Copyright 2013 Colette Gale
Previously published by The Penguin Group.
BOUND BY HONOR © 2010, 2014 Colette Gale
All rights reserved.
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For all the women who prefer
Alan Rickman and Richard Armitage
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Prologue
“Are you not the Sheriff of Nottinghamshire?” Prince John said in that lazy way of his.
It was not a question; he knew full well to whom he was speaking. His eyes were darker than ever in the dimness of his private chamber, but they were hooded with heavy satisfaction. “Methinks there’s none who knows the king’s Forest of Sherwood as well as you.” He stretched his broad shoulders, and gave a little, almost effeminate shudder.
“Indeed, my lord, I am quite familiar with the forest,” replied Sir William de Wendeval, keeping his voice even and his attention from the generous breasts of the serving wench who was...serving...the prince at the moment, and had no doubt caused his shiver of pleasure.
Her lips were red and swollen, her jaw stretched wide as she accommodated her liege’s well-used cock. Large breasts hung and swayed with each movement, her nipples threatening to brush the floor. She was breathing hard from exertion, her face red and glistening with sweat.
Prince John, who was lording his royal self about his brother Richard’s country while the king was off fighting Saladin in the Holy Lands, had taken over the ladies’ solar in Ludlow Keep for his own private chamber. His Court of Pleasure, as he called it.
Will was grateful for his choice of the room, for it was large and had two massive fireplaces and several narrow slits that allowed fresh air to come in—a welcome treat on nights like this, when the chamber was thick with the smell of sex and sweat and heat.
“Then...” John gasped, stilled, then grabbed the head of the doxy going down on him and jammed his cock deep into the back of her throat. Pleasure narrowed his eyes and thinned his generous lips as the girl coughed and choked and struggled beneath his hands.
John released her suddenly and she fell back onto the floor. Her tangled hair caught under her hands as she collapsed, gasping for breath. From where he stood, Will eyed her critically. She’d live.
Unlike the girl last week, who’d been a casualty of one of John’s experiments that included bondage and a heavy hood.
Will transferred his attention back to the prince, keeping his face devoid of emotion. He enjoyed fucking as much as any man, and in many ways, and the more the merrier—but some of John’s proclivities weren’t to his taste. And, at the least, unlike this pitiful wench, he had some choice in the matter.
So far.
“...’tis inconceivable that you have not yet caught Robin of the Hood!” John continued his sentence as though he’d not stopped to spew his seed, wipe his cock, and then shove it back into his braies—all the while leaving Will, whom he’d summoned from his bed well past midnight, standing there. “He and his band of outlaws have poached from the king, stolen from the tax collector, and they continue to run rampant through the shire.”
Will’s face tightened. He bowed to his liege. “’Tis a matter of great annoyance to me as well, my lord. Robin Hood has been able to remain a bare step ahead of my men thus far...but ’twill not be long before we capture him. His luck cannot last forever.”
John shifted on his seat, which happened to be a massive wooden chair piled high with cushions and furs. He’d removed his jewel-encrusted tunic some time ago, and now wore only an undertunic, braies, and soft calf slippers. A goblet of wine sat next to him on a small table, and he lifted it to drink furiously as though he—not the serving wench—had labored for his pleasure.
Will cast a glance around the room. The window slits were uncovered by heavy tapestries this summer night, and a beam of moonlight shone in through the westward side.
The side that faced Sherwood Forest, where the outlaw Robin of the Hood had famously eluded the fearsome Sheriff of Nottinghamshire for nearly a year.
A miracle that the prince hadn’t come to investigate before now, since his pocket had become quite a bit lighter since Robin had taken to stealing from traveling lords and ladies.
John, of course, collected taxes from the English people in the name of his brother, Richard, called the Lionheart, who had left him as regent while on Crusade. Well, to be more precise…he’d first left William Longchamp, that humpbacked dwarf, as England’s justiciar and chancellor—completely in charge of the treasury and in control of the country. That was until John, with the support of the powerful nobility, had removed the power-hungry man and sent him scuttling out of England.
Now, flush with the surge of power obtained by the overturning of Longchamp, John plotted to seize even more control. But in a much stealthier manner. Thus, while he acted in the name of the king, a goodly portion of the king’s tax money meant to fund Richard’s war had been lining John’s pockets, and anything that the outlaw Robin Hood made away with was a direct cut to the prince’s coffers.
“Robin Hood’s luck had best change sooner rather than the later,” John grumbled. He cast his attention around the luxurious chamber and his eyes fell on another of the wenches he had collected for this night’s entertainment.
Her eyes goggled and Will saw her breasts—barely covered by a thin shift—rise and fall as though she were running. But she dared not move from where she sat on her haunches, either to hide or attempt escape.
John, who was considered a rather handsome man, with his dark hair and well-trimmed beard and mustache, smacked his full lips and gulped again from his goblet, but did not call the girl to him. Perhaps he was sated for the time. Will hoped that was the case, for he had little interest in watching his liege, especially when his jaw was as lief to crack with a wide yawn. A long day it had been, patrolling the Forest of Sherwood, on the hunt for outlaws like Robin Hood.
“Bitches,” John said, slamming the heavy goblet down. He glowered at the frightened girl. “They stink and scuttle in fear the moment someone looks at them. ’Tis a blessing that Isobel will leave for Westminster in two days. Then we shall have a much more interesting variety to sample.”
Isobel of Gloucester was John’s wife, and it was well-known among the prince’s confidants that she demanded at least the pretense of fidelity while she was in residence with him. That simply meant that her husband refrained from tupping any of her ladies-in-waiting, or the wives and daughters of his vassals, while Isobel was about.
But upon her removal from the prince’s residence, the ladies became the same fair game as the does John hunted during the day...whether they wished to be or not. And when John’s two other bosom companions, Sir Louis Krench and Lord Ralf Stannoch, were also in attendance...well, Will thought ’twas rarely a pretty sight.
“Indeed, my lord.” Will bowed, then attempted to divert the king back to the reason he’d rousted him from bed so late at night. “Did you have some news for me, my lord?”
“Ah, yes. But of course.” John plucked a piece of cheese from his mother’s homeland of Aquitaine and slipped it into his mouth, brushing tiny crumbs of bread from his neat beard. “I received word earlier today that Lady Marian of Morlaix shall arrive here at Ludlow Keep sometime in the next sennight. As she’s returning from her dead husband’s lands as a ward of the king, it is expected that her baggage will be extensive. A perfect opportunity for Robin Hood to make an attempt to ambush her carriage. And of course, the Sheriff of Nottinghamshire shall be waiting to thwart such an attempt, and to save the fair maiden.”
“Indeed,” Will replied a trifle later than he should have. His brain had turned sluggish as soon as her name passed the prince’s lips.
Marian was returning.
Lady Marian, she was now. No longer the maiden he and Robin of Locksley had known during their childhood when they’d been fostered with Marian’s father. How wealthy she had become, and how far Robin had fallen—from the young landed lord to an anonymous outlaw resigned to hiding out in the forest. Yet, Will had recognized him the first time they’d come face-to-face during an aborted robbery.
Marian’s father, Lord Leaford, was a baron well-known for his skill in training young boys to be knights, and until his death, he had been popular among the lower ranks of nobles who could not afford to send their boys to a more powerful lord for fostering.
Yet, it was the baron’s daughter Will remembered best. The tart-tongued, quick-witted, coppery-haired girl who’d ridden circles around both him and Robin, teasing and pestering and laughing at them with her sparkling green eyes. Now she was no longer a girl of twelve, but a woman grown and widowed, a rich heiress...and returning to Nottinghamshire.
A woman who had haunted him ever since their youth.
A ripe target for Robin Hood, indeed.
And, Will realized, with a glance at the handsome, lascivious prince...a ripe target for John Lackland, who would be fascinated by any new woman at court. But especially one as fiery and bold as Marian.
By all that was holy, what was he to do?
Chapter 1
Lady Marian of Morlaix peered through the shuttered windows of her traveling wagon, but to her annoyance could see little of interest. The tall, close trees of Sherwood Forest allowed only dappled sunlight through on a bright day, but when there were clouds and rain threatening as now, the woods were as dark as night. The smell of loam and damp bark was thick in the air.
’Twas ripe for an ambush from a band of thieves, and she was glad of the six sturdy men-at-arms who accompanied her small caravan. They would have reached Ludlow Keep by vespers, but a broken wheel on her wagon had delayed them. If it had been one of the other wagons, with her clothing and belongings, she would have gone on ahead and allowed them to follow. But, alas, hers was the only wagon fit for a lady to ride in—although she would just as easily have ridden asaddle. Her longbow and arrows had been packed deep inside a trunk of clothing, but she had a dagger handy.
If the tales were true about the band of thieves led by a man called Robin of the Hood, she might very well need that blade. Even in Normandy, Marian had heard stories of the outlaw who stole boldly from rich travelers and then distributed the wealth among the villeins and townspeople—likely after keeping a good portion for himself.
And the Sheriff of Nottinghamshire, who was rumored to be just as blackhearted and brutal as Prince John, his bosom companion, had been unable to lay his hands on the band of outlaws or its leader. A rich caravan with the niceties of the widow of the rich Lord Harold of Morlaix would likely prove too much of a temptation for them. But there was no help for it, for the road to Ludlow ran through the king’s Sherwood Forest.
It was hard for Marian to believe how much her homeland had changed since her father died—King Henry was now gone, and the new king, Richard, had hardly taken the crown when he left on Crusade. His mother, Queen Eleanor, had been traveling with him to the Holy Land, but was now making her way back to neglected England.
Upon her father’s death, Marian and her mother had been sent from the small barony of Leaford to live in Normandy, where her mother had remarried. After the old king died, Eleanor had been released from prison and reassembled her own court. As the daughter of a man who’d been faithful to his liege, Marian had been sent to the dowager queen’s court, where she’d become a trusted favorite of the queen. There she remained until she was wed to the much-older Harold three years ago.
With her husband’s death only six months past, she acquired a portion of his estates. Thus, at the age of twenty, Marian had become a wealthy woman whose marriage could be used for political alliance. Five months ago, the king had ordered her to the queen’s holdings in Aquitaine to await the queen’s imminent return from the Holy Land...and a decision about a future husband.
Now that Eleanor had been back in Aquitaine for some months and renewed her friendship with Marian, she’d had her own purposes for sending Marian on to her younger son’s court: to spy on her son in advance of the queen’s own arrival.
Marian had heard rumors of what John Lackland’s court was like, and they had left her wondering whether she had more to fear in the forest or at her destination.
No sooner had she those thoughts than the wagon lurched to a halt.
“What ho!” came a shout from Bruse, her master-at-arms.
Marian sat up, ignoring the stifled shriek of her maid, who’d done nothing but hold her prayer beads and move her lips soundlessly during the entire journey. Her heart pounding, she looked out the window again just as a loud thump came on the roof above her, followed by a second and third. Ethelberga, the maid, gave a full-blooded shriek and dived to the floor, screeching in English about how they would all be dead in mere moments.
Marian forbore to point out that it was unlikely anyone would be killed, even as she pulled the dagger from her sheath. The thieves would merely want to relieve her of her valuables, and, in the very worst-case scenario, take Marian off for ransom. She hadn’t heard of this Robin Hood killing anyone, and in any case a thief wouldn’t be foolish enough to harm a gentle-born woman. Although, she thought, looking wryly at Ethelberga, mayhap they might be induced to put the lady’s maid out of her misery if she didn’t stop wailing.
The thump on the roof turned to low, rhythmic thuds as the person—or persons—moved about up there.
“Stand off!” came another shout, followed by a sharp whiz that she recognized as an arrow’s flight. A soft twang followed as it embedded itself in a target close enough for her to hear it.
Marian couldn’t see what was happening, but she suspected she knew. The thieves had surrounded the two carts and now held the men-at-arms from moving. Most likely, they were holding them off with arrows nocked into their bows, ready to fly at any moment. The one she’d heard had probably been an accurately charged warning shot.
At least two of the thieves had landed on her roof, likely jumping down from a tree. But surely six chain-mailed men would be enough of a deterrent for a ragtag band of thieves, unless they were particularly good archers. The shouts had settled into silence, and despite her certainty that she wouldn’t be harmed, Marian’s heart pounded in her chest.
Before she could move to the other side of the cart, making her way over the prone Ethelberga, the vehicle began to rock violently. Ethelberga screamed anew, clutching at the hem of Marian’s undertunic, tangling herself among the floor-length skirt and her legs.
With the rocking of the cart, and her maid’s histrionics, Marian lost her balance in the small space and had to catch herself against the closed door. But at that moment, the door opened, and she tumbled out, the dagger slipping from her grip. Strong arms caught her awkward fall, and the knife landed on the ground between two dusty boots.
“Well, now,” said a surprised voice. “This must be the famous Lady Marian come to greet Robin of the Hood and his merry men.” His arms tightened around her. “You are well come to our Sherwood, my lady,” he added.
In the midst of the furor, Marian heard the rumble of laughter from the surrounding men, and she turned to look at who had the effrontery to hold her in his arms as though she belonged there. Her angry words died in her throat as she met familiar blue eyes, sparkling with mischief and jest. Despite the beard and mustache that covered half of his face, she recognized him.
“Robin—!” she began, but before she could speak his complete name, he covered her mouth with an impudent kiss.
After not seeing him for so many years, she couldn’t have been more surprised by the kiss. Although she’d always been attracted to him, his charming personality and handsome appearance in the past, he’d done little more than tease her into a fury. He certainly had never tried to kiss her.
By the time Marian had caught her breath and freed herself from the man she’d known as Robin of Locksley—not Robin of the Hood—he had swept her up and run into the woods with her. A moment later, he thrust her up onto the saddle of a horse, and Robin vaulted up behind her before she could untangle her legs from her skirts and slip back to the ground.
The outraged roars from Bruse and the responding threats from the band of thieves faded as Robin kicked his horse into a gallop, crashing through the brush with his captive. Branches slashed across her face and caught at her veil, pulling it half off, as they dashed through the forest.
“Robin! What are you doing? Are you mad? It is you, isn’t it?” Marian hardly knew what to think. The last she had heard from the young man who’d fostered at her childhood home, Mead’s Vale, was that he’d gone on Crusade with the newly coronated King Richard.
“Aye, indeed, Lady Marian,” he said, stressing her title a bit. “I thought it would be a fitting welcome to you as you journeyed to that blackhearted cocklicker’s court.”
“Robin,” she gasped, all the air jolted from her lungs as they galloped through the woods. “What are you talking about?”
Suddenly, he wheeled the horse into a small clearing and slid down from the saddle. Looking up at her, he gave her the slow, easy grin she remembered from their youth, and rested his hands at her hips as though to help her down. But he didn’t; instead, he curled his fingers firmly into her flesh and then slid all along the sides, from thigh to knee. Little bumps rose on her skin, tingling at his intimate touch.
“And little Marian is all grown up now, into a beautiful, rich lady. I am honored that you should remember me after all these years.” His eyes sparkled with naughtiness, and the next thing she knew, he pulled her down from the saddle, sliding her body all along his. All along his,so that she felt every bump and crease of the mail hauberk he wore. And something that most certainly felt like the beginning lift of a cock. “You’ve grown quite beautiful.”
“Robin,” she said, truly happy to see him. She’d always favored him, always found him irresistible. With his easy personality, bright eyes, and handsome face, it would have been difficult to feel otherwise. “What are you about?” she asked again, aware of his thighs pressed against hers, her slippers captured between his heavy boots. And, most definitely, the growing bulge of his cock. Her hand didn’t have anywhere to go but flat against his chest. “Are you truly an outlaw?”
“An outlaw of great repute,” he said, his lips curling. “Have you not heard of Robin Hood and his band of men who make merry with the king’s coin? I thought for certain tales of our waywardness had reached the court’s ears by now. Alas, mayhap I shall try harder, take more risks...be more daring!”
His face swooped toward hers, covering her mouth with his for the second time in a matter of minutes. Before she could react, his tongue slid into her mouth, licking in and around and tangling with her own.
Marian allowed the sleek kiss this time, even kissed him back for a moment, surprised at how much she enjoyed it. As much as she might have admired him as a young boy, she never imagined that actually kissing him would be this exciting. Kisses and coupling with her husband had been little more than duty, and, thankfully, of short duration—not only in each time he’d come to her bed, but also in the number of years in which they’d occurred. She’d been married for only three summers before Harold died of a fall during a boar hunt.
Robin’s arms tightened around her waist and his tongue thrust deep as she came flush against his body. His lips were soft, but there were other areas of his body that were hard and insistent, drawing another unfamiliar response from Marian. She felt a heightened awareness, and a low, twisting sort of tickle deep in her belly.
After a moment, he pulled back a bit, kissing her and smiling into her mouth as she opened her eyes. “Not so bad, was it, now, Lady Marian?” he said lightly. “Your veil is slipping too, sweetling,” he added, giving it a good tug off the back of her head.
“Robin,” she said, pulling the veil back up to cover her braided hair and trying to act as though she kissed men in the forest all the time, “tell me what has come of you. Why are you here, in the woods, instead of at Locksley Keep?”
Now the humor slid from his face to be replaced by an irritable expression. “’Twas all a mistake, and now here I am, running for my life. I never made it to the Holy Lands with the king,” he confessed. “We were set upon by bandits when we put ashore in Greece, and I took an arrow to the thigh. Fever set in and I could not travel, though I was not deadly. The king wanted to make haste, and continued on. And I had no choice but to return to England. And to Locksley...I thought.”
“You thought?”
He shrugged, stepping back, and she saw that though he stood only a hand or so taller than she, his shoulders had broadened quite a bit from the last time she’d seen him. He’d been fourteen, and she had been only twelve. His hair had darkened with maturity to brown-streaked honey, and he wore it cut short across his forehead and long over his ears. “When I returned, it was to find Locksley having been entailed to the king—through the prince, of course—on the claim of treason.”
“Treason!”
“It’s a lie, of course, Marian. Just another way for John Lackland to seize as much control as he can whilst his brother is fighting the infidels in Jerusalem. He has raised taxes and raised them more, and he skims more than his share off the top.”
Marian had heard about Prince John’s propensity for sly coin...among other things. After the overthrow of the unpopular William Longchamp, King Richard had allowed his brother, John, to act as regent of England while he was out of the country.
Eleanor had also left England to go on Crusade with Richard, but word had reached her that John was conspiring with King Philip Augustus of France. John had been old King Henry’s favorite son, but that hadn’t stopped him from plotting against his father. Eleanor did not doubt for a minute that he was now conspiring against his older brother, Richard. Even at the cost of the family lands in Normandy—what Philip would certainly require as payment for his complicity—it would be worth it to John to get permanent control of England. Yet, the queen must first attend to business in her native Aquitaine. The delay would enable Marian to act as her own secret eyes and ears, and to report back to her about any possibility that John was communicating with Philip.
“But it is the king who raises the taxes, to pay for his war,” she reminded Robin, trying to keep the bitterness from her voice. She had no liking for the Crusade. It had taken many of the young men away from England, including her own brother, Walter. He hadn’t returned from the Holy Land, for he’d been buried there.
“And then John raises them that much higher, so as to line his own pockets.”
“But how did you come to be an outlaw? How could they take Locksley from you while you were away fighting at the king’s side?”
Robin looked distinctly uncomfortable. “As I said, ’twas a mistake. I returned to find Locksley closed to me, and then I went hunting in the woods—my woods—for a meal. Then I was arrested for poaching from the king’s forest.”
Poaching from the king was indeed a serious offense—punishable by hanging, gouging of the eyes, or cutting off of the hands. “But surely once the mistake was found, you were released. Even the cruel Sheriff of Nottinghamshire could not keep an innocent man of the king’s in prison.”
Robin laughed. “Released? Nay, Marian, I made my own escape from the sheriff.”
At that moment, a deep voice interrupted their conversation. “Did you indeed?”
Marian whirled to see a powerful black horse standing at the edge of the clearing. Atop it sat an equally powerful-looking man, dressed in equally dark clothing, holding a sword at his side. She stepped back automatically, but he inclined his head regally to her.
“Lady Marian.” He urged his horse into the grassy clearing.
Robin released her, fairly shoving her away so that she stumbled with the force as he moved quickly away from her, gathering up his reins. “Ah, so to speak of the devil himself,” he said, launching into his saddle. “Sheriff.” He nodded. “I trust you’ll see my lady to the keep.”
These last words floated back behind him as he bolted off into the wood, leaving Marian standing in the center of the grass, suddenly alone, and feeling more than a bit disheveled.
Marian turned to look up at the man who remained astride his mount, edging his horse toward her, but not, thankfully, chasing after Robin. She was grateful for his restraint, for he would have had to fairly run over her to go after the bandit.
The sheriff sheathed his sword, but still held the reins in one gloved hand. The hooves on the majestic animal were larger than the trencher plates at a court dinner, and he was pure coal black from hoof to mane to wild, flaring nose.
The man himself had dark hair that fell in thick curls onto his forehead and brushed the sides of his neck, and he was clean-shaven but for the shadow that comes late in the day after a morning’s shave. His mouth might have been considered sensual if it weren’t settled and thin—and the same could be said for his face, dark with tan as well as obvious annoyance. As she gazed upon the Sheriff of Nottinghamshire, Marian was overcome by the sense of expectancy, and indeed, when she looked up into those shaded eyes, she felt set off-balance again, as if she were mistaken about something.
“I trust you are unharmed, Lady Marian,” he said at last. “I apologize for the delay in coming to your aid, but we had heard your caravan was held up and thought to provide an escort at Revelstown.”
“Delayed for a broken wheel, aye, but ’twas fixed readily,” she replied, realizing with a start that he would indeed think she’d been in need of rescue. And, truth be told, if it had been anyone but Robin of Locksley, he would have had the right of it. But Marian had no fear of her childhood friend Robin, outlaw or no. In fact, she’d already decided that she must find a way to enlist the queen to help rid him of the charge of treason.
“Have I changed so much, then?” the sheriff said, sliding abruptly from the saddle. He landed on two steady feet next to her, and the destrier shimmied and snorted at the loss of his master’s weight. “Marian.”
She looked up at him again, closely this time, and recognition washed over her. “Will?” Perhaps it was the way he’d said her name, or that he now stood on the ground next to her—still much taller, but at least not towering so from the saddle.
Aye, indeed it was William de Wendeval before her now. The boy who’d grown up with her and Robin of Locksley on her father’s estate.
But a boy Will was no longer. Just as Robin had grown broader and taller than she remembered from the summer she’d seen them last, nearly ten years ago, so had Will.
Taller, aye, and broad of shoulder...but he had not lost the sharp edges of his cheeks and jaw, and the reserved chill of his gaze. A handsome man he might be if the tension and reserve left his face and stance. But that had always been his way. While Robin had the lighter hair and dancing sapphire eyes, and personality to match, Will had been the quieter, more thoughtful, and, at times, gloomier of the pair.
And as their personalities tended to clash like oil and water, so had the two young men. Competitive and intense, they’d been rivals serving the same master, with their differences buried beneath civility and honor.
Will bowed again, peremptorily but correctly. “It is I.”
“The Sheriff of Nottinghamshire?” Marian supposed she could be forgiven for the note of surprise in her voice. The last she’d known of Will, he’d been knighted and under service to old King Henry’s confidant William Marshal, but no other news had reached her ears in Morlaix, across the Channel. Will had been a landless youth, the son of one of Marshal’s seneschals. For him to have risen as high as sheriff of a shire was surprising, as was his ability to pay the fees that were required to buy such a post. She wondered what he’d done to deserve such an honor, and whereby he’d acquired the funds.
“And Robin of the Hood’s sworn enemy,” he said briskly. “Shall we be on our way?” Before she could reply, he grasped her by the waist and lifted her into the saddle. The destrier, unused to such insubstantial weight on its back, shuddered and pranced. But before his ire could rise dangerously, Will launched into the saddle behind Marian.
The horse quieted and Marian looked down, horrified to see how far she was from the trampled grass below. Her own palfrey was much smaller and milder than this beast, and Marian was not fond of being very high off the ground.
Her discomfort could have nothing to do with the strong arm curling around her waist from behind as they started off with a great leap. Will’s solid chest and legs provided a comfortable and safe chair as they blazed through the woods. But he was so very warm. And large.
When he ducked to avoid a low-hanging branch, Marian was forced to do so as well, leaning closer to the destrier’s flowing mane. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been required to ride pillion, and certainly never in this pell-mell fashion through the woods.
She closed her eyes and clung to the saddle’s pommel.
Moments later, they reached the road, where Marian’s travel wagons and escort remained. The horse had barely stopped when Will dismounted and reached up to lift her down, setting her, weak-kneed, near her wagon. It took only a moment to ascertain that the outlaws had taken nothing from her caravan.
“Though I don’t expect them to return, please accept our escort to Ludlow, my lady,” Will said formally. He opened the door of her wagon.
“Thank you, Sheriff,” she said, climbing in.
As she settled in her seat and the wagons rumbled off, now flanked by the sheriff’s men as well as her own men-at-arms, Marian had much to contemplate. Least of which was whether Robin had known it was her party traveling through Sherwood, and had never intended on stealing anything from her in the first place.
Or had it merely been happenstance that Robin had recognized her, and had thus called off his men?
Or had the sheriff arrived in time to prevent the outlaws from making off with her belongings?
The next time she saw Robin—for she would certainly see him again, she’d make certain of it—she would have words with him. And try to find a way to help him while she spied on Prince John.
And mayhap...she might allow him to kiss her again.
Chapter 2
“By the rood,” Prince John said to Will that evening. They sat at a large table on the dais in the great hall of Ludlow, enjoying pheasant and grouse from Sherwood Forest. “The hall has for certain grown quieter without my lovely wife’s presence.”
“But all that much darker and unattractive for it,” Will replied automatically. Other than flattery about his person, John liked nothing better than to hear about the beauty and desirability of his wife. And if he ever procreated a legitimate child, he’d most likely require compliments in that regard as well.
No sooner had the words come out than Will cast a swift glance at his companion to be certain he hadn’t noticed the disinterest in his voice. His mind had been elsewhere since his return to Ludlow as Marian’s escort. And though he appreciated the opportunity to be seated at the high table, where he could look out over the other diners if he wished to locate one in particular, he was wholly uninterested in attending John tonight.
Ludlow was one of Prince John’s smaller, less-significant holdings. He’d come into it simply by chance, when the daughter of one of his vassals married the baron of the tiny fief. The daughter and the baron died without issue, and John expediently assumed ownership of the holding as its overlord.
As it turned out, Ludlow Keep was fairly comfortable despite its smaller size, and it happened to abut the king’s Sherwood Forest, which was known for generous hunting. Thus, John found the insignificant fief more pleasurable than one would expect, particularly since his wife, Isobel, preferred Westminster for a variety of reasons and wouldn’t be present to hamper his other activities.
This time, John had been at Ludlow for six months, not just because he enjoyed it, but because he was trying to lie low, as far from his mother’s notice as possible. When John was in residence, he required Will to attend him, which forced the sheriff to leave the small manor house he held along with his office. It also meant that he was relegated to a chamber with the other unmarried men of rank, since Ludlow wasn’t really large enough to accommodate a royal court.
John’s wife, Isobel, visited briefly, then returned to larger and busier residences, leaving her husband to amuse himself with hunting and other activities. Despite the princess’s absence, however, many of her ladies-in-waiting remained at Ludlow, as they were wards of the prince, or because their husbands, fathers, or other responsible male family members attended him.
“And so you’ve allowed Robin Hood to escape yet again,” John said as he sloshed a piece of bread in the juices of the trencher they shared. Since there were no ladies attending them at the trestle table, the single hollowed-out loaf of bread filled with fowl and potatoes served them both.
Despite the critical words, John’s voice was easy and casual, indicating that he wasn’t particularly angry or disappointed with Will’s most recent failure to clap Robin in chains and toss him in the dungeon. There were times when Will suspected that John, for all his fury and blustering at the band of thieves, might also find their continued freedom useful in some respect.
After all, if coin disappeared, it could always be blamed on them, even if it happened to end up lining John’s own coffers instead of in the hands of the bandits.
Yet, more important, John did not like to look the fool—and Robin Hood’s continued elusion of the sheriff and his men accomplished just that. Will did not like to look the fool any more than the prince did, but he had little choice in the matter.
“The man and his band become more bold as the days go by, my lord,” Will replied. He glanced out over the rows of tables that lined the hall. The gentry sat nearest the high table, where the most choice and freshest of foods were served. As one moved to the rear of the hall, the diners became more simple and mean, ending with the lowliest of serfs and villeins in the very back.
“He is too clever to capture in the forest. Methinks a trap ought to be set for the man. Something that will lure him from the safety of the trees.”
Will calmly broke a corner of bread from the trencher and chewed on it, trying to keep his mind on John’s words rather than his eyes searching the hall.
“An archery contest, and mayhap a day of jousting, would be in order,” continued the prince. “’Twill draw him out, for Robin Hood is known for his skill with the bow.”
“He is a most skilled archer,” Will agreed. “He did, after all, skewer the cloak of Lord d’Arlande, pinning him betwixt hand and waist against a tree trunk.”
“Drawing nary a drop of blood in the process, the lickspittle. An’ from some perch in a tree,” John added, with a combination of disgust and wonder. “Did he not also pin your man—what was his name?—to a wagon he was robbing?”
Will picked up his goblet of wine. “Aye, three arrows and—”
“God’s blood,” said John suddenly. “And wherever did that vision appear from?”
The note of deep interest...almost reverence...in John’s voice caught Will’s full attention and he put his cup down and looked at the prince. His mouth parted and lips shiny with grease from the pheasant, John appeared quite taken.
Will’s fingers tightened, though he kept his face blank. He knew without looking what—or, rather, who—had caught the Angevin’s attention. It was inevitable.
And now he had to tread very carefully. “Ah, so you have seen Marian of Morlaix,” Will said casually. He reached for his wine again, the metal of his goblet cool and textured beneath his grip. “She is quite the comely bitch. I had the misfortune of coming upon her in the wood today after Robin Hood had taken her off during the robbery.”
“Is that so?” John said, but his eyes remained fixed on Marian. “Misfortune?”
Will didn’t have to look directly out into the hall to know where she sat now, for he’d seen a glimpse of that brilliant coppery hair shining in the torchlight. He kept his attention on John instead of the woman. “He left her in the wood and that was the cause of his escape this day. I dare not leave a gentlewoman alone in the forest to chase after him, as he well knew. So I was forced to bring her back to her escort. By that time, Robin’s men had taken what they desired and had all disappeared.”
“So he took her off into the wood, did he?”
“’Twas merely a diversionary tactic, my lord,” he said. “I’m certain he meant to draw me and my men into the wood after him to rescue Lady Marian.”
“Lady Marian,” mused John, his voice hollow as he lifted his goblet to drink. “I’ve never seen such hair. The color of flame, ’tis. And a face to go with it. Alabaster skin, full lips just right for sucking cock—”
“And the temperament as well,” Will added, disregarding the fact that he’d interrupted his liege. “I’d like nothing better than to take that in hand.”
“Indeed.” For the first time, John seemed to hear what Will had said. “Do you know the lady?”
“I fostered with her father at Mead’s Vale. She tormented us most handily, and hid behind her father’s hauberk when we would have had our revenge. Even then she showed the sign of becoming a most annoying, mouthy woman.” He closed his own mouth at that point, acutely aware that his companion’s mother had long been criticized for the very same faults—and more.
“Damme, and she is a widow too,” John said, rich speculation in his voice. “’Tis almost too convenient.”
Even the prince would be hard-pressed to excuse the deflowering of one of his wards, but a widow was the easiest fruit to pluck. No male family members to cry dishonor, and no maidenhead to broach.
“A sharp-tongued one. I trow, the woman should be taught to keep her mouth closed...unless she has it otherwise engaged,” Will said with a meaningful laugh. He’d somehow picked up his eating knife and realized his fingers had curled tightly around it. Keeping his voice even, he continued. “I should like to take that task on myself, my lord. I’ve a desire to otherwise engage that impudent tongue.”
John turned to look at him again, his eyes so dark they appeared black. “And how does it happen that I have long urged you to find a field in which to rut, but now that you have set your eye on one, ’tis that of my own desire.” His voice, low and easy, nevertheless carried a warning note.
“My lord, I knew that woman when she was but a young girl, a tease and a tormentor. And it’s long been my desire to teach the lessons that I was never able to at that time. And aside of that, ’tis indeed a ripe field to plow. But,” Will continued boldly when he saw that the prince was about to speak, “mayhap I have a way that you might find pleasing as well. She is a fire-haired bitch, and ’twill be a task to tame her. If you set that task to me, I’ll take it gladly, my lord. Thus, none of her complaints can be directed at you, but at me instead. Then, I shall promise you a tame and willing woman to warm your bed when all the spite is gone from her. A well-trained and willing one in the stead of a surly, mouthy bitch.”
John had closed his mouth to chew on a particularly tough piece of fowl, if the way his jaw worked was any indication. A spark of interest had flared in his eyes and he reached for his goblet to drink, still chewing.
Will used his eating knife to spear the last bit of pheasant and bring it to his own mouth, keeping his attention firmly on the prince. He uncurled his fingers and let the small knife rest next to the trencher. And waited. Waited as if to learn whether he would be sent into battle on a cold gray morning.
“Aye,” said John at last. “Aye, ’tis a good plan, Will. There is only one stipulation I must insist upon.”
“What is that, my lord?”
“That whilst you are going about the taming of that luscious little cunt, you’ll provide me some entertainment.” John wiped his face with a small cloth. “I desire to watch.”
~*~
Marian found the great hall at Ludlow cramped, close, and smoky. All great halls were, to some extent, but it was worse here than usual. A royal court—even if ’twas only that of John Lackland—required numerous serfs to keep things running smoothly, countless pages and men-at-arms, and all the ladies and lords who curried favors. In a keep as small as Ludlow, the swell of people pushed at the very limits of the space.
She’d managed to find a seat in the second row, not far from the wall, where a torch burned down a pleasant circle of light. Though it was late September, fires blazed in two different fireplaces: a smaller one behind the high table, and a large one on the opposite wall. Dogs slunk underfoot, looking for their daily fare, while serfs dashed to and fro with their platters of food.
Marian glanced at the high table, where she caught her first glimpse of Prince John. He was a handsome man, with a neatly trimmed beard and fine clothing. His dark eyes seemed too small for his face, but they gleamed with interest and cunning as he conversed with the man next to him.
His companion had turned away momentarily as John gave an openmouthed guffaw, and was speaking to a page behind him, so Marian couldn’t see his face. She cast a quick look about the hall. Nottinghamshire’s sheriff was nowhere to be seen, for which she was unaccountably disappointed. Yet there were so many people crowded around the tables, she would not be surprised if he was there, but not visible to her. No doubt a man of his rank would sit closer to the prince, Marian thought.
“My lady, I heard you were set upon by that outlaw Robin of the Hood!”
The breathless question came from Alys of Wentworth, one of Queen Eleanor’s wards whom Marian knew from her days in the queen’s court. Though she was only eighteen, Alys had been sent as chaperone to deliver one of Richard’s very young wards to John’s court while the king and his mother were traveling to the Holy Lands.
Tonight, Alys was with two women who were only passing acquaintances of Marian’s from previous court visits. Finding Alys here, who not only had been a good friend but also had a reputation as an excellent healer, was a welcome diversion for Marian.
“Aye, he attempted a robbery of my wagons,” Marian replied.
“What was Robin Hood like? Was he as handsome as they say?” asked another of the ladies, who introduced herself as Catherine.
“He was friendly for a bandit,” Marian replied, noticing that some of the other nearby gentry had turned to listen. “No one was hurt, and he was quite gallant.” What else could she say? She wasn’t about to admit that he’d swept her up on his horse and stolen a kiss.
“And handsome?” Catherine pressed, her eyes dancing as though she knew something Marian didn’t.
“Quite handsome,” Marian replied, smiling back. She happened to look toward the front of the hall at that moment, and her whole body froze. It chilled, then suddenly exploded into unpleasant heat in her cheeks.
Prince John was looking at her. Not merely looking at her, but pinning her with hooded dark eyes as though he wished to be doing so with his hands...or something else. Marian pulled her gaze away from his and felt her heart pounding rampantly. Her stomach suddenly felt unpleasantly heavy and disrupted.
“Is it true that the sheriff rescued you and his men chased off the bandits?” ventured another of the ladies.
Marian swallowed back the churning in her stomach that threatened to bubble up her throat. “The sheriff did arrive quite fortuitously,” she said, and was unable to keep from glancing back at the high table.
John was still watching her, slipping a chunk of food into his mouth and masticating as though he meant to be feeding on her rather than the food. The expression was unmistakable. Marian tore her eyes away again and they skittered over the prince’s companion, who, this time, was facing the front of the hall. Her throat dried again.
She hadn’t recognized him before, or perhaps she hadn’t looked closely enough. But ’twas most definitely Will there, sharing the most prominent seat in the hall with the prince as though he was his closest crony.
He, at the least, wasn’t looking at her. Instead, he leaned closer to John and spoke intimately to him while lifting a chunk of meat to his mouth on a small eating knife. Even from here, she saw the tension and harshness in a face tanned the color of deer hide, and made even more shadowy by the dark hair that brushed against it. And then the sudden gleam of a humorless smile.
“Why does he sit with the prince?” she asked. “In such a place of honor?”
“Oh,” said the lady who’d asked about him in the first place, and whose name Marian had forgotten, “he and the prince are inseparable companions.”
“Indeed,” Marian said, feeling her brows draw together in a frown. “Does the sheriff seek favor from the prince, then?”
“Nay, ’tis not so much that he seeks boons from the prince, but that the prince finds him amusing,” replied Sir Roderick, who had barely taken his eyes from Marian since she sat across from him. “The prince must include de Wendeval in all his amusements and activities or he is displeased by his absence.”
Will and Prince John? She looked again at the acquaintance of her youth and his royal companion. The depravity and lust shone unabashedly in John’s eyes, and though Will’s face was half-turned away, she recognized anew the hardness there. Unrelieved and stoic. Emotionless.
’Twas most definitely not the young man she’d known. If he and John had become constant companions, he must no longer be merely quiet and brooding, but as brutal and cruel as the unloved prince.
“The sheriff has not been able to capture Robin Hood,” Marian said, wondering about those two men. As children, they’d been rivals of a sort. Had that rivalry grown into something more ominous? Will was charged with catching, sentencing, and, if necessary, executing bandits such as Robin. “I trow the prince cannot be happy with that lack.”
“Nay, but the prince himself has been witness to Robin Hood’s cleverness. John and Nottingham have plotted many traps for the bandit, each one more dangerous than the last. And Robin Hood seems always to slip through the smallest crack and to make his escape. The sheriff was to execute a boy for treason. Hang him on the dais in the Ludlow bailey, in front of all who wished to watch. He intended to make an example of the poor boy.”
“Treason? ’Tis a serious offense.” And must be punished if law and order were to be kept. But a boy?
“Aye. The boy claimed he took only a deer that was already dead from the forest, in order to feed his family.”
Marian felt a little pang in her middle. It was treason to steal from the king, indeed, but... “Surely the beast was examined. It would be no hardship to determine if it had been freshly slaughtered.”
Sir Roderick shrugged. “Aye, and there were those who claimed the deer had not been recently killed. But the sheriff meant to hang him anyway, the boy. Merely fourteen winters he was, and if it weren’t for Robin Hood, the boy would have been swaying in the breeze.”
“Robin Hood?”
“Aye. He rescued him right off the scaffolding, whilst the sheriff could do naught but look on furiously.”
Fourteen. That was the same age Will and Robin had been that last summer spent at Mead’s Vale. Hardly boys, but not quite men.
Again she wondered about their rivalry. Even that short moment in the clearing, before she’d recognized Will, the antipathy between the men had been palpable.
Was it possible that they hadn’t recognized each other?
Nay, of course not. She had recognized Robin immediately; surely Will had done so. But Robin could not claim innocence. He was an outlaw.
And it was Will’s duty to punish outlaws.
Duty.
Marian felt her mouth tighten. Oh, she knew well of duty, for ’twas duty that brought her here, into the court of the cruel and lustful John Angevin. Duty to her king, by way of his mother.