Page 42 of An Earl for the Archeress

“No,” Robert said, toying with the end of it. “Never cut such a glorious gift.”

She blushed and looked away. He watched as she untied the golden tresses and expertly pulled loose the braid. She folded her hair into a thick nub, the way she had worn it at the archery tourney. Their eyes met again and he felt the urge to ease her mind as he had done all morning with his teasing about a boar hunt. Trepidation pooled in her eyes. She didn’t know what to expect, and he had intentionally kept his plan vague. If she knew that as always, there was a realistic possibility that any number of them could be injured, including Wendenal himself, or that they could be captured and discovered, he didn’t yet know how she might react. Sure, she often spoke with bluster, but the last thing he needed was for her to capitulate to her fear and flee.

“Now put your hood over your head, like so,” Robert said, unfolding his and draping it over his head so that it obstructed his face and yoked around his shoulders.

His eyes dropped to her chest. She might be wearing a tunic and coat, but he had cut her stomach bindings, leaving her with nothing to flatten her obvious attributes. It was clear that she wore undergarments that enhanced her shape. No matter. He reached out to adjust her hood for her. She’ll remain in the trees where no one can see her, for Wendenal might consider it a boon to catch a forest thief and discover her to be a beautiful female.

“The men know the routine,” Robert said. “But you do not, Elmer. Can you remember the way we came from the horses?”

She glanced back along the deer path on which they had just arrived. “I’m fairly certain.”

Robert nodded. “Up there, you see that tree beside the hidden supplies?” She glanced to it. “Look up. To the first branch.”

She obeyed and furrowed her brow. Then she looked at him. “I don’t understand.”

He pointed to give her a hint. “Those vines?”

She looked more closely. Her eyes widened and she looked back at him. “They aren’t growing up the trunk. They’ve been put there.”

He smiled and nodded at her astuteness. “If trouble should befall us. You are to run back from whence we’ve come and convene at the horses. Look for that tree to know you’re on the right path.”

She thought for a moment, realization dawning on her face. “Was there a tree like this one when we stopped in the forest to break our fast the other morn, when Crawford—”

He held up an arresting hand, but nodded. “Wherever you find a tree so marked, you find a rock chosen for its covering of lichen and you then find our hidden supplies. Both the rock and the tree are references for us.”

“’Tis ingenious,” she said, glancing back up to the tree. “I never would have noticed. I never would have noticed any of it at all.”

“Now that you do know, you must keep the secret,” he said, reaching up to run a thumb down her cheek. He dropped his hand, sensing she blushed. Such an endearing sweetness, her blush. That she could be so toughened by life, and yet so fragile as to blush at his affection told him she truly did hide a rose beneath all her thorns. “I’ll show you where to hide. You’ll not need to shoot anyone, but you will need to aim your arrow at a rope knotted high above. Can you do that?”

She nodded.

“’Twill require precision, Elmer. You must strike it through immediately, no questions asked. Lest we be captured by your failure to do so.”

She lifted her chin. “I can shoot a knot, Rob, so long as I can see it to aim.”

“Good.” He grinned. “Whatever else you see, remain steadfast in your patience and have faith in us to be well. And don’t forget, if we run into trouble, you are not to go down with us. You’re to—”

“Find that tree for bearings and return as fast as possible to the horses.”

He nodded, then dipped his mouth to hers for a brisk but firm peck through their hoods. The sentiment struck him. It was as if he claimed a favor from a lady before going into battle. In a way, he was. But there wasn’t time to assure her further. She would be nervous on her first raid, for certain. Best to keep her participation limited at the beginning. Make use of her skill but minimize her chance for a blunder. If this went well, then he could up the ante for her on the next one.

He led the way up the incline. They crested the hill, paused, and made note of the little cottage just waking in the late morn, smoke curling from the stone chimney rising from the thatched roof. That bastard must have drunk himself into a gay old stupor last night. Judging by the sun rising toward mid morn, most men—noble or serf—would be well about their business by now.

He motioned to his men. They dispersed into the trees, disappearing. Taking her by the hand, he led her forward. Silently. The rush that always accompanied a raid sped his pulse. Glancing to Mariel, her eyes were blank and riveted on the cottage. And then, the door to the cowshed pushed open with a thump. A guardsman clad in the blazon of William de Wendenal stepped through the gate, leading two mounts already saddled.

Robert froze, looked at Mariel, and placed a finger across his mouth for silence. Mariel gulped, nodded, and looked back to the cottage. The cottage door pushed open. Out sauntered the Sheriff of Nottingham, his hair dark and oily, falling in waves about his shoulders. Robert felt a shimmer of gooseflesh bristle his skin. He hated the man. From his dark stare, to his pillaging hands, to his toes booted in fine leather imported from the Continent.

Maneuvering Mariel behind a tree, he tapped her. She looked up as he removed his hood so his lips could be seen.

“We creep behind that tree, and then that one. I need you there to have aim at the rope,” he mouthed.

She nodded, the skin around her eyes pale. And it was then that she seemed to realize she squeezed his hand too hard, because her grip, causing his hand to tingle, eased.

He put his hood back in place and led the way, moving up behind the next tree, then when he sensed Mariel behind him, moved to the next one. Mariel glanced up at the tree limbs above. Her eyes landed upon a piece of vine. She looked him in the eye with unabashed curiosity, but he didn’t have time to explain. He and his men had come here in the middle of the night, rigged their trap as Nottingham and his men had passed out one by one, and he had marked this tree for Mariel. None of them had slept since the beggars had arrived at his gates. And if Nottingham caught wind of their presence now, all would be lost. They needed to act swiftly, before Wendenal’s men were fully organized.

He pointed between two trees arching over the path leading to the cottage and the obvious route out of the camp. Mariel followed his point until she saw the netting strung up by its four corners overhead. Her eyes shot to his, eyebrows raised. He nodded, then pointed to each corner of the net, each tied to the trees. He leaned down to her ear.

“I, Little John”—he smiled—“Alan, and you will each shoot a knot to let the netting fall. You shoot that one, on the left, closest to you.”