Page 39 of An Earl for the Archeress

“Am I to declare myself at all?”

“Nay.” Crawford shook his head. “You’re to spy on him, his activities, anyone coming and going from his gates, his guards. Anything that seems suspicious. Mayhap it’s for naught, but mayhap I’ll be rewarded for my intuition.”

Teàrlach nodded and turned his horse.

“Make certain you remain unseen, and rejoin me by the full moon at Nottingham Castle,” the sheriff said. “Unless something happens that warrants your return sooner.”

Teàrlach bowed his head in acquiescence before returning up the field from whence they had just traversed.

…

Knocking roused Mariel earlier than she would have liked, a soft rapping of the knuckles upon her bedchamber door. She rolled over and stared at the canopy above her, listening. The sound came again. She sat up and pulled aside a drape, noting that no light seeped through the window shutters, blocking out the crisp autumn wind blowing in surges against the latch. Which meant it was still dark.

She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and yawned, when the latch to her door began to lift. She bolted through the curtains to her feet, her hair mussed from sleep fraying loose from her braid. Her night shift billowed down to her ankles just as the door cracked open.

“Elmer?” Robert whispered, peeking inside.

She clenched the gown shut at her throat.

“Pardon me—”

“Hush.” Robert held up a hand to silence her. “You didn’t answer my knocking.”

He slid in through the door, pushing it closed, but not before she noticed Jonathan in the corridor, taking in the image of her in the thin fabric of her sleeping gown.

“You said you wanted to see firsthand that I’m not a fraud,” he said, moving to her wardrobe and swinging open the door. It was empty. “Where is your clothing?”

She frowned at him. He was decked in his typical coat with his dark green cloak thrown around his neck, his sword belt slouched upon his waist, and completely booted to head out the gates. He turned to look at her now and paused. She felt redness creep up her neck at being so exposed before him, and from his silence, he was taking notice of her, too.

His eyes, frozen upon her face, now dipped to her breasts pushing her garment outward, then roved over her hips and legs that she knew he couldn’t actually see, thanks to the folds of fabric. They stopped at her bare feet. His perusal roved back up her body, lingering at her hands still clenching the loose fabric at her throat.

“I apologize,” he said, as if just now realizing his rude intrusion. “I oft rouse my men when we must leave before dawn. I wasn’t thinking.”

She swallowed. Unabashed interest rested in his gaze, and whatever haste had caused him to enter so briskly had dissipated.

“Over there,” she swallowed, pointing to a chair.

He severed his gaze and walked to her chair, picking up her wadded trousers, tunic, and coat, bringing them to her. She took them, her nightshift now slackening down around her neck and exposing her stretch of skin from her neck to the valley between her breasts. His eyes dipped to the pulse at her throat and then to her cleavage, but he returned to her chair and collected her boots and stockings.

He paused again. She watched him rub his thumbs over her threadbare stockings. Heat burned her face. After a moment, he looked up at her, his expression blank, and brought her footwear to her as well.

“Ready yourself and meet us in the corridor,” he said, handing over her boots, his hazel eyes holding hers as he also passed along her stockings. “Bring your weapons and your packs. We ride, and will break our fast as we go.”

He strode to the door and exited, sweeping back into the hall. The embarrassment never left her cheeks as she pulled on the tattered stockings that Robert had now seen. Dragging them up to her waist, she pulled her night shift over her head and draped it across the foot of the bed. She found her infernal corset given to her by Huntington’s maids still resting upon her chair. Robert had to have seen it and elected not to pick it up. Heat flushed her face again as she wrapped it around herself and cinched the lacing up the front, hugging her breasts together. She donned the rest of her clothing quickly, slipping her feet into her boots and propping each foot on the bed to pull the laces tight. She moved to the chair, her weapons lying beside it, and belted her quiver around her hip, slung her bow over her shoulder, and snagged up her saddle packs.

John was waiting for her in the dark corridor. Only one torch for the wee hours of night was lit at the end, making shadows consume much of the passageway. He didn’t say a word, only tipped his head to nod that they should walk. He led her down the corridor, down the stairs, into the darkened great hall. A dog, curled by the hearth still glowing with cinders from the night before, lifted its head to gaze at them, then yawned and went back to sleep.

They exited into the bailey, the heavens still black and littered with millions of stars. The eastern sky was barely dimming with dark blue. Everything rested silent. Mariel looked around. The offices of the castle were still shuttered, and no fire had been lit in the smithies’ yard yet. No clinks or carts creaking or servants bustling intruded on the quietude. It was indeed so early it was still nighttime.

Robert was coming back through the stable door, leading Goliath and Mariel’s horse, both saddled for an outing.

“Where are we going?” Mariel questioned.

“Hunting.” Robert smiled. “Wild boars like to root about by one of my forest streams, and I thought ’twill be a great day for a hunt. The weather should be fair, crisp, and the sky, as you can see, is clear.”

“Boar hunting?” she asked, lifting an eyebrow. Robert’s mouth lifted up as he glanced at her. He was speaking in code, Mariel deduced. “Such creatures are rare in England. You can’t simply go hunt one. Don’t you have a better excuse?” A glimmer lit his eyes and a smirk teased the corner of his mouth, but he didn’t answer as he ensured his stirrups were adjusted. Not to mention that he had done the work of the stable groom, who by the look of it through the partially opened stable door, was lying abed on his stack of straw, sleeping.

“Surely your lad would have done this task, no?”