Colette Gale - Bound by Honor

“The prince? It looks as though he had some assistance,” Robin said cuttingly. “Am I to believe he acted alone, without the help of his black cohort the sheriff?” He was looking, not at her, but at the half-dressed Will, and he still held the knife as if prepared to use it.

Will muttered something foul under his breath and Marian felt the loathing rolling off him. “Take care at whom you throw accusations, Locksley.”

“Robin-” Marian started to plead, but she was cut off.

“What has happened?” he asked again, still looking at Will.

“Naught as of yet, but ’tis not for lack of trying.” Now Will glanced at her, eyes glittering black. “Mayhap you wish to cover yourself, Lady Marian.”

Marian looked down and saw that with her sudden movement toward Robin, the cloak had slipped and caught on the edge of a trunk. The fabric gaped wide open, clearly displaying her state of undress. She gathered the edges together, wondering, What did it matter? Will had seen all there was to see, and Robin had felt most of it.

“Naught has happened, you say?” Robin said, lifting his chin belligerently at Will. “Then how came she-”

“Robin,” Marian began again, more frantically. She grabbed his arm, pulling him back, ignoring the further slip of her cloak. The expression on Will’s face frightened her, and Robin’s bravado was not assisting matters. He must get out of here before the sheriff arrested him.

How could he have been such a fool?

“Cover yourself, Marian,” Will ordered, then grabbed her by the arm and yanked her from his path. She stumbled but caught herself against the wall, pulling the cloak tighter.

“Will,” she tried. “Please don-”

He turned on her, lips so tight they were white at the edges. “Do not be a fool, Marian. I am not about to slay your lover in these chambers.”

“Slay me?” Robin snorted. “How? You have no weapon.” He looked pointedly at Will’s simple attire.

“If I chose to put you in your grave, I would need no weapon. So I suggest you leave before your presence here is found out.”

“Mayhap Lady Marian shall accompany me back to Sherwood,” Robin said, moving now too. The next thing she knew, he had his arm around her belly, and the knife blade at her throat. “I trow I can keep her from the hands of John better than his cohort the Sheriff of Nottinghamshire.”

Marian wasn’t the least bit frightened of the dagger at her throat; it was Will and his black look she feared. For a moment, he looked as though he might lunge forward, knife or nay . . . and then the feral light died from his eyes to be replaced by a malicious gleam.

“Aye,” he said. “If the lady is kidnapped and taken by the outlaw Robin Hood, not only will she be safe from the lecherous eyes of the prince . . . but I shall also be obliged to gather up every able-bodied man to flush the outlaw and his band from the forest. I am certain you would wish for that.”

Robin’s fingers had slipped between the edges of the cloak, and she felt his warm hand on her belly . . . and then up to brush over her breast. She snatched in a little intake of breath and resisted the urge to stomp his foot. Instead of trying to escape when cornered, he did naught but taunt his enemy and play games.

“But you know they will never find us,” Robin said, inching her a bit toward the door. “You may send all of the king’s men into the forest and never flush us out.” Behind the neatly trimmed beard and mustache beamed a sly smile, clearly taunting his opponent. His fingers brushed the underside of her breast, and a thumb slipped up over her nipple. She remained rigid, despite the fact that he caused a little tingle to rise.

By the saints, she knew how to put an end to this standoff.

“You are the veriest of fools, Locksley,” Will said in a biting voice. “You would risk the safety of your lady and her reputation by openly making her your consort, your accomplice. And would you then be willing to allow her to hang from the scaffold next to you?”

Judging the moment right, Marian pulled free from Robin-after all, his hold was more for show than for anything else-and whirled toward Will. ’Twas unfortunate . . . or mayhap not so unfortunate . . . that her captor had been holding the cloak more tightly than he’d gripped her person. The covering slipped from her body as she moved, leaving her once again clothed only in a swirl of hair.

“God’s teeth, Marian,” Will snarled as Robin simply stood there, holding the sagging cloak.

“Robin, you fool,” she cried, “go!” She flung herself at Will, knowing that while she had little chance of stopping him by force, she might befuddle him enough that Robin could escape. She slammed against him, causing nary a jolt to his stance, but knocking the breath from her lungs and acquiring the sharp dig of a wayward elbow. His hands automatically closed around her arms, steadying her.

“Blast,” Robin said lightly, indeed slipping past her toward the door, “ ’tis a hardship to leave that sight. But I am not the fool you think I am, Nottingham. Until the morrow, sweeting,” he said to Marian-and he was gone.

Will fairly shoved Marian away from him, but to her vast relief, he did not rush out the door after the outlaw. She would have launched herself at him if he had, little good though that would do.

“I should have sent you with him,” he said, looking down at her with a very different expression. “Marian, for the rood’s sake, cover yourself.” This time the command sounded more like a plea than an order.

Realizing she was not only breathing heavily but very naked, Marian backed away from Will and reached for a fur from the bed to gather it up in front of her. The fox felt silky and luxurious against her bare skin.

“Mayhap he is right. Though he is an outlaw, you would be out of the prince’s reach if you hid with them in the forest,” Will said in the softest voice she’d heard him use.

And then, without another word, he turned and strode out. “Lay the bolt,” he ordered, pausing in the antechamber, then exited into the passage.

Marian moved to comply, peeking out after him to ensure that Robin had gone, and that Will was not giving chase. The hall was empty but for the figure of a half-clothed Nottingham, striding smoothly away without a backward look.

She bolted the door, once again annoyed by the absence of her maid, and retired to the inner chamber.

Will’s words gave her pause. She could go with Robin. Stay with him, be with him. They would likely become lovers . . . and she would leave behind the threat of the prince.

But Will would come after them, even more fiercely than before. He had the right of it: the gentry would be incensed by the abduction of a noblewoman by the bandits. And if she admitted her desire to be with Robin, not only would she then be regarded as an outlaw and thus subject to the reach of the law . . . but she would no longer be in Ludlow, able to spy on John for the queen, and on Will, for Robin himself.

Not that, Marian admitted, she’d yet found anything of import to tell the queen. Or to help Robin. When in John’s presence, she’d spent more time in a state of unease or discomfiting arousal than anything else.

Nay, much as she might wish to be with Robin, she could not go. She must stay in the keep, within reach of the grasp of the prince.

And Will.

CHAPTER 9

A lys of Wentworth pulled the cloak’s hood up and over her head, hurrying through the hall. Empty of diners and drinkers, the vast room offered shelter to the half dozen hounds twitching and groaning by the fireplaces near the dozing serf boys charged with keeping the blazes going. A man-at-arms well beyond his cups slumped in one corner, and another, propped up on the trestle table by naught but his nose, snored loudly.

Long past vespers, hours since the evening meal had finished, the night was fading toward dawn. It had been a tiring day, and Alys was quite ready for her bed.

It had begun with the wild hunt, and all the gossip of Robin Hood . . . and then for her to have been so unfortunate as to fall into the clutches of his men! Of all the things to have happened when Sandy threw a shoe. And then for the blackhearted rogue to steal a kiss from her . . . but most of all, to believe she might actually welcome it!

She pursed her lips as her fury at Robin Hood and his silly games rose anew. A bandit with a love for himself so great that it threatened to explode his head! So foolish of him to have crept into the keep last night. Why would he travel into the nest of the very hawk that wished to devour him?

’Twas simple. . . . He believed he would not be caught! Well, he would have a fine surprise if he ever accosted her in the keep. Joanna of Wardhamshire might giggle and blush at his kisses, but Alys had no misconceptions. The man was an outlaw, and he must be made to face the laws of the land.

As had happened throughout the day since her escape from Robin Hood, Alys felt the anger boiling inside her. A slick, cowardly bandit slipping through the night, stealing from good people-why, her friend Lady Marian had nearly lost her belongings to the outlaws! And then to make light of it by-

A faint noise from the shadows startled her. She paused, heart thumping, and looked . . . but saw nothing. Raising her chin at her foolishness, Alys continued on along the rear passageway of the keep toward the staircase that led to the second floor.

She had just turned the corner and seen the steps at the far end of the passage when she noticed a tall figure walking toward her.

The yellow light of a wall sconce cast illumination over his face and-saints! bare torso!-and Alys recognized him immediately. Nottingham.

He didn’t appear to see her moving swiftly through the shadows, for his head was bowed, as it had been earlier today when she’d found him near the same place. At that time, he’d seemed ill and out of sorts, very troubled . . . and to see such a handsome, powerful man so vulnerable had tugged at her healer’s heart. Not to mention her womanly desires.

Now he merely paused at one of the window slits and looked out into the night.

She drew near, her heart thumping and curiosity dampening her palms. He was so very large and dark, with an aura of annoyance that most often put people off . . . yet there was something about him that caught deeply at her. And she had seen the expression on his face earlier today; he’d looked disgusted, ill, and yet resigned. Now he stood, staring into the dark, an image of tension and frustration.

As she approached, Alys tried to think of what she might say to him, to ease whatever it was that ailed the man . . . but before she could, he looked up and saw her.

“Lady Alys,” he said, turning from the window. “What do you about this time of night?” His voice cut sharply, coldly into the silence, and if she had not had a grandfather with much the same temperament, she might have been frightened by his discourtesy. As it was, she felt a shiver at his unfeeling expression. He was a man one did not wish to anger.

“Good morrow, my lord,” she said, moving closer. “I seek my bed at last, though the sun is nigh ready to rise.”

“ ’ Tis not safe for a lady to be out alone in the night, even in the castle.” He stepped toward her, and for a moment her lungs seemed not to work. He was so large, and dark, and forbidding . . . and even more so with naught to cover his chest and belly. He was broad and haired and scarred . . . very daunting. He made no move to cover himself, nor did he seem to care that she saw him in such a state.

She swallowed and pulled her eyes away from his imposing chest . . . and found her gaze snagged by cold eyes. “I had my maid with me, but I allowed her to stay behind. Her sister lives here in Ludlow-a freewoman, married to Frederick the fishmonger-and she had taken ill. Rose-my maid-knows of my skill with healing, and she begged that I might assist her.” She moistened her lips, aware that her voice trembled a bit.

“And so you came from your soft warm bed to help your maid’s sister.” His words came out more quietly, but only a bit. Frustration and impatience colored their tone much more strongly than empathy.

Alys shrugged. “I have oft been called from my bed at Wentworth for the same purpose. ’Tis nothing new.” She looked boldly up at him. “I am a healer, my lord. Will you not tell me what ails you?”

At this proximity, despite the wavering torchlight, she could see the lines etched on his face, the weariness in his eyes. A brittleness too, which she feared might crack.

“There is naught that ails me, Lady Alys,” he replied flatly.

She reached for him, touching his warm arm. “I would that you trusted me enough. If you are ill, you know where to find me. I . . .” She felt a rising flush warm her face, but she continued. “I would have a care for you if you wish.” She drew in a deep breath. “I should very much . . . like to.”

“A care for me?” Incredulity laced his voice. “Do not be a fool, Lady Alys. There are others for whom you should cast your heart in the stead of my black one. I am fit for no lady.”

She’d expected nothing less from such a man, and would have spoken again, but he drew aside, turning his face away. “Take yourself to bed, Lady Alys.”

Then, as if gaining control of some runaway emotion, a breath later he added, “If you have need of going to the village again at night, send for me and I will find a man to accompany you. ’Tis foolish of you to take such a chance. This is not Wentworth, and you are not the lady of this manor. And now . . . I will escort you to your chamber to ensure your safety.”

She shook her head. “Nay. There is no need. I can see the steps from here, and there is no one about . . . for you have just come from above, is that not so?”

Why that simple question should turn his expression even blacker, she did not know. But she did step back at the look in his eyes, heart thumping.

He said nothing, however, and turned away. “I will escort you to your chamber, Lady Alys.” And with that, their discussion seemed to be at an end.

But just as he gestured for her to accompany him-and she hesitated at touching his bare arm, so close to such a naked chest-there was a loud shout from the direction of the hall. Nottingham stiffened and listened, and when there was a similarly violent response, he cursed under his breath.

“I must investigate,” he said. “Yet I am loath to leave you to make your way alone.”

“I am in no danger of losing my way here, Sir William. As I have said, I can see the steps from here, and you forget-I have also made my way from the village across the bailey and through the hall . . . all without incident. I am certain I shall find my way without mishap.”

A nasty crash from the hall pulled his attention from her, causing his lips to flatten even farther. “Very well, then. But make haste.” And with that, he turned and hurried off toward the hall.

Alys could not help but watch, noticing how gracefully and smoothly he moved, despite the bulk of his body. A man that large and powerful should not have the grace of a cat . . . yet he did.

She turned and began to make her way toward the stairwell, the noise of whatever altercation had begun in the hall echoing behind her. A mere three steps away from her climb, Alys felt something behind her.