Page 28 of An Earl for the Archeress

Won’t fail you. His words hung in her mind. Was it even possible for a man to live up to such a declaration when none had ever done so before? Did she dare place her trust in him?

Chapter Nine

Robert saw Mariel’s horse stabled in a shepherd’s byre. Returning to the cottage, he tapped on the door and awaited an answer. The shepherd’s wife ushered him over the threshold. Mariel sat tucked in a corner on a stool, her bow and quiver propped beside her, her cloak unfastened. On her lap she held a wooden bowl of pottage, though she looked too ill to eat it. He came to her side, then turned to the couple and handed them a couple coins.

“For your trouble. I thank thee for taking her in. Would you mind if we have a moment of privacy to talk before I depart to the castle?”

“Take all the time you need, m’lord,” replied the shepherd, nodding graciously at the money and guiding his wife outside.

Their cottage, on the outskirts of the village, was idyllic with a thatched roof, plastered walls, secure shutters, and a large vegetable croft now mostly harvested. The byre was large enough for several head of sheep, and their reaped field was rolling and lined with stone walls to ensure the sheep stayed out.

“I haven’t a good feeling about this,” Mariel said the moment the door closed.

Robert dropped to one knee and cupped her cheeks. “Remain here, Mariel. All will be well, if you don’t try to flee. You took a great risk before, and you’re lucky your father didn’t spy you. When he and his men depart, I’ll come back for you. I promise.”

“I’m not used to sitting like a deer waiting to take a hunter’s arrow, Robert. I don’t like depending on you for safety.”

“Hush, love. All will be well if you just let me help you—”

“I don’t take charity.”

“’Tis charitable, but not charity. I want to do it.”

“Why?” she replied. “One has to trust the other first. I’ve never been able to trust anyone.”

“Then put your trust in me,” Robert stated.

She laughed wryly, mixing the pottage pointlessly.

“What?” he asked.

She shook her head, fixing her eyes on the menial task.

“You don’t trust me?” He sat back on his heels. She bit her lip but could say nothing.

He softened his voice and lifted her chin, dipping his head to look up into hers. “You would trust me with your body? With your affection? You would have trusted me to make love to you right there on the forest floor this morn? But you won’t entrust your safety to me?”

He wanted to wipe away the look of shame that sprang to her face, but instead he waited for her reply. She looked back down at her bowl.

“Loving doesn’t mean a commitment of any sort, but trust does. Does it surprise you that I might be wary when it comes to my safety?”

“Of me? Of my intentions?” He tried not to sound affronted. “I only want the best for you.”

“And what right do you have to claim such a responsibility over me?” she asked, her eyes shooting to his.

He smarted inwardly but erased the hurt her remark inflicted off his brow. She dropped her eyes. He ran a hand through his hair, looking away. Mariel set aside the bowl and took both his hands in hers. Rubbed her thumbs over his knuckles. Odd, though they had practically had intercourse in the woods, the simple feeling of holding hands sent tingles across his skin. He looked at their fingers, then at her.

“My words were barbed and it was unfair.” She apologized.

He shook his head. “No, you make a legitimate point. I don’t have a right to assert responsibility for you.”

“I’m terrified of being so close to Laird Crawford, but I came back here because you asked it. You’re the only man I’ve given a chance to, but that doesn’t change the fact that I feel uneasy. I wish to be as far from him as possible.”

“I know you don’t know me well yet, but what happened back there…by the stream…” He exhaled, withdrawing his hands, his voice tempered to mask his emotions. “I had hoped it meant something.”

Mariel looked down and folded her hands in her lap. “It did,” she whispered. “I came here with you, did I not? But what will happen if my faither finds me? My point is that you have no right to make decisions on my behalf, and doing so could cause you harm. I’m fearful for myself and for you. With Laird Crawford attempting to assert himself as English royal kin and with your Sheriff of Nottingham and the Duke of Brittany tipping the balance in his favor, I worry that you could be punished and your people could suffer because of me. ’Tis not a curse I wish on anyone.”

“You’re not a curse, Mari.”