Bound By Honor: An Erotic Novel of Maid Marian (28 page)

Will was enraged.
The woman was mad.
If John learned that she’d joined the outlaw . . .

And yet, Will could not deny her reasons for doing so. He’d even considered sending her off with the bandit. At the least with Locksley, she would be safe from John . . . and from himself.

Aye. From the both of them.

But he had a bigger concern at the moment. “She went off . . . alone?” Surely she wouldn’t have been so foolish.

The man shrugged, his face worried, his skin glistening from the misty rain. “I do not know, my lord. I do nay think she would, but none of the men went with my lady.”

Will drew in a slow breath. Marian was not that much of a fool. Either she had something planned with Locksley or she found some other way to ensure her safety. She would not have gone alone. He believed that.

And her plans aside, Will had sent men to patrolling the forest even more heavily since Marian’s experience with the outlaws who had attacked her. None of his men had seen a sign from that group of bandits.

Mayhap Locksley had sneaked her from her chamber late in the night while Will attended to the prince.

“How do you know of her disappearance?”

“Her maidservant ha’ told us just this morning.”

Will allowed himself to relax a bit. ’Twas possible that his last guess was correct: Locksley had helped her slip from Ludlow late in the night while the maid snored on her pallet.

And then he wondered if having Marian with him would keep Locksley from attending the archery contest. John would be most annoyed if things did not go as planned and Robin Hood did not end up in the Ludlow dungeon.

He would soon find out. Will’s attention was drawn beyond the walls of the bailey to the faint sound of horns calling the competitors to appear.

“Send word to me if you learn anything further,” Will said. “But I do not believe she is in any danger from Robin Hood—most likely he will hold her for ransom in order to fill his cup. He dare not harm a noblewoman.”

Harming Marian was most definitely not what Locksley had in mind.

Striding through the bailey, Will took up Cauchemar’s reins from his waiting squire and launched himself into the saddle. Beyond the walls, against the dreary gray sky, he saw the colorful pennants raised over the covered stands that had been erected in the last few days. They sagged flat and limp beneath the incessant damp. John’s raised platform was in the center with a clear view of the targets that had been arranged along the tree line.

Placing the circular targets near the forest had been Will’s suggestion, for he explained that it would make Robin Hood overly confident of his escape, should he think it necessary. John and Will had made other plans, however, to thwart such an attempt.

Yet Will didn’t believe that Locksley would leave without his golden arrow, regardless of the danger he might find himself in. He would wait to claim his prize, and then make some bold escape.

And, as always, the Sheriff of Nottinghamshire would be unable to stop him, and appear to all as inept and slow.

As he drew closer, Will eyed the contestants that had begun to gather. Men of all ages and social classes, from noble to freeman to villein, held longbows and adjusted quivers over their shoulders. They milled about in small clusters, their boots and hose dark at the ankles from the damp grass.

He meant to ride down to the green where the match was to take place, but one of John’s pages hurried up and caught his attention. Still high atop Cauchemar, Will found it necessary to look far down at the boy when he delivered the message that the prince required the sheriff’s attendance.

Gritting his teeth, certain that John merely wished to review once again the plan to capture Robin Hood, Will turned and directed his mount off toward the tallest of the stands, at the center of the field. The prince had required chairs to be brought for himself and a few of his closest companions, and the oiled fabric roof tented high enough above the seats that he could walk fully erect beneath it—but not so high that the sting of rain angled through.

“Aye, my lord,” Will called, bringing Cauchemar to the front of the stand, which stood as high as his head. “How may I serve you?”

“Where is Lady Marian of Morlaix?” John replied. He rose from his seat to come toward the edge of the stand. “ ’ Tis my wish and desire that she join me here. I have a seat prepared for her. Bring her to me before the match begins.”

Will’s face froze in the pleasant but emotionless expression with which he always faced the prince. “I have not seen Lady Marian, my lord. Is she not with the other ladies?”

“No one seems to know where she is,” John said, looking down at Will. His unfriendly eyes fixed on him darkly. “Find her. I wish to have her company whilst I watch the proceedings.”

“I have not seen her since supper yesterday,” Will replied. “Mayhap she is ill in her chamber.”

“Nay. I have sent for her, and I know for certain there is no one in her chamber.” John’s eyes gleamed maliciously. “You do not know where she is?”

“My lord, I truly have not seen her since last evening’s meal. As you recall, you and I spent the remainder of the evening planning for today’s events,” Will said in an effort to redirect the prince’s attention to the matter at hand: capturing Robin Hood. He did not care for John’s sudden and overt interest in Marian’s whereabouts.

John looked at him for a moment, then seemed to ease off on his intention. “Aye, then. You will find her after the match, and after we have the outlaw in our custody. Lady Marian will be honored when I invite her to sit next to me at the celebration meal anight.”

Will gave a brief nod and turned his horse away before the prince formally dismissed him, but he did not care about the snub. His muscles jumped and his belly had tightened, for the sands seemed to be running out for Marian.

’Twas a good thing after all that she had left and gone to Locksley. Although how Will would handle it when John found out, he had yet to determine.

The first round of competitors was, of course, the longest and the least exciting. But by the end, twenty-three archers had been culled down to ten. The targets were moved farther away and the stands had begun to fill with the ladies and nobles, as well as men-at-arms and other spectators. The gray world was chilly, but they would not be wet beneath the covered stands.

Will watched as the ten lined up, readying themselves for this next challenge, and he examined each one to determine which was Locksley. He knew that even Robin Hood wasn’t bold enough to appear without being in some disguise.

Though the gray mist softened some of the details of each person, Will found it easy to dismiss the two men-at-arms he recognized, and also two men who were too short. Another man was too fat, although Will didn’t completely count him out, knowing that Locksley could easily pad his tunic. But in the first round, that man had not shot his arrows true enough to be Locksley.

There were three others who wore hats to keep the drizzle from their faces—a convenient way to obscure their features. But he discounted them simply because of the way they moved—not as smoothly nor as confidently as Locksley would. Will knew the man for whom he searched extremely well.

That left two candidates, and he watched them closely. One stood apart from the other competitors, and it was difficult to tell if he was tall enough to be Locksley. The curls showing from beneath his low cap were black, much darker than the outlaw’s, and he was clean-shaven, unlike Locksley had been the last time Will had seen him. He seemed to hunch beneath his tunic and the loose cloak, but that was not surprising due to the dampness.

The other man was also hunched over a bit, and Will saw that his knees were slightly bent and he seemed to tip to the side, as if one shoulder was heavier than the other. When he shot his arrows, he seemed to pull himself more upright. Yet, he moved awkwardly, as if he was attempting to hide his age or true height. This man wore a voluminous cloak, and its deep hood obscured his face.

An obvious disguise, but because it was so obvious, it caught Will’s attention. It might be Locksley himself beneath that cloak or it might be a decoy meant to draw the attention of the sheriff and king. The truth would be told during the competition, for Will knew no man who could match Locksley with the longbow.

And if there were, surely he would have heard of it.

The rain became thicker, yet the match continued. The second round eliminated all but three of the contestants, and Will’s eyes narrowed in satisfaction as he looked them over again, moving closer to the archery row. He’d been right, of course. One of the two men who’d caught his attention must be Locksley: either the clean-shaven man with the dark curls showing from beneath his cap or the awkward man in the cloak. The third contestant was one of the men-at-arms that Will knew.

The targets were moved even farther away, and made smaller. The rain increased, making it even more difficult to see them. This was the final challenge. Each man would shoot three arrows, and the results of all three would be accounted. The one with the most arrows closest to the center of the target would win the golden arrow.

Yet even as he focused on the contest, Will could not easily dismiss his conversation with the prince. He was certain it had been John’s way of telling him that their agreement was over. And now Marian was secreted away somewhere in the forest while her lover risked his life—and hers—by competing in this bloody contest.

Did Locksley not realize he put not only himself but Marian in danger as well? By showing up here, and winning? For if Robin Hood was captured, as John fully intended he should be, his band of men would no longer have their leader. They would easily be flushed out of the forest, and Marian with them, and her allegiance to the outlaw exposed. Or she would do something even more foolish and try to bargain for his release or pardon from the prince.

What would she offer—or what would John take—in return for his mercy?

Gritting his teeth, Will turned his attention from those unpleasant thoughts and looked around the stands, and at his men-at-arms, who’d been stationed about. Some of them wore their hauberks of mail and carried swords, but others had been dressed in the garb of villeins or freemen. Their swords were hidden beneath long, rough tunics. Will had even bidden three of his men to hide up in the trees at the edge of the wood, near the row of archery targets. They would not only keep watch for members of Robin’s band but also be there to stop the man if he tried to escape.

But the golden arrow would be awarded in the center of the open field, given by Prince John to the winner. And there would be nowhere for Robin to run or hide when he came forward to receive it.

Will moved down past the stands, ignoring the heavy gaze from Pauletta as well as the curious one of Alys of Wentworth. He should thank the little blond woman for the chamomile draught, for it had helped him to sleep well for several hours yester-morrow . . . but he had avoided doing so, for he didn’t want a repeat of their last meeting. The hurt look in her eyes still haunted him, while her kiss did not.

The cloaked archer had stepped forward, still awkward . . . but when he nocked his arrow, he seemed to straighten fully. He was definitely tall enough to be Locksley, and the arrow flew true, slamming into the target just left of center.

Will nodded to himself and eased Cauchemar closer, the damp from the grass having long soaked the destrier’s hocks. The man-at-arms shot next, and missed the center of his target by the width of his own broad thumb. Next was the dark-haired man, who’d remained apart from the other two archers. Will saw that he wore a tunic that was too large for him, and it made him look bulkier from a distance. The real man beneath, Will realized, was too slender to be Locksley at any rate, and mayhap too short.

Having confirmed the identity of his target as the cloaked longbowman, Will watched the remainder of the proceedings idly. He himself was fairly skilled with the bow, and John had at first suggested that he compete as the king’s champion. If he won, then the prize would not have to be awarded, and John would have not only drawn Robin Hood from the forest but also kept his golden arrow. But Will had declined, explaining that he would prefer to be free to trap the outlaw, and so now he merely watched.

The dark-haired man’s arrow flew, arching gracefully across the field, and found its mark, true. It was the only arrow to hit the center of the target.

Will straightened and looked at him again more sharply. Nay, it could not be Locksley. The man was too slender. And not tall enough.

And then he moved, sidling away as the cloaked man stepped up for his second shot. Will froze as he caught a better glimpse of the dark-haired man’s profile.

By the saints, that was no man. That was Marian!

Will blinked and looked again. Was he mistaken?

Nay, indeed. He’d forgotten how enamored she’d been of the bow when he knew her at Mead’s Vale—although he could never have imagined she’d become so skilled as to compete thus with Locksley. But now that he suspected the true identity of the dark-haired “man,” he saw the confirmation in the way she moved, the way she raised her bow, and the fact that she was not tall enough. She stood on a bit of an incline that made her appear to be closer in height to her competitors. That explained why she’d stood at a distance for nearly the whole of the match.

He almost smiled at her cleverness, but caught himself in time. There was naught to smile about. She was here with Locksley—unless it had been a carefully planted lie that she’d gone to him in the wood—and it appeared one of them would win the golden arrow. If he’d thought Locksley was foolish before, now he was furious with him. How dare he bring her and flaunt their relationship in full view of the prince?

The prince, who had demanded to know where she was.