Page 56 of An Earl for the Archeress

“Shh,” he crooned, though she could feel his lips curve into a grin.

The bastard was enjoying the danger of the moment! And with an arrow-shot arm no less.

Then his hands released hers, leaving them braced to the tree with a silent command to keep them there, and slid under her arms and around her torso so that they held her stomach. They inched upward over her ribs, one by one, until they came to the heavy undersides of her breasts. She couldn’t breathe and yet her chest rose and fell, rose and fell. A tingle overcame her skin, settling hard at the tips of her nipples. And yet she kept her arms braced wide, allowing him his explorations.

His hands cupped the weight of each breast, his thumbs curving around them to dust over the tips, and though she wore a corset, she still felt it. She sucked in hard, feeling his lips still playing upon her collarbone, and pressed herself back against him, his pelvis still nudging suggestively against her backside, tilting her head so that his access to her neck was improved. Her body felt like fire. Fire was licking her insides, lapping at her skin just as his hands were giving her breasts a tighter squeeze through the fabric of her tunic. And as she began to squirm with the restless need of a man’s full union, he tortured her further, sliding his hands down her sides to settle at the curve of her waist rounding to her hips.

His thumbs came to rest on the rise of her rear and his long fingers reached dangerously close to the intimate juncture of her thighs. And still, she willed her arms to remain out, braced to the tree, though now she trembled. And then he bent down and whispered in her ear once more.

“What if I made love to you, Mari? Would you give me permission?”

She wanted to laugh. The man was in complete control and could have his way with her willing body. His former mistress still remained at Huntington and women still flocked to be near him, specifically Anna, and yet he was still asking her permission. And she, spineless, couldn’t stop him. Wouldn’t stop him.

“You’re so fair…so fine…I want you,” he whispered, kissing her earlobe, running his lips along her cheek. “You misunderstood my intentions with Charlotte. God, woman, I’ll not make the mistake of letting your barbed words hurt me again. I know you want me, too.”

She instinctively turned around and their lips locked. His kiss became demanding as he pushed her against the trunk. He ran his hands over her rear, up her back again in frantic caresses. Her legs shook. He swallowed the moan that worked its way from her throat.

She thought he would grin at having conquered such a feat, but he didn’t. In fact, he became focused and bold as he gripped the back of her thigh while his other hand cupped her breast. Her knees threatened to buckle, and she lifted a leg to cinch around his thigh. He sensed her instability and tightened his hold, keeping her steady while he rubbed a rhythm up and down her leg. His kissing grew in earnest, the stroke of his tongue matching the pace of his other ministrations.

Her hands shot out to grip the bark, unable to let go for fear of unsteadying herself and plummeting them both to the forest floor. Her breathing became shallower, uneven, her cheeks flushed with excitement, the feel of his manhood wedged against her as his legs straddled her hip, his hand now coaxing heat from between her legs, his massage of the breast sending a shiver of tingles across her skin… He exacted his sweet torture with targeted precision, with a determination that spoke of fear for her safety and gladness in her safety now.

He broke the kiss and rested his forehead to hers. “I can feel your heat for me through your clothing,” he murmured. “I know you’re ready for me… God, woman, you’re killing me…” He resumed his kiss, unable to keep his lips to himself.

And she knew it. She was ready and would willingly strip naked, if he but asked.

“I want you,” he murmured against her lips. “God, I want you.”

Releasing his self-control, the weight of him crushed against her as he encircled her in his arms, chest to chest, and resumed his kissing. She nodded and her fingers clenched him, digging into his skin beneath his tunic.

…

Robert had no idea where this frenzy had come from, other than his heart had knocked his ribs when he saw Mariel sneak down to help the old man. Alarm had coursed through him and white-hot anger had rendered him furious, both at her and at Crawford bearing down to strike his daughter. No other man, especially Crawford, would ever touch her again, as long as Robert had the strength to stand on his own two feet.

But the daft woman had disobeyed him, no matter how good her intentions were, and not only had she risked injury, but also she’d risked discovery, right along with all of them. A quick glance at John had told him his giant of a man understood that a break in protocol was required. John had shot the Sheriff of Nottingham’s horse to divert their attention after Mariel had lodged an arrow perfectly in the underside of Harold Crawford’s wrist. And yet now, having rescued her from her own daftness, after giving Nottingham a chance to leave and his men the chance to pursue them from their various hiding places along the pathway, all he could do was touch her, ensure that she felt the brunt of his affection for her, so that she might never do something so dangerous again.

He had gone from fearing for her safety to conveying to her through his kiss that in this moment, all he could think about was her, without even remembering how he’d arrived at this point. His kissing grew less controlled, less precise, as he listened to the catches in her breath, proof that he was succeeding in pleasing her, proof that she wanted him, despite her declarations to the contrary.

But if Mariel was to throw all her trust into him, he knew he needed to prove his devotion to her. Yet it was commonplace for men to stray sometimes. Even in marriage a husband might keep a lover. The wife for her dowry, connections, alliances, and to seed with a legitimate line of descendants, and a lover to sate the needs a wife didn’t satisfy, provide the bed favors a wife might not know how to provide, someone to love and lavish in gifts, or provide him with heirs his wife couldn’t provide. But while he still didn’t really want marriage, he was going to marry Mariel and devote himself to her in the way that the church favored: one man, one woman.

He didn’t want the yoke of a lifelong commitment, didn’t want her angry father barreling through his castle walls with death in his sights, didn’t want his king to return from Jerusalem to find he had wasted his one shot at marriage on a wild Scottish woman. But he was going to marry Mariel Crawford and invite all matters of wrath to convince her that no one else, not Charlotte, neither Anna, nor whores at a fair, stood to gain a foothold in his heart. He didn’t want anyone else. He knew in his heart that her uncouth behavior and freedom of speech and archery skills and her pure, unfettered beauty could keep him intrigued and in love forever.

In love? Had he just thought that? Surely he wasn’t in love with the wildling as Charlotte had suggested…was he?

Yet pondering love urged him to strip her trousers away and bury himself in heaven. He was certain he might die right now in blissful suffocation from her tongue dancing with his. He couldn’t stop. He wanted her. And right now, he hoped to show it.

…

How long they remained like that, Mariel had no idea, but long enough that the sun had moved considerably toward dusk and the inferno ravaging the cottage had destroyed the majority of wood. It collapsed into a heap of scalding cinders. Robert’s kisses had long since gentled, his hands having slid inside the back of her trousers to brace her rear to his front. Her face felt pleasantly raw from the raking of his stubble, her lips swollen from the kissing sport, and her limbs like jelly.

A whistle caught their attention, a bawdy innuendo intended to tell Robert he had no privacy. Mariel snapped back, nearly toppling off the branch. Robert pulled free his hands from her rear to catch her, righting her, and this time rolled his eyes in unison with her, sharing her annoyance as his men below chuckled.

“Keeping her safe and occupied, I see!” Will hollered up. Her face raged with a blush and she ducked her head down, dragging her braid around her face to shield her cheeks as the men chuckled. “At least give the poor woman a soft bed to endure your rutting instead of forcing her to fend off your advances in a bloody pine tree.”

Robert laughed. “You interrupt my finest victory yet!” he called back down, not bothered in the least. “Would you be so kind as to demonstrate the noble manners taught to you, for once, and give the lady a moment to collect herself?”

“Your wish is my command, my liege!” Will said with a mocking bow. He and the others walked off into the trees to gather their horses. “By the way, Nottingham and his mates are as good as gone. It’s safe to come out now,” he called over his shoulder.

John followed suit, though not before one more glance up at Mariel, as if deciding whether or not to concede defeat to Robert. Once they were gone, she buried her face in her hands. Robert chuckled again, brushing the loose wisps of hair behind her ears with tender fingers.