coin purse into her lap. Speechless, she gaped at the purse and then back at him. “And then you liken me to other beasts of men, like that beast Crawford of Ayrshire making a name for himself in England as William de Wendenal’s best mate for certain—”

She nearly gasped at how on target his arrow was aimed.

“When all I have been able to think about was how you were wronged.”

“Me? Wronged?” she asked, her voice meek.

“Yes, you. I found out later that my officials threw the contest in my favor. Our arrows were a match. We should have tied.”

Despite the shock of learning that they had truly tied, she couldn’t help but notice his jaw had relaxed, too, as he sat beside her on the edge of the bed.

“But in sooth, I was going to give you the prize money, anyway, and beg you to consider my offer of employment. I need one more archer such as myself for a certain, shall we say, purpose, and I need not another purse of coins.” He gazed away at the fire. “I’m sorry for my men’s actions. Trust that it won’t happen again.”

She took a deep breath, still not having touched the coin purse. “I’m sorry, too, for I formed my opinion of you based on them. You seemed like the other men I know. Stealing from the poor to line your coffers, sleeping with any willing lass, whore or lady, loving the attention of any maid willing to stroke your ego in hopes of an offer, beating those less fortunate…”

Robert’s face creased with a smile as if something she said humored him.

“What?” she questioned.

He gave her a taste of her own medicine and shrugged, rolling his eyes.

“Tell me what you find so amusing,” she demanded.

“So you didn’t like me being serviced by a couple of whores,” he stated, the teasing in his eyes almost triumphant.

She shrugged and rolled her eyes just like he had, folding her arms on an exhale. “It doesn’t matter to me with whom you trifle. And that is one regard in which most men are similar, regardless of their philosophy respecting the less fortunate.”

He laughed now, then looked down his perfect nose at her, kicking out his boots to cross his ankles and folding his arms. “Admit it. You like me.”

“Do not.” She defended herself. “I like men, mind you, so mistake me nay for the female version of your bookkeeper. But I’ll nay squabble over a fine face like all the other women falling at your feet.”

“Do too. You like me. And you want to know how I can prove it?”

She shook her head on a haughty sigh. “Nay, actually―”

“Because I bet if any man tried to do something untoward that you didn’t like, you would have no qualms pushing him away and giving him a piece of your mind,” he said as if she had not said anything.

“I always have,” she replied.

“And if I did this?” His voice softened and he leaned down, his lips coming to rest upon hers in another oh-so-sweet kiss.

She sat still, did nothing but breathe in the smell that was uniquely his.

“That’s what I thought,” he whispered as he pulled back from her, caressing her chin with his thumb. “You didn’t push me away.” He sat up, leaving her speechless. “Any chance you’ll tell me your name?”

“Mariel…Mariel Crawford,” she said, so entranced by his kiss she had let her guard down.

“Crawford…” he replied, concern furrowing his brow. “As in, the Beast, Harold Crawford? The Sheriff of Ayrshire?”

She studied him, deciding whether or not she should tell him, though her hesitation answered his question.

“But weren’t you betrothed—” He seemed to catch himself. “Do you have any idea who I am?”

She furrowed her brow as if he were daft. “Theee…Earl of Huntington?”

“Yes but, did you know my father?”

Her eyebrows still scrunched, she shook her head.