Page 4 of An Earl for the Archeress

“Would I not be turned away for attempting to try on and purchase male goods? Just as I was from your tent by that fat arse of a man?” she countered.

Instead of growing angered, like some men would at a flippant female, he tipped his head back and laughed.

“Ah, yes. Sir Wesley. I noticed your pretty smiles and wily ways lost on him.” He leaned down close to her ear as if to tell a secret, and she caught the smell of mint, leather, and wine. Coming from him, it was a heady potion. She also glimpsed the shadow of a beard forming. Entirely too attractive. “He prefers, how shall I put it? Stallions, to mares, if you understand my meaning. Your feminine manners only irritated him, I’m afraid.”

She didn’t think it was possible to feel scandalized, living like she did and enjoying the occasional comforts of a man, but immediately she blushed. Such an act of sexuality could get a man killed, if he weren’t careful. She cleared her throat, and then her stomach growled. Loudly.

“The food stalls are from whence you came as well, Miss,” the man stated, amusement still contorting his lips.

“I thank thee for pointing out the obvious,” she simpered with a syrupy smile. “I was unaware.”

“Come now, no need to be all prickles and thorns. We’re competitors but not adversaries,” he said. “I’m Robert. And you are?”

Competitors? Dear Lord, I am in over my head with this one. The man had the look of an expert archer: well-developed shoulders, toned physique. Of course, now his lack of a warrior breadth made sense. He was definitely a fit man, but trained for archery, agility, and speed, not for swinging flail maces and pole axes. And she desperately needed the prize money. Though Robert wore little to denote his rank, his golden hilt and a few bejeweled rings told her he lived a comfortable life. Why would he possibly need more wealth?

“Are you going to deny me my pleasantries due? ’Tis considered polite to return an introduction,” he scolded, though there was only teasing in his voice, not censure.

She couldn’t tell him her name. The fear that accompanied the thought of her father finding her and dragging her back to Scotland overcame her. If word that Mariel Crawford was in southern England should reach the walls of Castle Ayr, Harold the Beast would know exactly where to locate his runaway daughter. She had managed to live eight months of freedom and she could only hope for many more.

She sighed, rolled her eyes, shook her head, and attempted to sidestep him. “I really must be going.”

He blocked her path. “What’s so hard about saying a name?”

She tried to sidestep him again, and again, Robert stepped in front of her. She could feel him watching the indecision on her face. She came to a conclusion and lifted her chin defiantly.

“I cannot tell you,” she huffed, blowing out the corner of her mouth like one would blow an errant lock of hair from their face.

“Then I shall have to call you Elmer,” he said with a laugh. “Come, Elmer. And get yourself a leg of turkey. The fare is quite good this year.”

Her stomach growled again, right on cue, and she gripped her middle with embarrassment. “All the same, I seek privacy.”

She hoisted her packs upward again and managed to get around him this time when he grabbed her wrist. She snapped her arm away and her coin purse snagged through his hands, ripping the strings and spilling the contents on the ground.

“I’m sorry,” he said, but then he looked down and saw pebbles scattered in the grass. His brow furrowed. Mariel’s face burned, but she couldn’t think to do anything. He looked back at her, concern for her as clear on his face as the sun was in his eyes. “Have you no money?”

She straightened her back, searching for courage, and turned away from him. Humiliation never lost its sickly feeling. “I have none. Your man Wesley demanded my only spare shilling.”

“And that was all the coin to your name?”

She shrugged. Nodding would be too acquiescent.

“But how will you eat?”

She laughed; a huff, really. “I’ve always been resourceful. And when I win today, my problem will be solved. Hunger is a good motivator.”

She walked away, only to stop in her tracks once more when Robert leaped in front of her. Again. “Do you mind―”

“You’re really that good at slinging an arrow?”

“Don’t you have a whore awaiting you?” she snapped. If her words were too aggressive, it certainly wasn’t because the idea bothered her.

“Two, actually,” he said smugly, folding his arms.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” she said, but it only made him chuckle.

“Remember, Wesley plays on and for the man’s team. Someone will need to entertain the woman brought for him, and I find it my solemn duty to take responsibility for my man’s shortcomings, like any good noble would.”

She rolled her eyes…again. Another chuckle escaped Robert.