Dammit, she was now both defenseless and penniless. He searched in the pouch one last time, and his fingers enclosed on the leather purse of coin he had forced upon her. They might have learned loving from others, but he was determined that she would know him as her last and her only from henceforth. And he, Robert Huntington, had just let Mariel Crawford go, the woman he knew now, without any doubt, he wanted. The bastard didn’t deserve to live and most certainly didn’t deserve the honor of raising two daughters. He finished reading, feeling an angry tick in his jaw. How many times had Mariel read it, making the parchment thin and the binding threadbare? How many times had she been thrown into the figurative fire by her father, only to wish someone had protected her? Why had Mariel kept this story? The book was worn and old. But as he read, he learned that the child in the story had been thrown into a fire by his own father and was protected by the Virgin Mary’s mantle. It was a short book and its significance to Mariel at first did not seem apparent. “ Miracles of Evagrius and Gregory of Tours,” he read aloud. He pulled out the book and examined the leather cover. Feeling deeper in the pocket, he found a book. Lord, but the garment was an expensive one. Looking closely, the beads were not just made of glass or smoothed pebbles, but were intricate seed pearls. Her beaded coif was within, wrapped in a cloth to protect the materials, and again, up close, he realized at one point it had been a fine accessory. He set it aside and opened the other pack. It was indeed shabby, though the velvet and wool had once been fine. Pulling it out, it was the gown she had worn at the archery tent. He dug around into her packs and his fingers closed on a thick wad of fabric. He should go down on one knee and beg that she listen to him. Yet he must go after her and ensure she was well.
God, he was becoming infatuated with her. What right did he have to worry for her? Detain her? Yet none of his logical questions made his heart ache any less. His chest ached as he held her possessions. He set it aside and pulled out a matching comb, the handle carved out of the same ivory with dancing forest nymphs detailed in relief. The paddle was gilded and the handle was carved out of fine ivory. He opened one, untying the leather strings that held shut the flap, and pulled out a brush. He picked one up in each hand and carried them to the bed. He left the bar on the door for a moment, gazing at the packs. He knew he was relentless in anything he decided to pursue, but his incessant knocking must have been suffocating. He must have made her feel trapped, he realized. She had abandoned everything to get away from him. The bed was stripped bare, but Mariel’s packs sat untouched against a trunk. The phantom, Elmer, all thorns and prickles… She would have made a good fit with his men, if only she could have stayed long enough to become more involved. Despite his heartache, it was interesting to learn that Mariel could scale a wall or utilize a rope so well. He dragged up the rope of linens and dropped it in a heap on the floor. Bracing a ladder against the wall, Robert climbed up to Mariel’s chamber and pulled himself through the window.
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