Page 75 of An Earl for the Archeress

Robert nodded once more, still gazing at her. “I will love her faithfully until death parts us.”

“Have you a ring, my lord?” Father Tucker asked, closing his bible and setting it aside on the altar.

Robert nodded. “It might not fit entirely, but I will have it sized, if needs be.”

The priest nodded and continued. “In nomine patri, et filli, et spiritu sancti, amen.”

Robert pushed the ring over Mariel’s middle finger. She looked down at it, a band of gold with more of the same rose stones inlaid in it.

“Rise, Robert of Huntington. What God has joined together, let no man put asunder. It is final, and you are now man and wife. You may claim your woman with a kiss to seal the contract…”

Father Tucker’s words trailed away as Mariel gazed up at Robert, memorizing this moment. What she thought would be an eager joining of lips was nothing like she imagined. He hesitated. Nervous. In the span of only a few fleeting minutes, their relationship had changed. And she suddenly felt shy. He leaned down, placed his lips to hers, and pressed gently. But the chaste kiss he delivered began to evolve, and before she could tell what he was doing, he was pulling her tightly to him. Her back arched, as he leaned over her, taking what he would.

“Eh, judging by Lord Huntington’s enthusiasm, I suspect you will have much passion, in your, eh, marriage, Lady Huntington,” interrupted Father Tucker, his face red and his eyes averted.

Robert chuckled, throwing a devilish look at the priest. “To be certain. I hope Mariel can withstand it.”

The jesting remark made the priest’s portly face redden further. He reached into his cassock and withdrew a small flask, uncorking it, and imbibing a heavy swallow. Mariel tipped her head back and laughed.

“Rob, you embarrass the holy man.” She chastised him, patting his arm in punishment. “Faither Tucker, I believe Robert and I will manage quite nicely.”

Robert burst out into unexpected laughter, pulling her into a one-armed embrace against his heart.

“Lord above,” breathed the priest in honest prayer, crossing himself. “Come sign the register and be off with you before you force me to confession with what mine eyes and ears have witnessed this night.”

Robert held out his arm to her. She took it, and they followed the priest. He handed Robert a plain quill pen stripped of its feathers and watched as the Earl of Huntington, the famed bachelor no more, signed his name then inked the quill once more. He handed it to her.

“My lady, if you know not your letters, an X will suffice,” Tucker said.

She set the quill to parchment beneath Robert’s name and signed, Mariel Huntington, née Crawford.

“And in place of a marriage fee, Father, here’s another disbursement to your alms. I noticed that my last donation went to good foods for the weary, but as I see it now, you could use the purchase of some extra pallets, too.” Robert placed a heavy purse in Father Tucker’s hands, giving a warning finger shake and a wink. “Not a penny goes to spirits, man, except for the Holy Spirit, of course.”

Father Tucker chuckled and received the generous purse. His eyes widened. “You always give heartily, my lord. I wish you and your lady a long and happy life. And if anyone should come questioning about the woman?”

Robert leveled a knowing glance at Tucker, and she suspected the priest had known about her predicament since the beginning.

“Then you had no knowledge her father was hunting for her. All you knew was that the woman was neither married nor a murderess, and had not pledged herself to the convent. The marriage was legal, if not in haste, and because your abbey is ailing financially, you needed the marriage fee. Any hardship resulting from our elopement should be taken up with me.”

Father Tucker nodded. “I’m indebted once again for your generosity.”

Robert smiled and shook wrists with him. “’Tis a gift from, shall we say, those more fortunate than others.”

It was money stolen from Nottingham, Mariel realized. Robert had proven his honesty before, and was being honest again. He had been telling her the truth all along about everything. And in hindsight, she knew he had. And she had been so disagreeable it was a miracle he had never turned cold toward her.

A miracle. Mayhap they really did happen, she thought fondly, as Robert guided her out into the night.

She went to mount up when he stopped her. Saying nothing, he pulled her back to Goliath. He lifted her up into his saddle, taking the other horse’s reins in hand, and mounted behind her, leading the spare in tow. With her back pressed against his chest, he bundled her cloak around her more tightly, laying a hand upon her stomach as he nudged his horse into a walk.

Taking them down more deer paths, thick with darkness, with what she could assume was purely instinct guiding him, they said nothing. Her stomach tingled from where his hand rested, fluttered with butterflies from the knowledge of what was to come. Robert had never bedded her, despite his obvious wanting. Lord, but she had misjudged him. He was no philanderer. It had all just been an act, as was his cocky jesting.

The idea of what was to come was exciting, nerve-racking. Her emotions zinged about her mind, shooting through her blood, making her breath catch, her thoughts snag. Her cheeks were red. She felt shy, of all things, unable to do anything but look at the darkness in front of them. There was no reason to feel shy. She wasn’t an innocent maid. Yet this was different. This was her husband. Husband. Just the word rolling through her mind sounded profound.

He turned Goliath down another path, leading them to a small clearing where an abandoned hut sat. The roof sagged. Illuminated by moonlight, Mariel could see that much of it was missing.

“Your castle, my lady,” Robert finally spoke. She looked back at him. His gaze was fixed upon her, his mouth only inches from hers. His jest fell flat at his obvious disappointment in himself for not providing better. “I’m sorry that it’s not—”

“It’s perfect, Rob. ’Tis a secret place and only for you and me.” She placed her hand over his and squeezed. “Quite the tale to tell our grandchildren, nay?”