Colette Gale - Bound by Honor

“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.

“But they are so poor,” she cried to Joanna. All soft thoughts about Will had evaporated. Now she knew who he was. “And he takes away what little they have! A blackhearted man.”

Her companion appeared fascinated, rather than revolted. “He is a frightening man, but methinks he does what must be done to keep the villagers under control. He has instilled fear in their hearts, and they dare not naysay him. ’Tis best that they are cowed and do not seek to rise above their stations. They do not wish to pay the taxes that are due, and ’tis incumbent upon the sheriff to support the tax collector.”

“But see how poor they are! One cannot squeeze water from a dry rag no matter how hard one twists it!” As her father’s only heir and a landowner herself, through her husband, Marian knew of the gentle balance between managing the land and those who worked it, culling what it could yield without destroying those who would reap the harvest.

Galvanized and infuriated, Marian urged her horse forward, passing through the crowd and then the cluster of men-at-arms who stood nearby to assist the sheriff.

“Will!” she cried, urging her horse up next to him. “What are you about?”

He turned at her voice, and from the great height of his destrier glowered down at her. “This is naught of your concern, Lady Marian. Begone with you.”

“But, Will, how can you-”

His cold face turned even harsher. “Take yourself off or I shall have you taken off.” He turned away, his unshaven jaw shifting. He must have risen early this morrow to have accomplished this task so quickly. Had he slept at all?

Marian did not move at first, so stunned was she by the destruction she was witnessing and the cruel expression on his face. The sheriff was bound to uphold justice, and to care for the people of his shire by enforcing the law and protecting them. Not by destroying their homes and livelihood when they could no longer pay their due.

She reached for him, determined to have his attention. But when she leaned across to accost him, he merely pulled his arm away as though she meant to give him the plague.

“Gavin, Hugh,” Will shouted to his men-at-arms without looking away from the blaze in front of them, “see that Lady Marian is returned to the keep. Immediately.”

She didn’t wait for the two soldiers to move toward her. Marian wheeled her palfrey about and started away, sick at heart.

And then she realized what she must do.

CHAPTER 10

T he forest grew thick and dark, allowing just a dappling of light over the bushes and leaves. Only a few patches of straggly grass and shade-loving bushes had the tenacity to rise from beneath the thick covering of pine needles and rotted leaves.

Far from Ludlow, whose tallest tower could be glimpsed through a thin segment of trees, the forest was quiet and empty. The occasional call of a thrush or grackle or the rustle of a four-footed creature stirred the silence. A faint hint of smoke from Will’s fire wafted through the air, mixing with the rich, loamy scent of the forest.

Marian rode fearlessly through the wood, head high and shoulders straight . . . and eyes lifted to scour the high branches of the trees. Well behind, but near enough to come to her aid should the need arise, followed her master-at-arms, Bruse, and two of his men.

Despite Robin Hood’s presence in the forest and the fact that Will had imprisoned some of the outlaws that attacked her, Marian knew better than to ride out alone. Bruse and the other two men had escorted her on her journey to Ludlow and indeed had been loyal to her since she was but a babe. She knew they would have their tongues cut out before they would wag them in news to others about her business.

Thus, secure that no harm would befall her, yet obviously available for a clandestine meeting . . . should that opportunity arise . . . Marian could enjoy the cool silence of the shadows. It wasn’t often that she rode without purpose, and had the opportunity to admire the variety of nature. And though she had a reason for coming out today, she knew it could be some time before Robin found her.

For she was certain he would.

And she was not disappointed.

The filtering sun had not shifted more than a half candle’s mark, rising to its highest point in the sky, when something streaked past her head. It slammed into the nearest tree trunk, the arrow’s feathers quivering as it settled into place.

Marian smiled to herself, and rode toward the arrow, plucking it from the tree. A serviceable weapon, she thought, smoothing the fluff of goose feathers so that they lay flat. But a trifle crooked in the making, and enough so that the arrow would not fly true. Nevertheless, she slipped it into her quiver and continued to ride along.

Moments later, another arrow whizzed past her, lodging in a tree beyond and to the left, and she veered her palfrey in that direction. Retrieving the bolt, she continued along until the next one guided her path in a slightly different direction.

Each arrow she pulled from the tree and added to her own quiver, knowing that soon she would see Robin. Her heart beat faster in anticipation, and her palms became a bit damp.

After a short time following Robin’s path, she paused and peered back into the forest.

Bruse had ridden closer, and she could see him through the trees. She gestured for him to remain where he was. Aware that Robin was near, she knew she would be safe.

Indeed, it was only moments later that another arrow slammed into the tree near the knees of her horse, necessitating that Marian dismount in order to retrieve the weapon. Glancing up and about, she slid down, holding the reins, and pulled the bolt from its spot in the bark.

As she turned back, arrow in hand, a pair of feet landed silently next to her. The cushion of pine needles covered all but the slightest rustle from his legs as they passed by.

“I do believe you’ve dropped something,” Marian said, offering the arrow to Robin.

His eyes danced, matching her own mischievous smile, and he reached . . . not for the arrow, but for her arm. “I don’t drop arrows,” he said, pulling her close. “An archer with my skill aims true at all times.” His eyes glinted with an entirely different meaning.

Still holding the arrow, she wrapped her arms around his waist. “That may be the case,” she replied, looking up at him, “but ’tis a shame your weapons are of such inferior quality.”

“Inferior?” His brows knit together. Then he laughed, his humor echoing through the forest. “Do you still swear by the bolts made by the mad blind man at Mead’s Vale?”

“He is not mad . . . any more than you, for being so foolish as to wander through the keep at night. And with his skill in casting the heads and trimming the feathers, Tesh creates arrows that fly faster and farther than any others.”

“I would match my skill against the madman’s arrows any day,” Robin said. “And would come forth the winner.”

“I should be pleased to accept your challenge,” Marian said, shifting her shoulder so that her arrows shifted meaningfully in their quiver.

Robin’s grin grew wider. “Ah, so you are still trifling with the longbow, my lady? I do hope you’ve acquired a greater skill than what you had at Mead’s Vale. If I recall correctly, your target then was more like to be the ground or the high branches of a tree rather than the painted circle.”

Marian felt a little rise of temper. “Trifling? I would not say my skill with the bow is a trifle, Robin, and I should be quite pleased to demonstrate how well it shows with Tesh’s arrows. A combination I trow you shall not beat.”

He seemed to realize he’d overstepped, and pulled her hips close to his, where she could feel the evidence that his mind was on other things. “But of course, Marian, it would be an honor to match longbows with you. Yet . . . I had rather hoped you’d come searching for me for a reason other than to decry my arrows and skill.”

Without waiting for her response, he bent his face to hers. At first, she felt petulant, and nearly turned her face away. Trifling with a bow? He knew not whereof he spoke . . . and even when they were younger, she’d shown more than a passing skill.

Mayhap he merely teased . . . but she’d seen no humor in his eyes to indicate that was the case.

But then she thought no longer . . . for his lips had covered hers, and she did not turn away, instead accepting the kiss as a peace offering. And something more.

An edge of desperation colored his kiss, as though he’d been waiting for this and needed it. His mouth was harsh, devouring hers, covering her lips and scoring the sides of her mouth with his teeth. Tight arms crushed her against him, compressing her lungs so that she found it difficult to breathe, and she had to pull her face away to gasp for air.

Looking up, she realized he wasn’t as tall and forbidding as the darker Will was, and that should have made her feel more comfortable. Softer. More willing to melt against him, to arch into the hand that had moved to cup her breast. Robin’s mouth was supple and more finely drawn, elegant, where Will had not a bit of elegance about him . . . no elegance, but something else.

A rough, deep sensuality. Power. An underlying fury.

And ruthlessness. The scent of smoke wafted anew to her nose, reminding her of the scene she’d left behind in the village. She must not forget the ruthlessness.

She pushed all thoughts of Will from her mind and smoothed her hands up and over Robin’s chest to cup his shoulders. His fingers had curved around her breasts, thumbs finding the tightening nipples beneath two layers of cloth, and he smiled down at her.