Page 13 of An Earl for the Archeress

“And you’re not married to the Sheriff of Ayr?” he clarified.

She shook her head, noting the disgust in his voice. “I’m nay married. He’s my faither. I can’t go back to him.”

“And your father never told you?”

“Never told me what? Robert, you make no sense.”

He asked no more questions, but it seemed his curiosity about her was placated as he nodded to himself.

“And you’d rather starve to death than ever submit yourself to him again, wouldn’t you?” He caressed her face, running a finger over the bruise his man had left. “You have a safe haven here, my Lady Crawford, for as long as you need.” He stood and walked to the door. “You could use more rest, but when you feel able, I should like to have you join me as my guest for the meals. Being of such nobility, anything less would be intolerable. Please consider staying and not fleeing again.”

“How can I flee when you have a guard standing watch?”

“My man is here for your protection, not as your prison warden,” he replied. “He’s named Jonathan Naylor. He’s my good friend and formerly the Earl of Lincoln, until Nottingham saw fit to strip his title and land after he argued the sheriff’s increase in taxes and refused to pay them. I believe you agreed to liaise with him at the tournament. He was quite disappointed.”

There was unmistakable distaste in his words as he pulled back the door. Jealousy? What right did he have to be jealous, with so many women ready to part their knees at his command?

“Alice, please see to it the lady has everything she requires whilst remaining as our guest.”

“The lady, sire?” the woman asked, her words laced with aversion as she eyed the young woman who had moments ago insulted her lord.

“Yes, she comes with quite a pedigree,” he replied. “And Elmer?” Mariel glanced up at him and noted the roguish twinkle back in his eyes. “The whores…” He grinned a cheeky grin, his cheeks dimpling in the most adorable way. “None of them were there on my account.”

She rolled her eyes heavenward and he laughed merrily as he walked away.

Chapter Five

Harold Crawford, the Sheriff of Ayrshire stood upon the outer battlements, assessing the landscape surrounding the River Swale from the Duke of Brittany’s fortified Richmond Castle. It had been eight months now since his daughter had disappeared. No searches of his castle in Ayrshire had been fruitful, no sweeps of the neighboring villages had given any clues, and two tours throughout the Isle of Britain clean to the Highlands beyond Inverness hadn’t revealed the lass, either. King William the Rough of Scotland had dismissed him, telling him he should control his family better. King William needed to go, which was precisely why Harold was visiting the duke now, Ranulf de Blondeville, the new husband to Prince Geoffrey Plantagenet’s widowed wife.

With King Richard of England battling in the Crusade for Jerusalem, Harold had been building his ties with de Blondeville, who was the stepfather to Geoffrey’s young son and the king’s nephew. Geoffrey was King Richard’s younger brother, recently deceased. And though Harold’s relation wasn’t recognized, Geoffrey and King Richard were his second cousins, though there had been no love lost between the two. Geoffrey had a history of fighting their father’s, and Richard’s, authority.

Now Ranulf de Blondeville had married Geoffrey’s widow and wielded much influence. De Blondeville was more than willing to give Crawford latitude to command a presence in England, since the king wasn’t in residence to object. With the duke’s influence, Crawford had entered Mariel into a betrothal with a powerful earl in East Anglia, which would have strengthened his English ties further had the man not recently died. Except the little wench had run off and dammit he couldn’t find her! In agreement with de Blondeville, he had been granted further safe passage into England to continue his search. Yet, despite having combed the countryside to the southernmost tip of Penzance, no woman fitting her description could be found.

Mayhap he should venture down through eastern England again. It had been since Mariel’s betrothal that he had visited last, and news from the Sheriff of Nottingham was that the late earl’s son, Robert of Huntington, offered safe haven to the downtrodden. Mayhap he harbored Mariel, because women didn’t simply vanish. He had made the mistake of educating her, which was probably why she made such good use of her wiles now. He had needed a son, not a worthless daughter, but she was his oldest and he would have to rely on her should he not be able to secure an alliance with a man he would rather have in charge when he died. Finding a betrothal for Mariel in the late Earl of Huntington had been a blessing, and the man had been confident in his ability to manage a spirited woman.

Mariel angered him. What had been wrong with his wife’s womb that she could make him no sons? He had tried disciplining the woman in every way. When his indifference had begotten girls, he had forced himself upon her with so much anger he’d hoped it would beget a boy. Yet she had eventually died, leaving him a widower, and he was left with Mariel as his oldest and most competent inheritor, for he had no bastard sons, either.

But until then, dammit, he needed his daughter back, to secure another alliance, since the older earl was now six feet deep. The brat had defied his authority and continued to elude him. For eight months he had been humiliated. And she was a master archer? That fact stunned him, recalling the day she had fled. She had shot one of his guards who had pursued her, catching him in the leg. How in the hell had that happened? He had done well to raise her as a proper lady. There had been no opportunity to learn such a skill. She had visited the priest for her lessons, and every man knew priests were bookish and bland, many balking at the idea of teaching the lesser sex, which was the only time she hadn’t been supervised by her mother, matron, or himself. Such skills she had exhibited would take a normal man years to perfect.

Storm clouds blew over the Yorkshire countryside, cooling his already chilled heart. The surrounding land looked bleak in such weather and the river gray, which normally contented him. But between his weak younger daughter, Madeline, whom he was convinced was daft, and his blatantly defiant older daughter, Mariel, the bleakness only made him restless for the punishment he envisioned when he got his hands around his older daughter’s wee neck.

…

Mariel readied to enter the great hall to attend the evening meal. The three long days of confinement in her chamber, rebuilding her strength and eating her fill, had made her restless. Though Alice had complained that she should wear a proper gown, Mariel felt much more at ease in her trousers and tunic, despite wearing a corset to support her virtues, since her bindings had been cut. And a bodice did little to hide those virtues and a lot to accentuate them.

She faltered, peeking around the stone wall into the lively hall filling with people ready to eat. Normally, her clothing allowed her to blend in unseen, like an unimportant lad. Not here. Here, she would stick out like a sore thumb and become the subject of gossip and story weaving. Perhaps a gown would have been a better option.

She took a step back to return to her chamber for a change of attire, when she collided with a body coming around the corner.

“Oh! Goodness!” exclaimed a lovely woman with gentle eyes and light brown, rich, and full hair.

“I did nay see you. I’m sorry,” Mariel said.

“Please don’t trouble yourself,” replied the woman. “I just arrived an hour ago and was on my way to see Robert. I suppose I was excited and not paying attention… Wait, you’re Scottish? We don’t see many Scottish women in these parts.” Mariel smiled, trying to tamp down the wary feeling that the woman’s use of the earl’s familiar name evoked, and allowed her to pass. “Are you coming?”

“Nay, I just realized I forgot something,” Mariel lied, no longer planning to change into a gown. She was returning to her chamber to grab her packs and leave.

“Pardon my rudeness, but are you wearing trousers?”