Colette Gale - Bound by Honor

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?”