Colette Gale - Bound by Honor

“I cannot in conscience do that, my lady. For it’s to be me,” he said, leaning down into her face, crowding his hip against her belly, “or the prince.” He slipped his other hand back up to cup her chin again, forcing her to look at him, up into those hard eyes, flat and dark. “And I won’t draw blood. Or leave bruises.”

Robin eased back into the shadows.

From his vantage point high up in Ludlow’s great hall, he had a clear view of the diners below. After his men had distracted one of the men-at-arms standing watch, Robin had nimbly climbed the bailey’s wall. A corner window slit had allowed him to slip into the hall unnoticed. Now he stood on one of the narrow balconies, hidden behind a tapestry.

The air up here was hot and dull, and his eyes stung from the rising smoke. But not so much that he missed the way the Sheriff of Nottinghamshire had made his way to Lady Marian of Leaford, backed her up against the wall, and fairly rutted with her right in the midst of the hall. ’Twas hard to mistake Nottingham’s height and unrelieved dark tunic pressed up near Marian’s blazing hair, set even more afire by the rich golden clothing she wore.

A lovely lady Marian had become. So much that it had taken him by surprise when he accosted her wagon earlier today. Of course, he’d known it was hers, but he hadn’t expected to find such a pleasant surprise within. A gangly girl with pale skin and an overload of freckles, Marian had always had the beacon-bright hair, as well as the stubborn chin. . but now all that had melded into a very lovely woman.

By all rights, Robin should have been down below, on the rush-covered floor, with all the other vassals of King Richard, sitting at the trestle tables and slamming fair maidens up against the wall for a kiss-or more.

When he was Lord Robin of Locksley, he had been a favorite with the ladies for his charm, wit, and skill on the lute. He had been counted one of the favorites of the ladies of the royal court, who’d enjoyed the tradition begun in Queen Eleanor’s Court of Love, wherein the knights and lords worshipped them from afar (and sometimes from very intimate proximity). In the old days, Robin had little difficulty moving from that pose of distant worship to a closer hold beneath the laces of those tight-fitting undertunics. . to the mutual pleasure of all parties.

And then the old king had died, and his son decided to go on Crusade, and everything had changed.

Now Robin of Locksley had become Robin of the Hood, an outlaw who ranged throughout Sherwood Forest, terrorizing those who passed through. And who must remain on the periphery of the court, no longer lord of his own fief. There were benefits to his situation, but at this moment, Robin found them little compensation.

He watched as William de Wendeval seized Marian’s hand when she raised it to strike him, and held it steady as he leaned down into her face. The man appeared unruffled as he spoke with obvious intensity.

Robin gritted his teeth as he watched. His father had thought years ago of betrothing his son to Marian, and had even gone so far as to speak to her father about it. At the time, Robin had little interest in the pale, skinny girl who always wanted to follow him around and who beat him at archery contests more often than he liked to admit. But now he realized he didn’t like watching Nottingham pushing himself upon her, not one whit. And he wasn’t going to allow it to happen.

’Twould be a simple task to put an end to it, for one of the benefits of being an outrageously charming and handsome outlaw, he’d discovered, was that the women found him dangerously fascinating. Marian had been no exception today in the woods.

And there were plenty of other beautiful women, lush and ripe for the plucking, if that was what Nottingham had a mind to do. Many of whom Robin himself had already had the pleasure of meeting. And plucking.

As the sheriff led Marian out of the hall, Robin scanned the remaining ladies for a potential replacement for the sheriff ’s interest.

Pauletta of Yarnley was comely enough, but she kissed like a fish. Of course, one could get beyond that easily if one had a mind to. Lady Elizabeth de Guildern had fairly melted in his arms when he slipped up behind her in one of the keep’s torchlit hallways last sennight. She was an eager partner, and in fact, her hands had been quite busy during their brief interlude behind a tapestry. Robin grinned at the memory and felt his cock lift in its own salutation. Lady Elizabeth would most certainly be worth another visit.

He shifted slightly, adjusting the crotch of his braies as he considered the other candidates. Joanna of Wardhamshire. . Catherine de Meauville. . Hie! Who was the wench?

Robin eased the slightest bit forward, risking a bit more illumination, as he peered down. He’d never seen her before. Petite with blond hair. . mayhap it was Henriette de Hulvasen. .

She turned her head slightly, looking up at Roderick of Treyvern, who was much taller than she, and Robin saw her young, heart-shaped face. That was most definitely not Henriette of the knife-blade nose and abundant bosom.

A new female addition to John’s court meant more than a chance to steal kisses in dark corners. It meant yet another source of information, another opportunity to learn who was traveling to and from Ludlow and what they might be bringing that Robin might find worth relieving them of.

Of course, Robin already had a variety of sources, including one that was very close to the prince.

And Nottingham and Marian had disappeared from the hall.

Together.

His lips pursed thoughtfully, Robin made his decision, and pulling the hood of his dark green cloak up and over his head, he eased from the shadows.

Nottingham had disrupted Robin’s playtime this afternoon. Now ’twas time for his own entertainment to be aborted.

“Where are you taking me?” Marian demanded, trying to drag her arm away from Will’s grip.

His face appeared even more dark and forbidding than before. They’d come to a narrow flight of steps and he stopped at its base. “Your presence is requested by His Highness,” he said in a low, tight voice. “In his private solar.”

Marian’s belly fell to her knees. Oh God, already? “The prince?” Then she drew in a deep breath and straightened. It would do no good to show fear. Especially to one as formidable as the man before her.

Who was taking her to the prince.

“Nay, Will.” Her voice came out in a gust of breath. “Not tonight. Please.” She reached for him, her fingers tight.

Will looked down at her, standing so that his head blocked the merry flames of the sconce behind him. The details of his face were thus obscured by shadow, but she saw his jaw move, and his lips tighten into a line so thin it was probably white. “You must make your choice, Marian, for he will not be put off.” His voice was not so harsh as it had been in the hall.

“Choice?” she responded, tamping back the wail that threatened to erupt. By the holy cross, she was Lady Marian of Morlaix, and she would swallow her weakness. Even though she’d fairly begged a moment earlier.

By her own example, Eleanor of Aquitaine had instilled in Marian the responsibility of duty and honor. And if one did not have honor, one had nothing.

“I have no choice, according to you,” she said. “The prince wishes my presence and you are to deliver me to him.” Now it was her turn to clamp her lips tightly, for fear that he might see them tremble.

In truth, what was the worst that could happen? Prince John might wish to tup her, and, well, she was no virginal maid. She’d endured Harold’s attentions as his wife. ’T could be no worse under. . dear God, under. . the prince.