Colette Gale - Bound by Honor

“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.

She tried to stand, but her feet tangled in her hem and he grabbed her arm to keep her from falling. She lost her balance and fell into him, soft and sweet, and he thrust her away.

“I’ve been too long away from my duties,” he said, giving a little bow.

And he fled.

Marian watched him go, frustration causing her to stamp her foot. However, the grass muffled any sound she might have made, taking some of the satisfaction from the movement. She could not have been more obvious if she’d torn off her clothes and leapt upon him.

She’d arranged the whole thing-the excuse for privacy, a quiet place far from the prying eyes of the keep and of Robin’s men-and she could not have been more overt.

His desire was there. She could see it, hot and bright, burning in his eyes when he thought she wasn’t looking. But she had been, and it had caused a slow, churning burn deep in her belly.

There was only one other explanation. It had to be that he did not think she wanted him to touch her.

So she would have to make herself perfectly, unambiguously clear.

Marian blew the horn to call Bruse, who’d been posted a discreet distance away, and gathered up the chess set. She would ensure that poor John would be sleeping like an infant this night, and William de Wendeval would find himself utterly and otherwise occupied.

Filled with apprehension, Will pounded on the door to Marian’s chamber. It was late in the day, well after the midday meal from which she-as well as John-had been absent.

Upon his knock, the door opened to reveal the oft-missing maid, who looked up at him with fearful, large eyes. That was naught new, and it didn’t disturb him in the least. But what disturbed him was having no idea why Marian could have sent for him.

“Your lady has called for me,” he said shortly. “Is she ill?”

The maid seemed unable to find her tongue, and by way of response stepped back from the door and allowed him to enter. The antechamber was empty but for the maid’s pallet and a small trunk, as well as a few neatly folded items of clothing.

Will hesitated, unsure whether Marian would come to him or whether he was to go to her, through the door and into her private chamber. But the maid gestured for him to go beyond, and with damp palms and an unsettled stomach, he moved toward the door.

Marian was within, standing as though she’d been waiting for him. Standing, not ill in bed as he’d imagined. He took in the details of the chamber and her appearance with one quick scan, his apprehension growing.

Dear God, why do you tempt me?

She was alone, and dressed simply in a white undergown so thin and delicate that he saw the shadowy curves under her breasts and the darkness at the juncture of her thighs. The tie that gathered it about her neck hung loose, leaving a good bit of skin, brushed with golden freckles, exposed. Candles lit the chamber, a variety of them on a table giving off nearly as much light as a noonday sun, and the fire burned sedately in its alcove. The scent of violets clung to the air, which was warm and humid, as though she’d bathed recently.

All her magnificent hair was unbound but for two slender braids that came from her temples and were drawn to the back of her crown. Her feet were bare. Tension emanated from her, flowing across the room as if the air vibrated. But he saw the purpose in her eyes, the determination.

His heart was pounding now, and he realized what he’d walked into. His first reaction was one of disgust and fury, but it was closely followed by the wave of desire flushing over him, sending hot blood trammeling through his body.

Nay, fool.

Curling his fingers into the sides of his simple linen shirt, he drew in a calm breath and gritted his teeth.

“What do you require, my lady?” he asked, keeping his face and voice expressionless. “My performance, I presume?”