Page 70 of An Earl for the Archeress

“He’s going to want to know how you ‘captured’ her,” Will said, arriving at his side, his scarlet embroidered cloak draped over his shoulder.

“That I know,” Robert replied. “I’ve a ready excuse made. Now to see that they leave swiftly.”

“You must be ever the gracious host.” Will smirked.

“Indeed, and I dare say Crawford has trouble being a gracious guest. I wouldn’t say our last meeting promised the beginnings of friendship.”

With his hands behind his back, he turned away from the embrasure and walked past the crenellations to a set of stairs spiraling down. Striding through the enclosed yard, he walked under the next portcullis into the inner bailey and up the steps into the keep. The sun would be setting soon and the hall prepared for supper.

He arrived beside the roaring hearth and stripped his cloak, passing it off to his steward, and took a seat beside the flames. A maid offered him a tankard as she passed, and he accepted, if only to keep his hands busy. But as he took a sip, the liquid tasted heavy and dead, much like it felt in his stomach. Right now, his web of lies thickened, though he would lie again and again if it meant protecting Mariel.

He lost track of the time as he drank the tasteless beverage until the doors opened.

“My lord, your guests are arriving in the bailey,” a guardsman informed him.

He stood. “My thanks, man.”

Leaving his chair, he wove through the trestle tables and the busy staff, then arrived at the door. The sky was already dimming as twilight fell, and Robert knew he would need at least a couple hours to arrive at the chapel, some minutes for Father Tucker’s nuptials, and at least another hour if he was a self-respecting man for consummating his union, a half hour if he wasn’t, not to mention another couple hours riding for home.

Stepping out, he placed his hands at his back once more, waiting for Crawford and Nottingham to greet him. They arrived beneath the inner gatehouse and rode their mounts to the front steps, dismounting, and handing the reins to three of Robert’s pages.

“My Lord Crawford.” He smiled. “An unexpected surprise. I had meant to dispatch a rider to inform you that I had captured your daughter, but the wench escaped, and though my men have scoured well my forest, they find no sign of her.” His eyes roved to Teàrlach’s, whose own expression remained impassive.

“So I’ve heard. ’Twould be like her to do so,” said Crawford, draped in a fur.

“Yes. I can see why her escape from you has chafed,” Robert said. The scowl on Crawford’s face showed that Robert had needled a sore spot. “But now that I’ve seen her in person, I have a business proposal for you—eh, William de Wendenal of Nottingham? Good eve to you, Sheriff. I was so intent on discussing Lady Mariel that I failed to see you there.”

Nottingham dipped his head in greeting, though he scowled at the young earl’s careless dismissal. He might be more politically powerful than Robert, but Robert’s estate was by far the most successful in England, surpassing his own in terms of wealth and command of the countryside. And where his own reputation was far-reaching, Robert’s influence was far-reaching, too, if only for being more likable.

“I bid you welcome to Huntington and invite you to warm yourselves from this blast of winter wind,” Robert proclaimed as he ushered in his guests with a sweep of his arm, biting his tongue further as he noticed Nottingham salivating over his prosperous estate. No doubt, the greedy bastard chomped at the bit to figure out a way to get his hands on Huntington’s wealth. “Your soldiers are welcome for the evening meal and should be comfortable in the overflow barracks for the night.”

“We’ll partake of your food, but we will nay stay the night. Mariel was spotted a couple days ago, farther into the forest. I must press on with haste. I’ve almost got that wee bitch back in my clutches, and I’ll nay rest until I’ve wrapped my fist around her hair and dragged her back to Scotland.”

Robert led the men into the hall and looked for Bridget, though she couldn’t be found. Instead, he flagged down his steward. “I shall be conducting business in my solar and should like no interruptions. Make it known to the staff. Remember to follow my instructions.”

The steward bowed, eyeing the Sheriff of Ayr carefully, and left to deliver the message. Robert led the men with Will at his side and began climbing the stairs in the corridor off the great hall that led to his solar and personal chambers.

“Where’s John?” he asked.

Will shook his head and shrugged. “I’ve no idea.”

“I haven’t seen him since this afternoon,” Robert said.

“Nor I,” said Will.

It chafed. It was entirely unlike John to disappear with no explanation. As he entered the solar, he took the torch once more and strode in to light the candles, and this time, both hearths. The others walked in, Will closing the door, and Robert began to turn around, when right there, on the fur rug he had lain upon with Mariel, was her old ribbon, in front of all the men to see. He picked it up, shooting a glance at Harold, who was watching him like a hawk. There was no way the man would recognize a ribbon he’d given her years ago that was now discolored and gray. Was there?

Robert gave a suave chuckle and turned to Will.

“A woman I entertained in here yesterday. I must have forgotten that she gave her favors to me.”

Will played along and chuckled, too. “Always the bachelor, are you not?”

Tucking the ribbon into his coat pocket, Robert moved to the sideboard. “Drinks, men?”

“Aye,” Crawford agreed, and so did Nottingham, both men perusing the cavernous chamber in slow sweeps.

This was where Robert always conducted business, but he had never done so with either of these men, and he knew it had been rare that his father had used the room for meetings. His father had been more accustomed to sprawling in front of the great hearth in the hall below with his fellows—and foes—on which he wished to keep an eye. Both men had clearly never seen the inside of the Huntington solar before.