Colette Gale - Bound by Honor

Will nodded absently, for he’d just seen Bruse, Marian’s master-at-arms, crossing the yard. He hailed him and pulled quickly away from Jem before the other man could think to follow him and listen in.

“Your lady. Keep close with her. She is very ill and cannot be disturbed,” was all Will had a chance to say before Jem approached.

Bruse’s sharp eyes met his, and Will saw understanding and determination. Aye. Good.

Then he swung away, Jem and four of the sheriff’s other men following as they went off into the forest.

The back of Will’s neck still itched. He might be in danger, but Marian would be safe.

Marian dared not leave her chamber, but she found the space confining after Will left. She worked on a piece of embroidery that had long suffered neglect, and then found herself pacing the room.

The sun was high in the sky, warming the chamber as much as it ever could, when the door opened. There stood Prince John, with a goggle-eyed Ethelberga cowering behind him.

“Ah, Lady Marian,” he said in his smooth voice. “I see that, contrary to rumor, you’ve recovered from your illness quite well. I’m delighted that you’re feeling better, for I no longer have to delay my congratulations to you for winning the golden arrow.”

He extended his arm in an offer that she could not refuse.

She did not even have the chance to retrieve the sleeping draught that Alys had made for her, for John took her arm and escorted her quickly from the chamber.

“Why, Lady Marian, you seem a bit reluctant,” John said. He had seated her on the edge of the massive bed and now stood in front of her.

It was the middle of the day, an hour past the midday meal. That fact alone made her feel out of sorts, for she’d never been summoned to John’s apartments other than at night. A single guard had been posted outside the door, and other than she and the prince, there was no other person present in the chambers. It felt odd to be in this place of hedonism in the full sunlight, with all its accoutrements showing in full, garish detail. The empty restraints, the massive bed with the curtains pulled away, the table of half-eaten food and drink and its array of crumbs and crusts and spills. The heavy smells of profligacy seemed particularly foul in the full light of day.

Marian swallowed and tried to appear as if the very thought of John’s hands on her didn’t make her skin crawl with revulsion. She looked up at him, at his greedy dark eyes and full red lips, and kept her face blank.

“I am reluctant, my lord,” she said. Had a woman ever told him nay? Mayhap he thought she was willing, or, at the least, not averse to sharing his bed. After all, he was the prince and likely heir to the throne. Most women would not complain at the chance for the wealth, privilege, or power that came with being a royal mistress.

“Is that so?” he asked, reaching to touch her hair. She hadn’t bound or otherwise confined it, and now it streamed over her shoulders and pooled on the bed. “I am sorry for that, for ’tis much more enjoyable with a willing partner.”

“My lord, please. I am flattered by your kindness and your attentions, but I pray, please release me. I have no desire to share your bed.” There. She’d spoken plainly. If he had any conscience, he would release her.

“ ’ Tis a disappointment that you feel thus, Lady Marian,” he said, stepping closer to her. His leg brushed her gown and the wayward edge of his tunic’s hem curled atop her lap. “For I shall not release you.”

His hands cupped the top of her skull and smoothed down over the long strands of hair along her shoulders and arms.

“Please, my lord.”

“Stand,” he ordered, his tone brisk and his eyes bright, as he pulled her to her feet. “I would see you clothed in naught but your hair.”

Marian stood reluctantly, and glanced toward the chamber door. Will could not know she was here. He was busy with his duties and thought her safely in her chamber.

But what could he do about it, in any event, if he knew?

In fact, it would be best if he did not know.

The realization struck her then. If Will found out she was here with the prince, he would react angrily, possibly violently. He’d already said it: There is naught I can do but violence.

Violence against the prince? That would be treason and would destroy his honor. Either he’d die or he might as well be dead, for he’d abhor himself for turning against his liege.

Marian felt nauseated, and it had little to do with the fact that John had not waited for her to remove her kirtle. He had begun to untie the string at the neckline and was tugging it off her shoulders.

“Oh, and did I forget to mention”-John lifted the kirtle up and over her head; she raised her arms reluctantly and it slipped off, leaving her naked-“that Nottingham will be unable to join us? I’ve sent him off on a task that should take a good while.” He smiled knowingly at her, brushing away the hair that had fallen into her face. “So you need not watch the door.”

She braced herself when he leaned forward to kiss her, suffering the full, wet lips over hers and the hands that never seemed to stop touching her hair: brushing, combing, wrapping, lifting it.

Marian closed her eyes, realizing that it was best this way. If she did not fight him, if she pretended to participate or at least allowed him to do what he wished, it would be over sooner. It would be no worse than submitting to Harold’s fumblings. And once she escaped from his chamber, she would hide and he’d never find her.

And, most important, Will would never find out. She shivered.

Did he not realize whatever the prince did to her meant nothing? Naught more than her husband pumping and groaning over her?

“Ah, so you do like that,” John murmured, lifting his face from her neck, where he’d been gently biting along her shoulder. “I am not surprised. You are a passionate woman. I’ve seen evidence of it.”

He pulled her onto the bed and fell with her, taking her hand and bringing it to the great bulge between his legs. She fumbled with it through his braies, trying to think on anything but what she was doing.

But then he was fondling her breasts, kissing and licking her nipples, and she felt his breathing rise and the insistence in his movements as he pushed her back flat onto the bed. He straddled her now, and she closed her eyes, unwilling to look at his face as he prepared to push himself inside her.

A sharp tweak at her left nipple had her crying out in pain and her eyes flying open. “Do you not think to pretend disinterest,” he said, his face very near hers. Warm wine breath puffed over her and he smiled. “I expect that you will be a willing participant, Marian, or I might become annoyed. I do not believe you’d want me to be annoyed with you.”

Remembering the restraints, and the whips on the other side of the chamber, and the chessboard he’d made on the back of a woman who’d angered him, Marian kept her eyes open after that. Even when his fingers delved deep inside her, stroking and pinching and squeezing, she did nothing but bite her lip and try to think of something else. She dared not close her eyes again, but she wished to be somewhere else.

She’d tried the tactic of playing with his cock, trying to make him excited enough to get the act over with, to finish and be done with it. . but he’d only enjoyed that more, and made her stop and start over and over again, as if it made his pleasure grow to come so close and then to have the finish delayed.

He bade her wrap her hair around his cock and use the bright red locks to stroke him, but that made for awkward movements and he became frustrated with the game. Tearing off his braies, he took himself in hand, poising in front of her on the bed, and Marian thought at last it would all soon be over.