The Archer (The Blood Realm Series Book 3) Read online

  “Come in.”

  The door opened and a maid stepped inside. Her white apron was already smudged with dust and soot, a sign she’d been tending her duties when she’d been sent to Marian’s room. Her eyes remained resolutely on the floor, and she nervously ran her hands over her apron, leaving more smudges.

  “You have a visitor, Miss Marian. He says his name is Robin—”

  “Send him up at once!”

  The maid startled, eyes bouncing up to meet Marian’s face, her lips parting. Marian pressed her lips together, but it was too late to take her exclamation back now.

  The maid’s brown eyes bulged from her pale face, arms going limp at her sides as she appeared to realize the implication of the command. “Miss?”

  Pressing her hands into the bed's downy comforter, Marian leaned forward, jutting her chin out. “I said send him up immediately.”

  “B-but… Surely not here, miss? Not to your…” She trailed off, looking for all the world as if she were about to faint dead away at the very idea of a strange man being invited into her mistress’ bedroom.

  Marian bared her teeth, her nerves still raw from her nightmare, her temper too close to the surface to bother with appearances—or patience. “Now!”

  The last drop of blood drained from the maid’s cheeks and she bolted like a fawn, ash-stained skirts flaring behind her as she scurried out the door. Marian slid off the bed to retrieve her robe from the sofa pressed against the footboard. The silk garment painted a slash of burgundy on the sapphire blue upholstery and at first glance, it almost looked as though a wild animal had drawn a sharp claw over the cushions, leaving a bloody—

  A cry rose on her lips, but Marian swallowed it back, snatching up the robe and pivoting away from the sofa. Determination wove through her muscles, forcing the images from her nightmare away as she closed the distance between her and the white marble fireplace. She gripped the cold mantle, filling her lungs with air tinged with the scent of cold ashes and the remnants of last night’s fire. Two polished golden urns painted with a gardening scene against a red background graced either side of the mantle and she glanced back and forth between them.

  Her parents’ ashes. All she had left of them, the only tangible remains of the people who had tried so hard to save her from the curse of her own bloodline. She kept them here, close to her, reminders that she was more than her heritage, that she could be more, could deserve the love and faith her parents had always had for her.

  “I tried,” she whispered. She clutched the mantle tighter, the unforgiving marble unyielding to her desperate grip. Her mother’s urn loomed before her, and she could feel her eyes on her, feel her looking down at her adopted daughter and shaking her head.

  “I’ve avoided the fey at every turn. The cook leaves out milk and cream for them, no matter what I say, and I never go down there, never go near that doorway. One of the maids told me two years ago that a brownie had taken up residence here and was cleaning the rooms. I left out money and clothing for them, thanked them at the top of my lungs over and over, all to drive them away.” She slanted beseeching eyes at her father’s urn. “I do hunt, but only garden pests, or for food—food for the household, I mean. I don’t… I mean, I don’t… I wouldn’t…”

  Her own voice mocked her, an echo in her head repeating her babbling half sentences, emphasizing her inability to express the fear that had haunted her since the day she’d learned who she was—what she was. Her eyes fell closed and she pressed her forehead to the cool mantle.

  “This is all my fault. My temper got away from me and it brought disaster, just like you always said it would. There is a man following me now, a…a sidhe. I don’t know how to get rid of him. Robin Hood.”

  Saying his name out loud brought his image into her mind, brought the events of the night before rushing back. The medved and the spriggan, the gold so easily handed over…the snow. Marian’s fingers curled, remembering the pain of imagined frostbite, the blue tint that had threatened her skin as she dug through that wretched snow for the gold Robin had so maliciously scattered. She could see the smirk on his face as he watched her fumble in the cold, needing the money too badly to abandon it for the sake of her pride. Even when he’d left to trail after his ursine companion, his wretched snow had remained, hiding the gold, exacting a painful price for her digging.

  A shiver ran down her spine and arced out in icy lines to every nerve ending in her body, but it was followed by a hot rush of angry fire. She raised her head and looked over her shoulder at her door, the door Robin would be entering any moment. She wrapped the anger around her like a protective cloak, holding the flame to her chest to chase off the lingering chill of his glamour.

  You’ve had your breakdown, now it’s time to pull yourself together and figure out a way to be rid of that green-clad pest.

  Marian nodded, confirming her resolve. First and foremost, she had to protect her secret. Running her hands down her robe to straighten it, she calmly walked to the small table beside her bed and opened the single drawer. The bottle inside rolled around despite her care, smacking against the wooden walls, but thankfully remaining in one piece. She plucked it from the drawer and pulled the cork free with her teeth. The cloying scent of rosemary filled the room and she spilled the oil onto her hands. Her robe pooled into a silky puddle on the floor as she went to work rubbing the oil into whatever bare skin she could reach.

  As she did every time she applied the oil, Marian concentrated, trying to detect the magic it had been imbued with, to feel some sort of tingle, some sort of sign that it was more than just oil infused with rosemary. Not that she thought the witch who’d created it was lying—her parents had known the old crone for decades, and the woman continued to show Marian nothing but kindness whenever she needed a refill. Still, it just felt as though a spell strong enough to mask her scent even in the presence of non-humans, a spell powerful enough to hide her from—

  Uneven knocking on the door heralded the maid’s return. Based on the varying loud and soft knocks, she was still very uncomfortable escorting a man to Marian’s bedchamber. Marian rolled her eyes and retrieved her robe from the floor. She had little doubt that the maid would be horrified to find she hadn’t even bothered to dress yet, but it was too late now. And she cared little for her reputation in that regard. In fact, if it would scare off the suitors that occasionally plagued her, she would be only too willing to foster a reputation as a ruined woman.

  After tucking the bottle safely back into its drawer, Marian squared her shoulders and marched around her bed to stand just in front of the blue sofa. She glanced at the weapons cabinet in the corner, considered for just a moment how much more comfortable she would be meeting the fey with a bow in her hand. But then, that would set the wrong tone for this meeting. “Come in.”

  The maid opened the door just wide enough to wedge her body inside. “Miss Marian, Robin…Hood is here. Shall I—”

  “Let him in and then you may leave us.”

  The maid’s eyes grew to the size of dinner plates, her body stiffening with tension. She bobbed her head in panicked acquiescence, her white maid’s cap sliding back and forth with the violence of the motion, and flung the door open. It slammed against the wall and she cried out in surprise and dismay, her cheeks turning bright red. Marian bit back the urge to snap at her, afraid the girl would die of fright if she yelled now. Instead, she wrenched her mouth into what she hoped was an understanding smile and gestured for the girl to leave. The maid bit back a sob and fled like a stoat from a brush fire.

  The fey’s body filled the doorway and for a moment Marian’s breath shuddered to a stop. He was as gorgeous as he had been last night. She’d been right about his height, he stood at least six foot seven, perhaps more. The pale blond hair that hung to his shoulders called to her fingers, urged her to run her hands through the silky tresses, see if it was as soft and fine as it looked. He was still dressed all in green, but this time he wore a greenish-black leather vest over h
is ivy-green shirt and breeches tucked into knee-high brown leather boots. Most striking of all were his eyes. They had looked silver in the moonlight but now they held a shade of mint green, like the underside of an oak leaf. And they were sliding up and down her body with blatant interest.

  “You haven’t dressed yet.”

  The voice that had held so much mischief and eventually annoyance the night before was more resonant now, a base that echoed impossibly deep in his chest. His gaze roved over Marian’s silk adorned curves like a hound scouring the forest after a scent, intense, attentive, and missing nothing. Marian’s mouth went dry and she made a conscious effort not to squirm under that look. I should have taken the time to dress.

  He took a step closer, a sparkle in his eye. “I did not expect to be invited to your bed chamber immediately upon my arrival, much less to find you in such…delightful attire. Shall I take this welcome as—”

  “Why did you arrange to meet me?” She fired the question like a warning shot, as much to keep her from responding to that look in his eyes as to stop him from giving the look. She anchored her hands on her hips to stop their trembling, letting her embarrassment at her reaction fuel her temper and paint her face with the same look she gave to Ermentrude when the gardener tried to lecture her about her lack of attention to plants.

  He offered a half-hearted shrug. “You needed help and I was in a position to help you.”

  The words didn’t ring false, but they might have carried more weight if they’d been delivered with his attention focused on her face instead of the vee of skin showing where her robe gaped at the chest. Marian scowled, but resisted the urge to pull the fabric together. Damned if he would see her squirm.

  On the bright side, perhaps the only reason for his interest in me is simple lust.

  “You have helped me by loaning me the gold. Your escort to pay the eric is unnecessary.”

  “Think nothing of it, I’m happy to do it.”

  Pain lanced her jaw as she ground her teeth. “It really isn’t necessary.”

  Suddenly Robin was standing right in front of her, his hands taking hers, drawing them away from her hips. She hadn’t seen him move, hadn’t sensed the movement at all, not even a shift in the breeze. He raised her hands in his, kissing the back of each one as she stared.

  “I know what this is about. You’re feeling badly because I’m showing you kindness after you shot me in the leg.” His smile wilted at the corners. “And then kicked me.” He dropped one of her hands and patted the other, his skin unbelievably soft against hers. “Well, fret not, all is forgiven. Truth be told, I like a woman with spirit.”

  Marian blinked, momentarily distracted by the sudden urge to smash her fist into his chiseled jaw. Or maybe, she'd head butt him in his perfect nose and send a wash of blood to stain his lip and chin. He’d probably still be smiling.

  “Now, unless there was a pleasant reason for you to greet me in this delightful scrap of silk…?”

  The image in her mind’s eye grew clearer, Robin’s face growing purple with bruises, misshapen with broken bones. Something of her thoughts must have showed on her face because Robin slowly let go of her other hand and took a step back.

  “Well then, perhaps you’d like to change before we pay the sheriff a visit, hmm? As pleasing a sight as you make, I don’t think it will incline him any more to leniency. Besides, loaning you the full four hundred pounds is truly not a burden.”

  Killing him now won’t solve anything. It would be a momentary satisfaction, and then you’d be left with a dead sidhe—something that would undoubtedly draw attention of the worst kind.

  Bit by bit, she convinced her muscles to relax, firmly told herself that she would not resort to violence—yet. “After the eric has been paid, then we will part ways. Until next year when I seek you out to repay the loan. Agreed?”

  Robin arched an eyebrow. “I should say not. My dear Marian, I am enjoying your company far too much to—”

  “I will never come to your bed. I don’t say that to be coy, or to play hard to get. I mean it, with every fiber of my being.”

  Robin’s eyes darkened, mint green deepening to rich emerald. “Oh, my, Marian, that is such a terribly bold statement. You’ve known me less than a day, how can you possibly make such a claim? And us getting on so well.”

  Marian schooled her features into a stony mask, letting the full depth of her resolve show in her face. “I am very serious, Robin. I will not go to your bed, I will not invite you into mine. I wish to be left alone, that is all.” She took a step closer, ignoring the way her skin sizzled with awareness, electrified by the heat of his body. She didn’t pretend there was no attraction, there was no point. All that mattered was that he believe her when she said nothing would come of it. “Don’t forget what happened to the last man who didn’t believe my rejection was true.”

  She let that reminder hang in the air, pivoting on her heel to retreat to her wardrobe. The doors groaned on their hinges as she forced them wide with unnecessary vigor, glaring into its depths as if seeking prey instead of mere clothing. Men. Ignorant men. Why is it so bloody hard to believe a woman—

  Warmth at her back, pressure on her shoulders, fingers digging into her flesh. The room tilted, blurred as she was spun around. Lips closing around hers, soft, inviting, a sharp contrast to the force of the grip holding her in place. Surprise parted her lips, but Robin didn’t take advantage, didn’t deepen the kiss beyond the delicious slide of his lips against hers. Slowly his grip eased on her shoulders, long fingers sliding down her arms, curling around her waist with all the sensual attention of a long-time lover. His tall frame folded around her, hiding her from the rest of the world as butterflies erupted in her stomach and adrenaline poured through her veins.

  It was over before her brain recovered, before she could react, could slap him, shove him, do something to reassert the claim she’d made just seconds ago. He leaned back and she braced herself for a smug look, already anticipating the smirk on his lips, the light in his eyes. Instead, she found a soft look of wonderment, green eyes glazed like grass viewed through a fog. He smiled at her and brushed an errant red curl behind her ear.

  And then he was gone.

  Vanished, disappeared into thin air. Nothing to prove he’d ever been there but the pleasant buzzing sensation on her lips, the lingering taste of something wild and untamed.

  Her fist smashed into the door of her wardrobe, pain erupting in her skin as her knuckles split. Blood decorated the wood like tiny rose blossoms as the door flew back, wrenching its hinges and tilting madly to the side. Marian dragged in a deep breath, her temper a hot fury inside her, hands clenching into fists, nails digging in to her palms.

  When the string of curses finally trailed off in her mind, she shoved a hand through her hair and paced back and forth the length of the room.

  He’s attracted to me and now he thinks I’m attracted to him. It’s Guy all over again. I can’t afford another murder. I haven’t paid for the first one!

  Well, not quite Guy, a voice in her head taunted her.

  She couldn’t handle him the way she’d handled Guy—avoidance followed by murder. The first part wouldn’t work, and the second would likely bring about her own death when his kin learned of his demise.

  There has to be some way to get rid of him.

  “What do I know about him?” she asked herself. She held her lip between her teeth, reviewing what few memories she had of him, what she knew.

  Slowly, an idea blossomed. Robin Hood was a rogue, neatly avoiding responsibility and living life with no goal beyond avoiding boredom. Telling him to go away, insisting she wasn’t attracted to him, was only feeding the challenge, making her more interesting to him.

  A smile spread over her lips, a wicked delight chasing her temper back into its cave. She hurried to the door and opened it as silently as she could. She popped her head out, looking up and down the hallway. Robin was nowhere to be seen. A maid came out of one of the rooms
down the hall, a tall brunette with rosy cheeks and warm brown eyes. Marian waved frantically, catching her attention.

  Puzzlement creased the skin between the maid’s eyebrows, but she came as summoned. As she stood before Marian and the open door, she folded her hands neatly in front of her, patiently waiting for instructions.

  “Fetch Ermentrude’s sister for me, the one who fancies herself a lady’s maid.” Marian looked up and down the hallway again, repressing the thought that with his gift for glamour, Robin could very well be hiding in plain sight. “Send her to me immediately.”

  The maid’s eyebrows rose, but she bobbed her acquiescence and hurried off down the hall. Marian slipped back into her room and strode back to her damaged wardrobe. A headache started in her temples at the thought of what was coming, but she steeled herself against it. Ermentrude’s sister was the biggest gossip in the county, and could prattle on for hours about the most tedious aspects of fashion until Marian wanted to tear out her own hair just to avoid a tangent about hairstyles.

  She was exactly what Marian needed.

  Chapter Seven

  “You won’t believe this, but I heard rumors that Marian’s parents were part fey.”

  Robin petted one of the velvety leaves of the flower he was pretending to admire as he examined the gardener’s face out of the corner of his eye. The plump woman—Ermentrude, she’d said her name was—arched a dirt-crusted eyebrow as she yanked at a weed trying to choke some towering purple blooms. Clumps of mud rained from the weed’s twisted roots and Robin neatly side-stepped the shower, dirt spraying across one of the garden path’s smooth white stones.

  “Bugger,” she muttered.

  She hauled herself to her feet, lifted her skirts, and stepped over the row of violets onto the path. Robin glanced behind him at the manor house rising like a grey behemoth over the gently sloping lawn. Damn you, woman, start talking. The redheaded fury will be here any moment!

  “I laughed of course.” He gestured at the squares of earth blanketed with white flowers, neatly hemmed in by verdant bushes trimmed to perfection and the rows of purple flowers lining the stone pathways that wound between them. “Though I must say, seeing these beautiful gardens, I can see how the rumors started.”