Page 55 of An Earl for the Archeress

How it happened, she knew not, but her training kicked in. She whipped loose an arrow, nocked it, and released it with precision as he raised his sword arm. It lodged in the underside of his wrist through his gauntlet.

He dropped the weapon. With a violent growl, he snapped the arrow off, tossed it aside, and returned his attention to Mariel as an arrow pierced the rear of Nottingham’s horse. The beast screeched, reared high, and Nottingham lost control of the animal, tumbling from its back as it bolted into the trees.

Mariel looked for Robert, who had vanished again, though he couldn’t have shot the horse, judging from the arrow’s angle. In fact, it looked to have come from the trees. She looked in that direction again, when a body swung down from another branch straight toward her, a series of ropes she now realized had been put in place in a coordinated plan. She hardly blinked before she was captured in the strong, hardened arms of her assailant.

She knew it was Robert before she even caught her breath. They landed on a middle branch of the very tree she had been ordered to remain hidden within, and as her feet found stability, he gripped the side of her face with both a punishing and possessive leather-clad hand, leveled a stern glare at her through the eye holes of his hood, and leapt off the branch once more, swinging down and landing with two feet planted in front of Crawford as the cottage, now completely engulfed in flame, crackled behind him.

“Your coin, good man,” he said with the same good-natured tone, though there was an unmistakable hardness to his words. “And you can be on your way. But attack us once more and I won’t be responsible for the consequences.”

Mariel held her breath as her father and Robert faced each other down, while Nottingham glanced about to discover the other hooded men had vanished.

“Your horses have been sent fleeing, your soldiers disarmed, one shot in the neck, and I guarantee there’s no way you’ll find us,” Robert stated. “I’ve weapons trained on you as we speak. You cross a line in our friendship.”

As if there had ever been any friendship.

Mariel sat in shock. Robert’s men had been expert ambushers. None of them had shown themselves together but had kept swinging in and out of view, confusing Nottingham’s men with the illusion of a larger force.

And then the reality sank in. She had shot her father. She had pulled back her arm and released the projectile into one of his few vulnerable spots, almost without any concern or thought. She hadn’t cared that they were of the same flesh, that half his blood flowed in hers. She had felt no loyalty, and yet still…would God send her straight to hell for injuring the man who had seeded her?

More importantly, her father now knew she was here. He would never relent in his search of East Anglia until he had her in his clutches and beat her senseless for daring to shoot him. He would turn over every rock, every leaf, every blade of grass, every pine needle. He knew she was here, and he would come for her.

A slicing sound and hard jingles caught her attention. Jonathan now stood side by side with Robert, two coin purses having fallen to the ground. John caught the strings of one with the end of his staff, lifting it up and giving it a jangle as Robert did the same with his sword, collecting Ayr’s purse and giving him a friendly wink.

“Consider this a donation as well, to the well-being of your fellow man. Since you’re a close friend of Nottingham’s, you get to share in his benevolence, forced upon him or otherwise.”

Giving the bag a hearty clinking, he tossed it, caught it, and tipped an imaginary hat.

“On your way now. Run along, lads,” Robert persisted, and though he tried to suppress it, Mariel could see that he favored his injured arm.

Robert and John stood their ground until finally, with scowls and resignation, Crawford and Nottingham turned toward their men who had disentangled themselves from the rope twining and began to walk away.

“Don’t just stand there!” Nottingham yelled. “Go and find the horses! And you—” He whirled around to face Robert and John. “You stabbed my horse. When I get my hands on you, you’ll…” He looked around. No one was there anymore except the old man, still devastated before the fire.

“Where did they go?” he demanded.

The old man shook his head and shrugged.

“Like hell you don’t know,” grumbled the sheriff as he walked away.

Her father, Nottingham, and the soldiers made their way back down the forest trail away from the cottage. Mariel waited, when she felt a presence behind her on the branch. She turned over her shoulder. Robert was at her back, his hood drawn down and sagging around his neck, his hair tangled and sweaty, standing on the bough beneath hers with his hands gripping the branch she sat upon on either side of her rear. Blood stained his arm where he had taken the arrow, but he acted unconcerned.

He laid a finger across his lips then beckoned her to come down onto his wider, more stable branch. She did so, swiveling around on her rear so that she faced him, her knees brushing his chest and straddling him in the confined space. Though his face was still stern, no doubt from her disobeying orders, his eyes fluttered closed for only a moment, then he helped her find her footing on his branch. She turned to brace herself on the tree trunk for balance, only to feel his warmth come up behind her and his hands take her shoulders.

His stomach, chest, and thighs pressed against her to stabilize her, and his lips came down to her ear. “Remain quiet, love. What on earth were you thinking, coming down into the fray? Your father was bent on butchery.”

“I thought to help the old man—”

“Hush,” he interrupted. “’Tis a question not meant to be answered.”

He remained still, bracing her to the trunk so that she couldn’t fall, but also so she couldn’t move and jostle any branches. Minutes went by, and Robert held her in place with no reaction, intimate as it was, though she felt her own blood begin to warm. How in the hell could she think of intimacies right now, of all times, especially after all that had happened? Right after her father had tried to kill her and she had shot him? After she had told Robert she didn’t want him and had left his estate?

And yet, her breathing was shallow. She did her best to even it. Her cheeks were turning pink, but she could do nothing to hide them. And then she felt him. At first it was just a gentle nuzzle to the neck, but like the most primal of animals, he must have sensed her arousal. And then she felt him, lower, nestled against her rear and lower back. He was already stiff as a pike, which meant he had already been aroused and had been trying, just like her, to scold away the urge at such an inappropriate time.

But he was relenting, putting gentle pressure against her, then releasing ever so gently. His chest was hot against her back, blanketing her in warmth and yet holding her in place. Then his hands slid down her arms from her shoulders and encased the backs of her hands in his palms. He braced them outward so that her sides were unprotected, controlling her movement.

She never thought a man controlling anything about her could be exciting. A man’s control had been an abhorred mantle that she had thrown off eight months ago. And yet, Robert wasn’t trying to control her. She could feel that he respected her in every way. She could tell in the weight of his grip that if she pulled away, he would stop. He was silently seeking her trust. He wanted her to entrust herself to him.

She didn’t resist, which seemed to give him slack in his leash of self-control, for his lips and nose began to trail up and down her neck. His teeth nibbled the gentlest pinches to her collarbone, giving her breath a hitch.