Colette Gale - Bound by Honor

“Your liege, you say. But who is that, the king. . or the prince?”

“Richard, of course. Always Richard. ’Tis an insult to say otherwise. But John acts in Richard’s name, and I cannot avoid that.”

Marian simply looked at him. His eyes held hers, and the argument, the tension, between them stretched and changed into something deeper.

“Marian. .” Her name came out on a low whisper, laced with anguish. . and anger.

Her stomach did a somersault as he reached for her. Not gently, not as his voice would have implied, but roughly. Strong fingers curled into her arms, not painfully, but not easily either. Then one hand moved, plucking the torch from hers. He tossed it down so that it rolled three steps below them, away from the hem of her skirt, resting harmlessly on the stone.

Its weakened flame danced tall shadows and a muted glow up around them as he dragged her against his chest. His fingers bit into the backs of her shoulders as he bowed toward her, his mouth covering hers as she lifted her face to meet it.

At first, she felt the desperation and drive in his kiss, the harshness. Was he trying to frighten her with brutality?

Yet after a moment, his lips softened, and he sagged against her, gathering her body up into his, loosening his grip on her torso. His mouth was no longer flat and hard but sensual and hot, his tongue sweeping the inside of her mouth as though he must taste every bit of her.

Dizzy, huddled against him, Marian closed her eyes, smelled his smoky, clean smell, felt the impossible breadth of his shoulders beneath her fingers, the pounding of his heart under her palms. She tasted wine and spice in his mouth, the soft sensual swipe of his lips as they slipped and slid and formed to hers, over and over.

Oh, aye. Oh, aye.

Except in her dreams, only once before had he kissed her. . that first night in the hall, when he placed his claim on her. But this was nothing like that unemotional taking. This was hot and lovely, bringing her body alive and awake, making her breathless and weak.

Just as she was about to slip from the upper step into him, to lean fully against his strong body, he pulled back and fairly shoved her away. His eyes wild and dark in the sketchy light, his lips parted, breathing as if he’d just run a league, he stepped back, down, away.

“Get you away from me, Marian. Go.” Will’s voice was terrible. Low, but filled with loathing that matched the expression in his eyes. “Now.”

“Will,” she began, trying to collect her thoughts, wanting to drag him back down to her-but then he startled her, striding up the steps, brushing past her and ascending into the darkness above.

“Leave me be.” The command filtered down to her, and the sound of his boots scraping against the gritty stone faded.

Knees weak, breathing rushed and harsh, she leaned against the wall for a moment, trying to catch her breath, to assimilate the sudden change in him: from a moment of sleek passion to one of. . disgust.

Aye, but not merely disgust.

Fear.

It had been both that sent him away, fear and loathing. There’d been real terror in his eyes, mingling with revulsion.

She held her skirts out of the way and stepped down to reach for the foundering torch. When she lifted it, the flames tipped upright and caught more strongly. Marian hurried up the steps, her knees trembling, her fingers bracing against the gritty, damp stone, but her breathing better controlled. She wasn’t certain why he’d thrust her away and run. . It couldn’t be that she disgusted him, could it? No, she remembered all too well his words: I do not deny ’twould please me greatly.

Nay, she did not think he found her abhorrent. He might prefer sweet, delicate Alys, or sensual, catlike Pauletta, but he was not disgusted by her. That she knew for certain.

She hurried up the stairs, and at the top of them, she came out into the darkened great hall. A few low rumbling snores met her ears, and she recognized several shapes of men slumped over the tables, well asleep. But no tall, broad-shouldered sheriff.

Disappointed, she began to walk into the hall when a shadow detached itself from the wall at the head of the stairs. “Lady Marian.”

She didn’t recognize the voice and reared back a bit, her heart pounding unpleasantly. Lifting her torch toward him, she demanded, “Who is it?”

The man stepped into her torchlight and she recognized one of Will’s men-at-arms.

“Nottingham directed me to escort you safely to your chamber,” he said with a little bow.

Marian’s mouth tightened. So he had truly run away, and left one of his own men to see to her.

What she did not know was whether ’twas cowardice or disgust that had the Sheriff of Nottinghamshire shirking his duty.

Will watched from deep in the shadows as Merle escorted Marian from the hall.

To his overwhelming relief, she did not appear to be overset. There were no tear streaks on her cheeks, and although she’d started when Merle appeared in front of her, there was no terror on her face. He’d not torn at her clothing, nor pulled her hair down.

Not that he could recall anything but her taste and softness, and his own great need, once he pulled Marian against him. A whirl of pleasure and comfort, and, damn him, hope. A moment of hope.

By the saints, his fingers still shook. His lips still throbbed from their assault on her lush pink ones. His cock felt as though it were ready to explode, as if it were as hot as the smith’s iron.

Yet a great emptiness left him cold and brittle. A familiar feeling, but more acute this night.

If he’d not come to his senses, he’d have rutted her against the wall right there. Like a whore-the whore he’d watched her-nay, forced her-to become. But this time it would have been without the bloody, lickspittle prince watching over them.

Will brought a shaking hand over his face. Was he going mad?

He’d protected her as well as he could, and damn him if he was actually considering ways to keep John from her. Forceful ways.

Treasonous ways.

Where was Richard? He’d heard naught from the king for three moons, after having regular missives and directives. Watch you over my brother. Do what you must to gain his trust. Become his closest ally. What you do, you do in loyalty to Us, and We will know this.

But for so long there’d been naught from the king. Had he forgotten his loyal man? Left him to live a life where all thought the worst of him, where he’d destroyed any chance of having the woman he loved?

Will swallowed hard, refusing to taste the bile that still churned in his belly. There was naught left to erupt but the worst of it, the acidic bitters that stung throat and mouth.

He’d believed there’d never be anything as glorious as having her, at last. And then, in all her lush, gold-brushed beauty, arched over the barrel, he could no longer find a way to avoid it.

Or so he told himself.

If he had not done so, John would have. And Ralf.

Or so he told himself.

’Twas better that he violated her than John. Or the others.

Was it not?

Or had he merely lied to himself about that too?

I don’t wish any of this-you or the prince or even to be here at Ludlow. Are you mad? I wish for none of this!

Those words burned into his brain, haunted his dreams even as he took and coaxed from her in the murkiness of sleep, in the deepest part of the night, in the depths of his mind. Those words wakened him in the blackness, leaving him dank with sweat and ripe with shame.

Will. Please.

He swallowed, hearing the low scratch of his throat convulsing, and scrubbed a hand over his face. When he removed it, he noticed quite by accident a lithe shadow moving across the nearly empty hall.