Colette Gale - Bound by Honor

No man had touched her breasts before, and Alys was unprepared for the rush of pleasure and the instant tightening of her nipples. He sat before her, brushing the lightest of fingertips over their hard points, watching her, smiling at her shudders and the surprised gasps as her skin heated. Sharp little twinges zipped down into her belly and beyond, her body gathering up and her insides squirming in an unfamiliar way.

“Alys,” he breathed, then bent forward to cover her mouth again. She felt him smiling against her, his lips curved in pure delight and laughter. He pulled up a bit to whisper, “I cannot believe you are here. I have been miserable, thinking never to see you again. Or taste you.” Then he moved closer again, his tongue thrusting deeply into her mouth, tangling with hers for a long time.

She closed her eyes as the room began to tilt and shift, and flowed into him, into this slick world of tremors and heat and skin against skin. He lifted away after a long time. “I could kiss you all day,” he murmured, once again sliding his tongue over and around her upper lip. “But there are other things to do. And I find that I am hungry.”

Robin smiled down at her. His eyes were warm and delighted, and he moved away from her, down, down along her torso, his fingers at last settling over her bare thighs. She still wore her hose, but the cotton stockings ended near the tops of her legs . . . and left bare that full and hot place between her legs. “ ’ Tis long past time for me to break my fast.”

Alys didn’t know what he meant until he gently guided her knees apart. She gasped in surprise and at first resisted, but when he lifted his face and gave her that smile, she allowed him to part her legs.

“Ah,” he said . . . but it was more of a groan. A low, deep, back-of-the-throat groan. And then he lowered his face down to her quim, which had never been so . . . opened and exposed and . . . Oh.

Alys nearly came off the pallet when he kissed the inside of her thigh. Just a little brush of lips, but she was so sensitive that the prickles shot all up and down, and then there were more, from every direction, as he kissed his way along her thigh, along that sensitive, soft, virginal skin, toward the cluster of golden curls. . . . She held her breath when he reached them, but he skimmed over her full nether lips, merely brushing the edges of the hair, and then settled on the other thigh.

She relaxed, closed her eyes, opened them, and vaguely saw the timber-roofed ceiling. Then she closed them again as his tongue sleeked out and his lips bussed gently against her leg, along its innermost part. . . . She sighed, no longer needing to twitch and shift with every touch. . . . She felt herself grow and swell. . . .

He lifted his head and she saw the laughter in his eyes, and the heat, the determination . . . the pleasure. ’Twas the overt delight, the lust in his own expression, that undid her and when he touched her ever so lightly, with the tip of his tongue . . . right there on her tight little pearl, Alys gave a soft little cry and arched back onto the pallet.

“Aye,” he murmured in deep satisfaction, but his mouth moved against her and she felt the vibration against her pip, and she writhed more because it was so . . . hot, taut, needy. “Ah, Alys,” he sighed.

And then it began in earnest . . . first a little tickle with the point of his tongue, and then a long, slow swipe on either side of her swollen quim, down into the depths of its folds, then over and back and forth and around and inside and she could no longer follow the path, and she fell into the rhythm of it, let it suck her in . . . the pull and tug and rise and rise of warmth. . . . She felt it shiver up her legs where his fingers lightly moved, and from her belly, it coiled and spun down and around and before she knew it, she was crying out . . . for something. . . . She cried and begged and gasped and he slipped and slid faster and faster and finally she felt something give.

Just give . . . and then she cried out and her body was an uncontrollable mass of shiver and shudders and tears and long, great, rolling warmth.

Alys did not know how long it was before she opened her eyes, but when she did, there he was. Looking down at her with the most satisfied grin, the happiest eyes-as if he’d just brought down a boar single-handedly. Or fought off a band of raiders on his own. Or found heaven.

“Would it be fair to say you enjoyed helping me break my fast?” he murmured, trailing a sleek finger up from her still-pulsing core along the soft rise of her belly.

She could only nod, still trying to focus. “Robin. Is it always like that?” she whispered, reaching up to touch his face.

“Nay. Only if one is very fortunate.” His grin grew wider. “I consider us the most fortunate of all.”

“But you . . .” Her voice trailed off. There was no “us” about it. She might be a maid, but she knew enough to know that he’d not found the same pleasure as she.

He shook his head gently. “I’ll not take your maidenhead, Alys. It belongs to your husband, whenever you might take one.”

“What is this?” she asked, keeping her tone light. “Has the outlaw grown a conscience?”

“The outlaw . . .” His voice trailed off, then picked up more strongly. “The outlaw Robin of the Hood shall be no more.”

“What?”

He pulled away, ruffling his thick hair with an energetic hand, looking across the room. “It has weighed upon me as of late, this charade I play. And I’ve lost a great friend this day, and I do not wish to put any more of my comrades in danger. There are other ways to help the people of Nottinghamshire. And . . . I have fallen in love with a lady that I shall not endanger. ’Tis that, most of all, that has opened my eyes.”

“Endanger?”

“I’m wanted by the law-by the prince. Any liaison we have would implicate you as well.” He cupped her face in his hands, seriousness in his expression. “I cannot take you as my leman, much as I want to. If a miracle happens, when the king returns and if God wills it, you’ll be the wife of Robin of Locksley. But I will not despoil you before then. Much as I want to.”

“But, Robin,” she said, but he covered her lips with his, drowning her protests. The throb between her legs began anew along with the sleek swipe of his tongue, curling inside her. She felt his cock lift and shift against her thigh and without any further thought, Alys reached for it, slipping beneath his braies.

Soft as velvet, yet hard as iron, it grew and swelled in her hand. She almost forgot to kiss him, to taste him, as she was so enthralled by the sensation, and the burning between her legs began anew.

But he reached there, his clever fingers, and found that rising need, and he helped her slip her fingers around his cock, showed her how tightly to hold it . . . and with no further instruction, she knew. She found the rhythm, and he matched it with his fingers between her legs, and it was not long before they both cried out, their bodies sticky and slick and tangling together.

“Robin,” she gasped, her fingers still curled around the softening head of his cock. A thumb stroked gently over the soft, wet rounding, and she felt him twitch gently with every little movement. She could not keep a bit of a smile from her lips. “I am a ward of the queen,” she said. “Not the king.”

“There is that,” he said, his voice laced with satisfaction. “But she will not take my side over that of John. Until the king returns, and Nottingham tells him all, I am naught but an outlaw. My lands are gone, and I have naught to bring to you, Alys.”

“But, Robin,” she said, smiling against his chest, “I have plenty of lands. I am the heiress to Clervillieres.”

“In Aquitaine?” He stilled against her. “You are the Lady of Clervillieres?” His voice was filled with wonder and disbelief, and rightly so. Clervillieres was a large and powerful fief on the northern border of Aquitaine.

“Aye. And,” she said, her cheeks rounding further with delight, “I have already obtained permission from the queen-nay, ’twas my father who did-to allow me to wed where I will. I merely need to pay a fine-a large one, I am certain-when I do so, marrying a man that has not been selected for me. The queen will not say me nay.”

At that great news, his head popped up from the pallet and he looked down at her. “You are mad, Alys. The queen would never allow that.”

“But she has. My father provided her a special service-do not ask, Robin, for I cannot and will not tell you, for ’twas a most private matter for the queen-and he obtained that permission from her. Why do you think I have not yet wed?”

“Why indeed?” he murmured. “The Lady of Clervillieres. And you are quite certain Eleanor will honor it?”

“Oh, she will honor it, for the money will go into the coffers for her son’s holy war.”

“But I am an outlaw. She will not-”

Alys was shaking her head, looking at him affectionately. “Who knows you are an outlaw? Nottingham and Marian of Morlaix . . . and your companions. None of them will carry tales, I trow.”

“John knows,” he reminded her.

“But Robin Hood was captured at the archery contest. He is in the dungeon. Who is to say you are Robin Hood when he is already found?” She shrugged, spreading her hands wide.

A light came into his eyes. “Could it be that simple?”

“Your men shall travel with us-we’ll leave England, and get far away from John and the others. I’ll send word to Eleanor after we wed, and she’ll impose the fine … but she will not complain. She’ll take the money and grouse about it, but she’ll say naught, for she is too busy trying to keep her two cubs from tearing each other’s throats out.”

“Or, at the least, one of them from tearing at the neck of the other,” Robin said grimly.

“Aye.”

He looked at her, his dimples showing fully for the first time that morning. “I do believe it might happen the way you claim, Alys. How could I be so fortunate as to find a woman who not only loves me but can free me?”

“You are very fortunate. Now you must make one more promise to me.”

“Anything, my love.”

“You must rid yourself of every green riband you have, for I’ll not suffer you spreading them around to the ladies anymore.”

He laughed, long and hard and with great delight. “Alys, my love, you are the only woman for whom I’ll give a green riband. In fact”-his eyes narrowed in wicked thought-“I should very much like to see you dressed only in my green ribands. From head to toe.”

“You have that many of them?” she asked in mock annoyance.

“Nay!” He laughed. “And that is precisely the point.”

CHAPTER 16

“Nay, Marian … do you not see the trap into which I’ve led you?” Will pointed to the bishop that, if she moved her rook, would be free to slide into checkmate.

She pulled her arm back, resting its wrist in her lap, and stared at the game. Her fire-bright hair had been amassed into a loose knot at the back of her neck, but informal, curling tendrils graced her hairline. The wisps fluttered every time she moved, or whenever the breeze touched them. Marian’s slender white wrist was covered by a tight-fitting sleeve of gold embroidered with red hearts and diamonds. He noticed the heavy scattering of golden freckles on the back of her hand, recalling that such coloring could be found elsewhere over her body.

On her breasts, chest, shoulders, arms, the peach-colored tones washed over her fair skin, making it appear warm and rich. His cock shifted, reminding him how lush she’d been, sprawled on a pile of dark furs next to him in John’s massive bed, her fiery hair spread all about her. And how sleek and sensual she’d been, arched over the barrel. Will tightened his lips and forced the thoughts onto the game.

She’d approached him early this morn, after the breaking of the fast, and asked if he could spare some time to teach her to play better. That she even dared to come near him after his assault on her in the stairwell was shocking enough . . . but to ask for his assistance? Will could not understand it.

Madwoman.

She should fear him. Had they been anywhere last night but that dank wet place . . .

“I do not see it,” she replied, looking up at him.

He yanked his gaze away, turning his attention back to the game and away from her serious green eyes. “There. See you the bishop?”

“Ah, aye.”

He glanced up to see her full lips purse in understanding, and he was overcome by a wave of annoyance and frustration. What was he doing here, sitting with Marian of Morlaix, teaching her to play chess?

And ’twas not even prudent that they meet in the great hall, for fear John would hear that they were no longer adversaries. Nor in her chamber, where he might peer through the peephole-and where there were other distractions.

Nay, they must sit out in the pear orchard, beneath a tree, behind a low, grassy hill far beyond the watchful eyes of John’s court. Where they could not see . . . or be seen.

At the least, it was in the daylight.

Yet Will could not argue that teaching her to play better chess was a fine idea, particularly in light of John’s intent to entertain her privately. His “illness” had delayed this plan, mayhap even for tonight as well, but it would be only a matter of time before he recovered.

“And so, if I do such . . . ,” she murmured, lifting her own bishop and moving it, “I shall prevent your little trap.”

“Indeed. But do not think that I’ve missed your plan,” Will said, lifting his queen to take her bishop. “I would not allow you to place me in check so easily.”

She glanced up at him and he saw a bit of a smile twitch the corner of her mouth. He tightened his lips to keep from responding in kind.

“But you have now fallen into my trap,” she said, and moved her knight. “Check . . . mate.”

Marian was looking at him, arching one of those fine coppery brows in the same manner she’d done when they were younger and she’d come upon him and Locksley spying on a bathing maidservant. As if she realized that she’d won because his mind was elsewhere.

Chagrined that he’d been distracted, he looked down and saw that she had indeed won the game. He wasn’t annoyed that she’d won, only that he’d allowed his thoughts to wander. Mayhap with the suggestions he’d given her, John would be distracted as well, and would allow Marian to play well enough to win.

She smoothed her overgown, which drew his attention to the curve of her breasts. Her slender hands were quick and sure, and then she looked up at him again. This time, there was a decidedly different expression on her face. One that made his mouth go dry and his palms dampen. He could merely lean forward. . . .

Nay. Lord, no.

He stood abruptly, causing her to crane her neck to look up at him. “You seem to have learned quite enough this day,” he said. Glancing toward the keep, he felt a heavy weight in the pit of his belly. John had been seen up and about in his chamber early this day, slow but mobile. Marian’s reprieve was soon to be over. If not anight, then the next.

Unless he could think of another way to help her evade the inevitable.

He looked back down at her, then had to drag his gaze away. She could not know how inviting her expression appeared. God help her if she looked on John with those soft eyes and parted lips.