Page 58 of An Earl for the Archeress

“I’ll accept no rejection to my offer. Consider going to the Earl of Huntington for help—”

“The Earl of Huntington is a cruel old man as well,” the man said. “Rumor has it he killed his own wife.”

“But that earl is dead,” Robert said, taking the reins to Mariel’s mount and seeing them into the resistant grip of the woodsman. “His son is now the earl and has been for three months. He is a benevolent sort who would welcome you.”

The old woodsman seemed to weigh the merit of the suggestion.

“Indeed, I think it’s your only option,” Mariel said. “Rumor has it the earl offers kindness to strays.”

“Take the lady’s horse, good man. She offers it in the spirit of kindness, and to refuse her would be an insult,” Robert said.

“The lady?” questioned the man, more surprise registering on his face.

“Indeed, a wealthy noblewoman fleeing her brutish father,” Robert clarified, nodding to Mariel. “Though her story remains her secret.”

“I insist you take it,” she insisted. “I head in that direction myself. This, eh, mysterious man has offered to take me there now,” she added, nodding back at Robert.

Robert pulled loose the coin purse he had lifted from Harold Crawford hours before. “And for good measure, when you get there, you’ll need coin to purchase your basic needs. Take this,” he said, pulling loose several coins and pressing them into the shocked man’s palm.

“My lord, whoever can you be,” the old man gasped, “to give away coin so freely? You rob from the likes of Nottingham in your hood of green, and then you share your spoils with an old crippled man?”

Robert nodded. “I rob from the likes of Nottingham so that the people he makes unfortunate are given another chance. Good day, man, and consider the lady’s suggestion. Going to Huntington holds merit.”

They turned to walk away, moving in silence over the rocks and dips until the fire was no longer visible. Weaving through the trees, they came to Goliath, right where Robert had left the beast.

“You appear to be on foot, my lady,” he remarked, dropping his hood once more.

“You’re a good man.” She smiled as she seemed to come to a conclusion. “A thief who steals from the ruthless to lift up the downtrodden… I was wrong about you.”

His face flushed at her admission. “Ah, no doubt the bards will spin tales of me for years to come.” He jested, attempting to deflect her attention.

“I mean it,” she replied, looking down. “I apologize for all of my rudeness toward you.”

He lifted her chin, caressed her hair back, and brought his lips to hers in a sweet kiss, then parted from her and ran his thumb across her mouth.

“And you’re a good woman. You have nothing, yet give away your only horse. I know not many others, man or woman, who would ever do such.” His smile turned mischievous. “And now, Lady Crawford. You seem to be in quite a conundrum. How do you plan to travel to the benevolent Earl of Huntington?”

“By sharing your mount, of course,” she replied with a grin of her own.

Robert ’s mouth split into a broad grin. “Shall I mount you first, then?” Her jaw dropped at his vulgarity. “Indeed I don’t mind if I do,” he said, taking advantage of the easy access to her mouth and delivering a burning kiss, wrapping his hands about her waist. After hefting her onto the horse’s rump, he swung up in front of her. “Hold tightly, woman. I deliver a rough ride.” He teased her over his shoulder.

She laughed. She actually laughed a carefree laugh, sliding her hands onto the planes of his waist. “Have a care, man, that I don’t enjoy myself overmuch.”

He laughed a laugh to match hers and kicked Goliath into a canter to catch up to his men.

…

Dismounting near a stream as night settled in, Mariel stretched, though she was still unable to look at the other men. They had seen Robert with his hands down her bloody trousers, for God’s sake. Embarrassment coursed through her even now after several hours, though Robert, the rake, seemed wholly unburdened by the situation. In fact, he didn’t seem to even remember there had been an issue.

“I’ll be a minute,” she muttered, heading for a cluster of underbrush near the water. “Need a privy moment.”

The men dismounted and unharnessed their horses as she slipped away. David wandered around the periphery of their campsite to collect kindling. She pattered down to the water and unbuckled her trousers behind a rock. Taking care of business quickly, she refastened her clothing, letting her tunic billow out untucked, and went to the stream where she dropped to her knees and rinsed her hands, then splashed the cool water on her face.

Hands snatched her arms and pulled her up.

“Come on, now, can’t I have a wee break from you?” she complained, feeling herself being whirled around.

A hand clamped over her mouth. She looked up into the unassuming eyes of Teàrlach MacGregor, her father’s head guardsman, dressed as a peasant in coarse trousers and tunic. Her eyes widened. She writhed to get away, trying to scream. Only a muffled sound came out. There was no undermining his steely grip. He was as big as Jonathan. But her feet…