Colette Gale - Bound by Honor

She spun, heart pounding, just in time to see a figure emerge from the shadows.

“Lady Alys,” said Robin Hood, moving toward her. “What a delightful surprise.” His smile was charming and a bit self-deprecating, as if he was encouraging her to join him in a bit of humor-but uncertain if she would. And mayhap . . . mayhap that grin was a bit forced. “I hope I do not interrupt your t?te-?-t?te.”

He was comely to look at; that she could not deny. Though the light was dim, she remembered his sparkling blue eyes from earlier, and she could even see a hint of that gleam now. Though half his face was obscured by his beard and mustache, she could make out the strong lines of his jaw and sculpted cheekbones, and his elegant brows arched beneath the thick fringe of his dark blond hair.

“What are you doing here?” She stepped back, yet only a bit. Fascination and exasperation at the man’s foolish boldness kept her steady. She had no fear of him, of course. Naught but abhorrence for his imprudent ways. “And unless you caused the disturbance in the hall, the interruption was none of your doing.”

To her surprise, Robin smiled ruefully. “Alas, I am discovered. I have disrupted my lady about her business of wooing the cold, flat-eyed Sheriff of Nottingham.”

It took her a moment to comprehend, but then she did. “I did hear you earlier, then. I thought I felt as if someone followed me. You sneaked back and caused some fight in the hall in order to draw him away, did you not? You are indeed a sneaky fiend!” She would have pushed past him, but he stepped forward and blocked her way.

“My lady, I could not resist. ’Twas fairly painful for me to witness your attempt to seduce the man.”

Alys felt a flush begin to creep over her throat. Horrid of him to have seen Nottingham’s flat-out rejection. “You are beyond foolish to come inside his stronghold yet again when he hunts you so fiercely.”

He shifted toward her, crowding her toward a shadowy alcove. He smelled fresh and woodsy, like crushed pine needles. “I had business to attend herein.”

“Someone to rob?” She became aware of the shift of darkness over her face, enveloping her person as he edged closer. The stone wall brushed her hand and she realized that her heart had begun to pump a bit faster.

“Nay,” Robin replied. “But I would find it no hardship to steal a kiss from a lovely lady.”

“Ah . . . so if your business was not to rob a slumbering rich lord, it must have been to visit some woman who sighs at the mere mention of your name . . . and who sleeps with your green ribbon favor.”

“I don’t believe they sleep with my green ribbon favor,” he said, the corners of his eyes crinkling and his dimples showing beneath the beard, “but mayhap I ought to make such a suggestion. Alas, I cannot be everywhere at once.”

“And so your head grows the larger! Soon even the forest will not be vast enough to accommodate it,” she said, rolling her eyes in disgust. “I cannot fathom that the ladies swoon and gasp when they see you.”

“Do I sense a bit of envy that you’ve not received a pretty green ribbon, Lady Alys? Do not be ashamed to admit it.” He leaned closer. “For you are speaking to the one who can correct that situation.”

’Twas all she could do not to laugh in his face . . . but the light in his eyes, a lingering intensity there, kept her from more than a scoff. “I have plenty of ribbons, Robin Hood, and several of them are green. I am in no need of yet another frill.”

“Come now, Lady Alys. A green ribbon would look very lovely twined in your honey gold hair,” he murmured. His eyelids had become heavy and he was looking at her in such a way as to make the insides of her belly flutter.

’Twas a feeling she did not welcome in the least.

“Robin Hood, I do not wish to have anything from you . . . least of which a green ribbon, which was most likely stolen from some other lady,” she said, the wall very close behind her now, and the warmth of his person seeping into her awareness. “Did I not tell you most clearly today that should I be accosted by you, I should not hesitate to raise the alarm?”

“Aye, that you did.” And still he did not release his gaze . . . which had somehow become fastened upon her lips.

“And yet you string my patience taut.”

He gave a low little chuckle. “My lady Alys, I am most accustomed to a woman speaking what she believes is on her mind . . . but more oft than not, I find that what she speaks is not what she truly means.”

“And so now, sirrah, you accuse me of not knowing my own mind?” she replied, raising her hands to push at his chest.

Not as tall as the forbidding sheriff, nor as powerfully built, he was nevertheless muscular and graceful. Lean and strong, and more wickedly handsome than she would willingly admit. And he did not make the slightest shift when she shoved at him.

“But ’tis quite obvious, Lady Alys . . . for if you’d truly intended to cry ware, you would have done so long before now.” His grin was wide and knowing and he leaned in.

Infuriated-for he was partially correct, curse the man-Alys drew in her breath to shriek to high heaven.

The scream was forever caught in her mouth, for he timed his assault perfectly and covered her lips at that moment.

This kiss was violently different from the one they’d shared in his treetop hideaway; his lips were much more demanding, much less tentative and coaxing. He ate at her, his tongue thrusting into her mouth as if he’d die if he did not kiss her . . . and she found herself closing her eyes, opening her mouth to take him in farther.

His hands, fingers trembling, shoved into her hair, pulling it free from the braids that had long since loosened, and his hips pressed her against the cold, damp wall. Alys found that her fingers had curled into his plain-cloth tunic; instead of pushing him away, as she’d attempted a moment ago, she drew him closer. She didn’t know why. She didn’t care.

She loved the long, strong lines of his body, the warmth of him pressing her against the wall as her hands moved over the planes of his chest, feeling the swell of muscle there, as she tasted the heat of his mouth. Her knees began to loosen, and she felt herself falling. . . .

When she fully realized what she was doing, that she’d become weak-kneed and mind-boggled, she yanked her face away from his. Breathing heavily, she opened her mouth and screamed.

Robin reeled away from her, his eyes wide and shocked as she continued to cry warning at the top of her lungs.

“Foolish woman!” he said, every trace of good humor gone. His eyes flashed sparks instead of charm. “Do you want me killed?”

“Foolish man,” she gasped, still out of breath. “Did you not listen when I warned you thus? I am no simple and easy woman, Robin Hood. I will not be wooed by falsities and a flattering tongue.”

“Viper!” he accused, and as they heard the pounding of footsteps coming toward them, he disappeared into the shadows.

“I do not care for your green ribbons!” she hissed after him, and leaned against the wall, pressing her hands against her lips. Trembling.

She knew that she would lie to the man now coming to her rescue. Just as the Sheriff of Nottingham had lied to her earlier.

The cloak fell away, leaving Marian chilled and warm at the same time . . . an odd sensation. Her hair, braided and coiled heavily around her head, left her fully exposed. Her nipples puckered tightly, her skin heated from the fire, yet pebbled where the warmth could not reach. Her body stood, stretched, pale and creamy, dusted with brushstrokes of rich, golden freckles. The dance of flames warmed every swell and hollow.

Robin covered her mouth with smiling lips, laughing with great humor as they curved over hers . . . his hands sliding over her, slender and elegant, drawing her close to his warm, lean body . . . and she was falling, falling. . . .

The bed caught her, the slick, smooth furs embraced her . . . and he landed next to her, his hands sliding between her legs, his fingers finding her hard little pearl, covering it, teasing . . . and when she rolled over, there was Will, dark and heavy, on the other side. His eyes, shadowed and flat, filled her vision as he came closer, bending to her. His mouth covered hers, masking her soft little moan as Robin knelt before her, his fingers warm on her hips.

Hands all over her . . . too many, sliding, caressing, cupping . . . large, dark ones on her white breasts, lifting, stroking . . . a swarthy face bending to cover her lips again, blocking her view as someone drew her knees wide. The brush of his silky hair over her legs, on the sides of her thighs as he bent there . . . teasing, taunting, as she lifted and rocked her hips, desperately seeking completion, her mouth filled with a slick hot tongue, devoured by hungry lips.

Her quim opened, ready, hot, and wet . . . then a dark head at her breast, sucking long, hard . . . pulling away and then slipping a strong tongue around and over the tip of her nipple so that she gasped and arched and writhed.

But strong hands held her hips, her knees wide . . . elegant hands, and she could see the top of a blond head bending between her legs . . . the swipe of a tongue that sent her twisting and careening under the large dark hands that held her shoulders, pinning her to the bed. She couldn’t see. . . . She could only feel the delicious assault on her body . . . sleek, slick strokes at her mouth, at her quim. . . .

She cried out, restless; she lifted and twitched and begged . . . and suddenly there was John, his dark face rapt and intent . . . and she felt the stone wall behind her, scraping rough over her back and buttocks as she struggled to free herself from the manacles.

Her wrists and hands were fixed and John moved closer, kneeling at her feet, his fingers sliding in and around her swollen quim, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh of her thighs . . . his lips thick and moist and red, moving forward to cover her mound, his tongue sliding strong and delving deep as she looked around and saw Robin, and Will . . . watching.

… Watching with avid eyes, full lips, as John licked and sucked on her, forcing her into the rough masonry, scraping her skin as she struggled to get free . . . to find release as the prince teased her, pushing her to the edge and then stepping away to leer and laugh at her as she writhed and moaned, pleading for more.

And then he fell on her again, driving his tongue deep into her until she cried out, begged . . . and then he stood to cup her breasts and torture them, with long dragging pulls, sucking her nipples hard and sending painful whorls of pleasure as his fingers slipped inside her.

And then they were gone . . . all of them. ’Twas only darkness and a cold room, and she hung helplessly from the wall, the manacles heavy and tight on her wrists, her ankles . . . her pip swollen and needy, her body humming and desperate, her breasts sore and tight and heavy. . . .

The insistent knocking on her chamber door drew Marian from the depths of her dream.

“My lady, can you be awake?”

Groggy. Heart pounding.

Marian forced her eyes open, banishing the images. She rolled to the side, aware that though the dream had gone, she still throbbed between her legs as if John and Robin and Will truly had been there, their lips and hands on her.

“Ethelberga!” she said crossly. “Enter.”

The maid came in and Marian blinked, trying to dispel the remnants of the arousing, disturbing dream.

“Where did you go last night?” She sat up, becoming aware that the sun was high enough to indicate that she’d missed Mass. And she smelled a tinge of smoke in the air.

“I am very sorry, my lady,” Ethelberga said, and at that moment, Marian saw through the doorway that Lady Joanna waited in the antechamber. “I received your message to await you in the hall, but you did not come, and it became very late and at last I returned to here. When I did, I found you already returned and well asleep.”

Marian had opened her mouth to flay her maid for her irresponsibility, but now she closed it. Robin. It had to have been Robin who had sent Ethelberga away so that he could wait for her within. Clever, but he was still a fool . . . he who had not expected Nottingham to be with her upon her return.

What had he thought would transpire, meeting her privately in her chamber?

The insistent throbbing between her legs, the memory of his hand sliding expertly there as he pressed her against the tree . . . she had no reason to wonder what he had hoped.

When her mistress didn’t speak, Ethelberga took that as permission to continue. “My lady, I only woke you because Lady Joanna be without.”

“I can see that,” Marian replied a bit tartly. Still shaky and trembling from a dream that had felt much too real, she knew nevertheless that now was the time to rise. Glancing out the window slit, she saw that something seemed to be burning beyond the keep’s walls, which explained the strong smell of smoke. “Joanna, I shall be only a moment.”

“Hurry, Marian,” Joanna said, her voice urgent. “Do you make haste-we must go see. They say he is burning the village!”

“Who?” Marian gestured sharply to Ethelberga, who closed the door a bit and hurried into the room to dig through her trunks for a bliaud and an overgown-a task that should already have been done. Pressing her lips together in annoyance, Marian slid from the bed, acutely aware of the pressure of her legs over her swollen quim.

“The sheriff! They say he is burning the village. I cannot believe it!”

Marian stilled, absorbing her words. Will was burning the village? No. He couldn’t. Why?

A blast of disappointment and then anger washed over her-and then she wondered why she should be so shocked and appalled. She knew what he was, whom he was loyal to. Why would she expect anything different?

Moments later the two women hurried out into the bailey, where a groom had their saddled horses waiting. A black billow of smoke curled from Ludlow Village beyond the bailey’s gate, giving credence to the rumor that the blaze was no small incident.

Marian and Joanna rode quickly through the throngs of people, the villeins shuffling away from their path.

As they approached the crowd that had gathered along the main thoroughfare of the village, the first thing Marian saw was Will, tall and imposing in his saddle, towering over everyone about him. He watched the proceedings impassively, holding the reins easily in his lap as the black curls of smoke filtered around him.

He appeared powerful and implacable, just as he always did. But Marian was struck by the memory of how he’d looked last night . . . that moment of vulnerability or . . . something . . . when she’d lifted their joined hands. That moment of tangled gazes, the remorse and shame and anguish she saw there . . . it seemed at such great odds with this unfeeling, emotionless . . . cruel . . . man.

Villagers had gathered and watched with dumbstruck faces streaked with dirt and smoke. What had been three houses along the main road roared with flames, the heat so fierce that the thick crowd was forced to stand away from the hot, wavering air.

“And the cooper’s house as well,” Will ordered, lifting an imperious hand to point at a fourth structure, which had a sagging roof and wide cracks between the boards. A mean hovel, barely inhabitable. Marian had noticed it the day before, as they rode out for the hunt.