Bound By Honor: An Erotic Novel of Maid Marian (11 page)

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.

Mayhap she would be friendlier if they were alone.

Robin looked at the three men who’d edged away from the woman as soon as their leader arrived: John Little, Allan-a-Dale, and a most uncomfortable-looking Friar Tuck, dressed in his robes. “Is there aught you can attend to below while my lady and I converse?”

They didn’t need to be asked twice, for John leapt out of his seat as quickly as his bulk allowed and tossed the rope ladder down without hesitation. “Aye,” he said, giving no excuse as he disappeared down the ladder, the ropes straining and creaking against the wooden floor.

“A brace of hares would make a nice stew this night,” Allan said, moving just as eagerly toward the opening. “Tuck, would you like to come along with me and carry my extra arrows?”

Moments later, Robin and the blond woman were left alone. She’d done nothing but stand there, arms crossed under her breasts, foot tapping on the floor beneath the overlong hem of her riding gown.

“I do hope you don’t intend to rape me now,” she said. Annoyance—not fear or even apprehension—blazed through every pore of her fine body.

Robin blinked and closed his mouth. Then opened it. “My lady, I should never resort to such an assault.” He smiled comfortingly at her.

“Clearly ’tis because you believe you would never have to. I vow, the size of your head is like to burst the walls of this house.”

He watched her, unable to take his eyes away from her rich honey-colored hair, and the lift of her dainty chin. Let alone able to formulate a response to such a statement. No wonder John Little and the others had fled. He wondered how long they’d been cooped up in here with her.

She turned away and paced across the room, the only sound that of her fine wool bliaud catching on the rough floor and a faint whistle through the trees. He watched the smooth curve of her bottom as it swayed enticingly with each step. Robin felt the urge to clear his throat, for it had suddenly become very dry.

“If you believe that I am one of those foolish ladies who cannot resist the lure of an outlaw, you are dangerously mistaken. I will not be swooning at the prospect of your kisses. I demand to be returned to Ludlow immediately.”

“I will return you, my lady. I vow it. But, if you please, will you not give me your name?”

“Lady Alys of Wentworth,” she said with a great sigh. “Now that your curiosity is assuaged, shall we go?”

“Alys,” he said, savoring the taste of it on his tongue. “A lovely name.”

The fascinating woman he itched to touch, to see if she was as soft and smelled as good as he suspected, gave an indelicate snort. “And the next I know, like every other man, you’ll be waxing rhapsodic over my sea blue eyes, and the velvet of my crushed-petal lips, and my long flowing tresses of golden hair.”

Robin closed his mouth again. Damn.

She made a sharp gesture of dismissal at him. “Do you think I have not heard it all before, O Robin Hood? Do you think I do not know how tongue-tied and cow-eyed men turn when they are near me? ’Tis a curse,” she said, pacing the room in earnest now. “ ’ Tisn’t enough that I must deal with the frog-eyed barons or high-reaching knights greedy not only for my lands but for my person—but now I must be whisked away to a treetop hideaway and suffer the courtship of an outlaw.”

“I do not
court
you,” Robin burst out in disdain.

“Indeed?” She stopped and turned to look at him. “You do not court me. You do not intend to rape me. . . . Why, then, Robin Hood, are we still here? Ah. It must be that you intend to hold me for ransom. It certainly cannot be that you’ve been giving me mooning dog eyes and preening about like a cock so that I will kiss you.”

“So that is what you want,” Robin said, his eyes narrowing in delight. A smile tickled his mouth. He was in front of her in a moment, his hands closing around her upper arms, his feet planted on the hem of her gown. “A kiss. Why did you not say so, Lady Alys?”

Her blue eyes flashed sparks and her luscious mouth opened, but Robin found a most efficient way to close it. And to block out the pretend outrage in her eyes.

He dragged her up against him, his mouth on hers, at last touching those lush, top-heavy lips. She stiffened against him, pushing. He was gentle . . . but firm. Alys tasted as sweet as he’d expected, her tongue small and slick and naive, tangling with his stronger one.

He closed his mouth over that full top lip that so enticed him, gently sucking and licking it, unable to get enough of the taste, of the softness. Her breasts crushed into his chest, and the thick locks of her hair tangled in his fingers as he smoothed his hands up her slender back, pulling her close . . . melding her against him.

At last she wrenched her face away and the next thing Robin knew, his right ear was ringing from the slap.

He could not recall the last time he’d been slapped by a woman.

In fact, he couldn’t remember any time that he’d been so rebuffed.

“I shall have the sheriff after you,” she spit, her blue eyes furious. “How dare you!”

Robin didn’t have the energy to laugh at her threat. He was out of breath, the room still spun, and ’sblood, her lips were even more lush now. Her cheeks burned pink; her hair—its fashioning having long fallen out—swirled about her hips, where her hands were now planted like those of an angry fishwife.

“I do believe the sheriff is already after me,” Robin said when he’d caught his breath.

“I shall tell him where your hideout is,” she retorted.

Robin couldn’t help but laugh, though he wasn’t quite certain why. He’d just been slapped by this little fairy of a woman, his cheek still throbbed from it, and he couldn’t wait to get her back into his arms again. “You are fortunate that I am not of the ilk of some other bandits that lurk about in these woods. Such men would be more likely to slay you on the spot than allow you to carry tales.”

For the first time, her bravado faltered. But then the sparkle was back in her eyes. “But you shall demand a ransom for me, and will move me, well hooded, I trow, to another safe place so that I cannot carry tales.”

“My, how much you know of the tricks of an outlaw, Lady Alys.”

“Nay, ’tis naught but common sense that I speak.”

“But now you speak of ransom . . . so you’ve decided to stay with us, then, Lady Alys? Not in so much of a hurry to leave?” Robin asked. “And I would have returned you to Ludlow this very moment. But instead, I must cipher a ransom note.” He
tsk
ed, shaking his head. “But how much are you worth, my lady?”

Alys tossed her head. “Send a ransom note, then,” she scoffed. “The sheriff will use it as an opportunity to capture you.”

“Nottingham could not capture me if I came and stood in his chamber at Ludlow,” Robin felt compelled to say. He didn’t care for the way she spoke about Nottingham, the certainty and admiration in her voice for the black devil.

“I trow
he
would not force his kiss upon a lady,” she added, with a surprisingly sharp bolt to his heart. One of her blond eyebrows rose in a perfect arch.

“So ’tis Nottingham you desire,” Robin said. “I find that difficult to believe, for the ladies I know turn tail and run when he approaches. They fear him as the villagers do.”

“I do not think he is as cruel as he appears,” Alys replied with startling perception. “He is angry, but he does not take it out on the innocent.”

“The tales that come to my ears speak otherwise.”

She lifted her chin again. “And they are tales, and nay more. I’ve not seen it. And he certainly doesn’t force kisses upon the women.”

“And so we are back to the kisses once more,” Robin said, finding himself moving closer to her again. “Mayhap I shall demand a ransom of sorts from you, rather than money from your father . . . or husband.”

“Is that your inept way of trying to learn who shall be after your head once I am freed?” Alys retorted. But she did not step back this time, instead standing her ground as he placed himself directly in front of her. A lock of her hip-length hair curled boldly out, nearly brushing against his tunic just above the belt.

“Inept?” Robin said, feeling his mouth twitch into a smile again. “I do not think many consider me inept . . . in any fashion.” He stepped forward and felt the titillating whisk of another curl against his hand, which remained at his side. Looking down at her, he could see each of her thick lashes. “The only ransom I wish to collect from you, Lady Alys, is one kiss. Given willingly.” His voice was rich and low even to his ears.

“And then you will take me back to Ludlow?” she asked. She sounded a little out of breath. Not quite as strident as before.

“And then I will take you back to Ludlow. If you still wish to go.”

She raised her face, lifting those gorgeous lips, and Robin bent to meet them. Softly, he pressed against her mouth, so softly. He barely touched her lips, brushing them with his, opening his mouth to close around her upper lip, licking its underside slowly . . . gently. He felt his breath gathering again, his eyes closing, his knees weakening.

And then it was over. She stepped away.

He opened his eyes.

She was looking up at him, speechless.

And then the mood broke when she said, “There. Now you shall return me. And I hope that the sheriff catches you when you do.”

There it was . . . the sheriff again. Robin frowned, then tamped back his annoyance. “I’m certain you shall tell him everything you know,” he said, matching her cool tone.

“I should warn you,” Alys said, crossing her arms again, and this time, he didn’t allow himself to be distracted, “I will keep no secrets from the sheriff. If you should approach me again—especially in the halls of the keep as you’ve foolishly done to Lady Joanna—I shall raise such a hue and cry that you will never see these trees again.”

“Then I shall make certain if I do approach you that I shall keep that lovely mouth of yours otherwise engaged.”

And with that, he dropped down the rope ladder.

“After you, Lady Alys.”

 

 

Marian did not venture into the great hall for the midday meal. Instead, she sent Ethelberga to procure some cheese and bread for her repast while she sat in her chamber. Positioning a small table directly beneath the peephole, where she could not be seen by anyone looking through the hole, she took a piece of parchment from deep within her trunk. A bottle of ink and three quills followed, and she settled at the table to write to the queen. The foolscap had been scraped clean many times, but with care, so there was only a single hole near the bottom. As she wrote, Marian avoided the few thin spots on the parchment so that the ink wouldn’t bleed.

Although Ethelberga was aware that her mistress could read and write—an unusual feat for a woman, and, indeed, for most men who weren’t priests—Marian didn’t wish for her to know that she was doing so at this time. A simple mention of her mistress writing a letter could lead to questions or curiosity from others.

It was one thing for a woman to send and receive letters that, in most cases, would need to be dictated to, or read to her by, a priest or other learned man, but Eleanor preferred that her ladies be able to do such tasks on their own. Fewer eyes and ears to notice them. She’d come to trust Marian after noting that the younger woman could hold her tongue after assisting the queen in scribing personal messages. At first they’d been simple, unimportant ones, but as her confidence in Marian grew, Eleanor had used her for more-sensitive communications.

Marian had little to report to the queen other than her safe arrival at Ludlow, so her missive took little time to finish. She’d sprinkled sand over it to dry the ink, then folded and sealed it long before Ethelberga returned.

After eating her cheese and bread, Marian left her chamber in search of one of the messengers Eleanor had told her to use when communicating. Just as she preferred her ladies to compose their own missives, she also trained them well on the trustworthiness of messengers, teaching them which ones to use. And which ones to avoid.