Colette Gale - Bound by Honor

But she captured her wild thoughts and said, “You saw the sheriff leave my chamber?”

“I cannot stand to imagine you with him, Marian. He is so cold, so angry and cruel. Tell me he hasn’t hurt you.”

“He has caused me no injury,” she replied, though the memories of the carnality in John’s chambers brought a warm flush to her cheeks, and a renewed awareness to the pit of her belly. “He seeks to protect me from John’s attentions, ’tis all.”

Robin’s face darkened and his sensual lips twisted. “Is that the tale he has told you? He must speak a lie for a woman to spread her legs for him?” His breath was warm, but not unpleasantly so, on her face.

“I have not spread my legs for him,” she said, anger replacing the languor he’d begun to coax from her. She’d expected a kiss, not an insult, and she struggled to push him away.

But Robin had strong hands, and the pressure of his body kept her imprisoned against the tree. He captured her arms, pulling her hands away from where they pushed against his chest. “Forgive me, Marian,” he said. “I should not have said such a thing. ’Tis true that I am jealous, knowing that you can be with him-or anyone, even that blockhead Burle-while I must lurk in the wood like a criminal.”

She looked up at him. “And if you are jealous of Will, who simply left my chamber after ensuring there was no one hiding within,” she said tartly, wondering why she chose to defend the sheriff rather than ask Robin for help, “all the while you confess your affections for me . . . how should I feel, knowing that you spend your time drawing other ladies into the shadows to kiss them?”

He smiled down at her, his disgruntled expression disappearing. “Marian, is it possible that you are jealous? My heart be still, I can only hope that it is so.”

“Not jealous so much as befuddled by your foolishness in moving about the keep. What if you were caught? The sheriff-Will-could come upon you at any time.”

“Have no fear. I shall not be caught.” His lips came closer as his fingers curled around her upper arms. “I cannot resist being near you,” he murmured as his mouth fitted over hers.

Marian closed her eyes, lifting her face to meet him. His lips opened wide to devour hers, and his tongue was sleek and strong in her mouth, delving deeply as his hands slid to cover her breasts. Her nipples reacted to his touch, tightening beneath the pressure of his palms, and Marian realized that whatever she’d done to relieve her tension this morning had not fully tamped away her body’s need. Or else . . . it had merely whetted her appetite for something more. It was as if she had awakened to pleasure.

“Why do you not stay with me?” Robin asked, pulling away enough to take in a breath and speak. “You will be safe here in Sherwood, and I vow,” he said, pressing the bulge of his cock into her belly, “you will not regret it.”

“Stay with an outlaw?” she asked, angling her mouth away even as the rest of her body moved closer. “But, Robin, I cannot.”

“But there are so many delightful things about being with an outlaw,” he murmured, drawing her hands away from his chest to above her head, pressing the backs of them against the rough bark of the tree. “The woods are filled with surprises.” Leaning against her, hip to hip, leg merged with leg, he was smiling as he bent to kiss her again.

“But, Robin, that is what I wished to speak with you about,” she began as she became engulfed in the kiss.

He transferred one hand to his other grip, leaving one set of his fingers free to slip down over the curve of her throat and to cup her breast while her wrists were captured above her head. Then his hand left her breast and reached down to lift the weight of her gown, crumpling it in an awkward wad between them. She felt the fresh air through her light woolen hose and the brush of his strong leg between hers.

He pressed his thigh up into her quim and she felt something near her wrist, twisting around it. . . .

“Robin, what are you about?” she asked, pulling her face away.

“The sheriff is coming,” he murmured, slipping his fingers up beneath her gown and chemise, up until he cupped the warmth between her legs. “And I must go, but I shall leave you with something that Joanna of Wardhamshire cannot claim.”

“Robin,” she hissed, and then she heard it-the thrashing through the brush in the distance. Coming closer . . . and yet Robin’s palm pressed down onto her mons as if he had all the time he needed.

“Nay, sweeting,” he said, laughing into her mouth as his fingers slid inside her. “Ah, you are ready for me, aren’t you?” he said, pushing his fingers up inside her slick opening.

Marian gasped, catching her breath as his thumb found the hard little nub that pulsed anew, teasing it back and forth, slowly. . . . The now-familiar tingle gathered there in the recess of her belly, and her nipples knotted, thrusting against the soft linen of her chemise. He rubbed and flickered against her, his fingers moving deep inside, up and hard, as if he were fucking her, as he breathed softly into her neck.

“Ah, yes,” he whispered, “come along, sweeting, come along.”

Caught by the pleasure, lulled by his voice, she ground her head back against the tree, her hair catching on the rough bark, her hands looped above helplessly to the tree by some trick of Robin’s.

Robin leaned into her, kissing her neck, the pads of his fingers spreading up into the folds of her quim, jolting her hard little pearl. The crashing in the bushes became louder as her pleasure built, and Marian bit her lip as the needy ache tightened and she felt her body gather up as it did, ready to slip over.

“Hurry, my sweet, hurry,” Robin coaxed, moving his fingers faster and deeper, using the pad of his finger to tickle her as he drove inside.

The bark pushed into her skull and her uneasy hips, her eyes closed and mouth parted as she gasped in the air, wanting . . . knowing . . . she heard the crash in the bush . . . the sound of her name . . . felt the frantic jiggling of Robin’s fingers, and suddenly it all exploded into a burst of pleasure and noise and great, deep, gasping breaths.

She may have cried out; she definitely heard Will shout, “Locksley!” and was aware of the sudden wuft of her layers of clothing falling back into place. There were vague sounds that melded with her world of pleasure: a solid thud, the rustling of brush, a faint shaking of the tree as if someone climbed or danced past it. The erotic tremors still shuddered through her, and when she opened her eyes, it was not Robin’s dancing blue ones in front of her but the hard, dark ones that had haunted her since yestereve.

Gasping in shock at their intensity, Marian pulled her gaze away, fully aware that she stood tied to a tree, flush with pleasure, sated. She dared not look at Will, hoping that he wouldn’t recognize what had just occurred.

He stood in front of her, and suddenly he was pulling at the ivy Robin had used to affix her wrists to the tree. His face was inscrutable, his cheeks hollow as if he was drawing them in tightly. But he was empty-handed. And Robin was gone.

He’d escaped once again.

Will said nothing as he pulled sharply at the bonds that kept her to the tree, and Marian did not know what to say. As the fog of pleasure slipped away, she began to realize what Robin had done, and how his actions had enabled him to flee yet again.

Leaving her in dishabille and tied to a tree had allowed him to escape at the last moment-just as Will approached-for the sheriff would not pursue him and leave Marian in such a state.

“I would ask if you were hurt,” Will said as the vines fell away, “but ’tis quite clear that is not the case.”

Marian swallowed and felt heat rise in her cheeks. His dark eyes glittered as his large hand rested on the tree next to her head. She could see it from the corner of her eye and realized how close he was standing to her. Her breath felt heavy and she found that she couldn’t find a safe place to look.

“Will,” was all she could say, and she knew it sounded woefully weak and breathy.

He turned away, pulling a horn from his belt. Putting it to his lips, he blew a long, low sound . . . once, then twice . . . then replaced the horn.

“To signal that I’ve found you, and that all is well.” His gaze raked over her again, dark and scornful. “If I’d known ’twas merely a lovers’ quarrel, I would not have pushed Cauchemar into a lather to get here.”

“I was set upon by bandits,” Marian told him coolly. “They would have torn me off my horse and taken me away if Robin had not come upon us.”

“Locksley’s men are indeed fearsome,” Will replied, his voice dry.

“Nay, they were no friends of Robin,” she said. “They were desperate and violent. Robin intervened, along with some of his real men, and they had a battle in which many were injured.”

“ ’ Twould not surprise me if Locksley arranged for such an ambush in order to show his outlaw heart in a new and sympathetic light.”

Marian opened her mouth to retort, but found that she needed to close it. For had she not also suspected the same? “So you do recognize him,” she said instead.

“Aye, how could I not? Locksley has not changed a whit from the rash boy I knew at Mead’s Vale. A skilled longbowman, aye, and a pillow-hearted fool. But also a man with a very large opinion of himself who believes he needn’t pay for his actions.”

“But he is a hero in the eyes of the simple people,” she said, taking a pleading step toward Will. “The villagers are bled dry by this war, and the greed of-” She stopped herself, aware of the accusation she was about to make to a confidant of the accused. “They lose their houses and lands-they haven’t the resources to pay the taxes demanded of them. I saw them today, how they duck and hide. . . .” Her voice trailed off again.

“When I approach,” Will finished flatly. “Aye, ’tis true. But you forget, Lady Marian, that I am bound by duty to King Richard to collect those funds, and to see that justice is served in this shire. If that includes fitting a rope necklet about your lover’s throat, then so be it.” He stepped closer to her. “But may I suggest that you have a care for yourself? For if the prince learns that you are . . . close . . . to Robin Hood, I cannot guarantee your safety.”

Marian stepped back and felt the tree behind her again. “You cannot guarantee my safety anyway,” she returned, conscious that her heart was pounding crazily. He was so large, and dark and tall, and his expression was so forbidding. Yet, she felt herself gather up inside, taut and keenly aware of the man before her. The man who claimed I am no saint. “And if tales are carried to the prince of my friendship with Robin,” she continued, though her mouth had dried, “I will know from whom they’ve come.”

When she stepped back, he did not follow but stood unmoving, looking down at her. “John is watching you . . . and us . . . very closely, Marian. You seem to be unable to comprehend his determination to have whatever he wishes. And he is very interested in having you.”

Her stomach pitched at his stark words, and she could find nothing to say. There was naught in Will’s face or demeanor that suggested softness, or worry.

“Now,” he said, turning away, “I will return you to the hunt. Then I’ll lead a party into the wood to flush out this band of desperate outlaws who attacked you.” He glanced back at her as he approached his monster of a horse. “If indeed they do exist.”

CHAPTER 6

R obin smelled Marian’s musky scent when he raised his fingers to his mouth to make a grackle’s call, announcing his arrival to the man on watch. He made the bird’s cry, then sniffed his fingers again and smiled. A lusty woman, and one who would not soon forget him.

The responding call of a slightly higher-pitched grackle indicated that it was safe for Robin to approach the treetop hideaway he and his men had built. Deep in Sherwood, aloft in a cluster of sky-brushing pine and oak trees, they’d constructed a generous building higher than any man would tend to look. And even if he did so, he’d see little but shadows, branches, and thick pine needles.

A rope ladder dropped down and he clambered up quickly. Someone was nearly always left on guard in the tree house, but in the event that everyone had been called away, the rope ladder was left up inside the hideaway and the first arrival climbed up using the less direct route of branch to branch, tree to tree.

“What ho,” Robin said as his head rose above the floor of the building. “Any news?” He glanced briefly around and saw that three of his men sat or crouched about the room . . . and then he saw her.

“Aye, now.” Robin smiled and climbed the rest of the way into the room, pulling up the ladder automatically behind him. “And who might this be?”

At first he didn’t recognize her, for she’d been sitting in the shadows . . . but at his greeting, she stood and moved into the dappled light that filtered through the leafy trees above and around them. “Release me at once,” she demanded.

It was the woman he’d noticed last eve, in the great hall. The girlish one with the pretty heart-shaped face whose name he didn’t know. She was also the one who’d been riding alongside Marian and Joanna today during the hunt. He’d heard just that part of their conversation as he watched their approach from high in the trees, hoping to catch Marian alone.

As he recalled, this woman had called him foolish, with great disdain dripping from her voice. She’d been jealous, for she was the only one of the ladies who hadn’t had the pleasure of a visit from the outlaw.

Robin could easily rectify that.

“My lady,” he said with a flourishing bow. “You are welcome to our little hideaway in the trees. May I introduce myself?”

“I am well aware of your identity,” the woman replied. She was standing straight and as tall as her petite figure would allow-which was not so very tall at all. Mayhap she would reach to his shoulder. If she stood on her toes.

“Then you must have the advantage of me,” Robin said, still smiling.

He glanced at his boon companion John Little, who for all his great size and burliness appeared to be more than a bit cowed by this slip of femininity. Despite her diminutive figure, she was most definitely a woman. A woman with breasts the size of the very large oranges Robin had eaten in Greece, a tiny begirdled waist, and rounded hips. And lush pink lips that, if they deigned to pout, would look like crinkled velvet petals . . . but at this moment were flattened into a line oozing with disgust.

“I demand that you release me, Robin Hood,” she said. “Your men had no right to bring me here.” She crossed her arms under those lovely breasts and, for a moment, Robin found himself distracted as they lifted, adjusted, and jiggled gently.

Then he realized that silence had fallen and all were waiting for him to respond. “But how did you come to be here?” he asked, allowing a sympathetic sparkle to come into his eyes.

“My horse threw a shoe,” she said. Of necessity, her mouth relaxed a bit. Her upper lip was more full and luscious than her lower lip, and right then, Robin knew where he wanted that lovely mouth to be. His cock, which had been raging since he left Marian tied to the tree, lifted yet again, boldly reminding him that it had been much too long since it had been somewhere dark and moist and tight.