Bound By Honor: An Erotic Novel of Maid Marian (3 page)

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?”

Robin looked distinctly uncomfortable. “As I said, ’twas a mistake. I returned to find Locksley closed to me, and then I went hunting in the woods—
my
woods—for a meal. Then I was arrested for poaching from the king’s forest.”

Poaching from the king was indeed a serious offense—punishable by hanging, gouging of the eyes, or cutting off of the hands. “But surely once the mistake was found, you were released. Even the cruel Sheriff of Nottinghamshire could not keep an innocent man of the king’s in prison.”

Robin laughed. “Released? Nay, Marian, I made my own escape from the sheriff.”

At that moment, a deep voice interrupted their conversation. “Did you indeed?”

Marian whirled to see a powerful black horse standing at the edge of the clearing. Atop it sat an equally powerful-looking man, dressed in equally dark clothing, holding a sword at his side. She stepped back automatically, but he inclined his head regally to her.

“Lady Marian.” He urged his horse into the grassy clearing.

Robin released her, fairly shoving her away so that she stumbled with the force as he moved quickly away from her, gathering up his reins. “Ah, so to speak of the devil himself,” he said, launching into his saddle. “Sheriff.” He nodded. “I trust you’ll see my lady to the keep.”

These last words floated back behind him as he bolted off into the wood, leaving Marian standing in the center of the grass, suddenly alone, and feeling more than a bit disheveled.

Marian turned to look up at the man who remained astride his mount, edging his horse toward her, but not, thankfully, chasing after Robin. She was grateful for his restraint, for he would have had to fairly run over her to go after the bandit.

The sheriff sheathed his sword, but still held the reins in one gloved hand. The hooves on the majestic animal were larger than the trencher plates at a court dinner, and he was pure coal black from hoof to mane to wild, flaring nose.

The man himself had dark hair that fell in thick curls onto his forehead and brushed the sides of his neck, and he was clean-shaven but for the shadow that comes late in the day after a morning’s shave. His mouth might have been considered sensual if it weren’t settled and thin—and the same could be said for his face, dark with tan as well as obvious annoyance. As she gazed upon the Sheriff of Nottinghamshire, Marian was overcome by the sense of expectancy, and indeed, when she looked up into those shaded eyes, she felt set off-balance again, as if she were mistaken about something.

“I trust you are unharmed, Lady Marian,” he said at last. “I apologize for the delay in coming to your aid, but we had heard your caravan was held up and thought to provide an escort at Revelstown.”

“Delayed for a broken wheel, aye, but ’twas fixed readily,” she replied, realizing with a start that he would indeed think she’d been in need of rescue. And, truth be told, if it had been anyone but Robin of Locksley, he would have had the right of it. But Marian had no fear of her childhood friend Robin, outlaw or no. In fact, she’d already decided that she must find a way to enlist the queen to help rid him of the charge of treason.

“Have I changed so much, then?” the sheriff said, sliding abruptly from the saddle. He landed on two steady feet next to her, and the destrier shimmied and snorted at the loss of his master’s weight. “Marian.”

She looked up at him again, closely this time, and recognition washed over her. “Will?” Perhaps it was the way he’d said her name, or that he now stood on the ground next to her—still much taller, but at least not towering so from the saddle.

Aye, indeed it was William de Wendeval before her now. The boy who’d grown up with her and Robin of Locksley on her father’s estate.

But a boy Will was no longer. Just as Robin had grown broader and taller than she remembered from the summer she’d seen them last, nearly ten years ago, so had Will.

Taller, aye, and broad of shoulder . . . but he had not lost the sharp edges of his cheeks and jaw, and the reserved chill of his gaze. A handsome man he might be if the tension and reserve left his face and stance. But that had always been his way. While Robin had the lighter hair and dancing sapphire eyes, and personality to match, Will had been the quieter, more thoughtful, and, at times, gloomier of the pair.

And as their personalities tended to clash like oil and water, so had the two young men. Competitive and intense, they’d been rivals serving the same master, with their differences buried beneath civility and honor.

Will bowed again, peremptorily but correctly. “It is I.”

“The Sheriff of Nottinghamshire?” Marian supposed she could be forgiven for the note of surprise in her voice. The last she’d known of Will, he’d been knighted and under service to old King Henry’s confidant William Marshal, but no other news had reached her ears in Morlaix, across the Channel. Will had been a landless youth, the son of one of Marshal’s seneschals. For him to have risen as high as sheriff of a shire was surprising, as was his ability to pay the fees that were required to buy such a post. She wondered what he’d done to deserve such an honor, and whereby he’d acquired the funds.

“And Robin of the Hood’s sworn enemy,” he said briskly. “Shall we be on our way?” Before she could reply, he grasped her by the waist and lifted her into the saddle. The destrier, unused to such insubstantial weight on its back, shuddered and pranced. But before his ire could rise dangerously, Will launched into the saddle behind Marian.

The horse quieted and Marian looked down, horrified to see how far she was from the trampled grass below. Her own palfrey was much smaller and milder than this beast, and Marian was not fond of being very high off the ground.

Her discomfort could have nothing to do with the strong arm curling around her waist from behind as they started off with a great leap. Will’s solid chest and legs provided a comfortable and safe chair as they blazed through the woods. But he was so very warm. And large.

When he ducked to avoid a low-hanging branch, Marian was forced to do so as well, leaning closer to the destrier’s flowing mane. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been required to ride pillion, and certainly never in this pell-mell fashion through the woods.

She closed her eyes and clung to the saddle’s pommel.

Moments later, they reached the road, where Marian’s travel wagons and escort remained. The horse had barely stopped when Will dismounted and reached up to lift her down, setting her, weak-kneed, near her wagon. It took only a moment to ascertain that the outlaws had taken nothing from her caravan.

“Though I don’t expect them to return, please accept our escort to Ludlow, my lady,” Will said formally. He opened the door of her wagon.

“Thank you, Sheriff,” she said, climbing in.

As she settled in her seat and the wagons rumbled off, now flanked by the sheriff ’s men as well as her own men-at-arms, Marian had much to contemplate. Least of which was whether Robin had known it was her party traveling through Sherwood, and had never intended on stealing anything from her in the first place.

Or had it merely been happenstance that Robin had recognized her, and had thus called off his men?

Or had the sheriff arrived in time to prevent the outlaws from making off with her belongings?

The next time she saw Robin—for she would certainly see him again, she’d make certain of it—she would have words with him. And try to find a way to help him while she spied on Prince John.

And mayhap . . . she might allow him to kiss her again.

“
B
y the rood,” Prince John said to Will that evening. They sat at a large table on the dais in the great hall of Ludlow, enjoying pheasant and grouse from Sherwood Forest. “The hall has for certain grown quieter without my lovely wife’s presence.”

“But all that much darker and unattractive for it,” Will replied automatically. Other than flattery about his person, John liked nothing better than to hear about the beauty and desirability of his wife. And if he ever procreated a legitimate child, he’d most likely require compliments in that regard as well.

No sooner had the words come out than Will cast a swift glance at his companion to be certain he hadn’t noticed the disinterest in his voice. His mind had been elsewhere since his return to Ludlow as Marian’s escort. And though he appreciated the opportunity to be seated at the high table, where he could look out over the other diners if he wished to locate one in particular, he was wholly uninterested in attending John tonight.

Ludlow was one of Prince John’s smaller, less-significant holdings. He’d come into it simply by chance, when the daughter of one of his vassals married the baron of the tiny fief. The daughter and the baron died without issue, and John expediently assumed ownership of the holding as its overlord.

As it turned out, Ludlow Keep was fairly comfortable despite its smaller size, and it happened to abut the king’s Sherwood Forest, which was known for generous hunting. Thus, John found the insignificant fief more pleasurable than one would expect, particularly since his wife, Isobel, preferred Westminster for a variety of reasons and wouldn’t be present to hamper his other activities.

This time, John had been at Ludlow for six months, not just because he enjoyed it, but because he was trying to lie low, as far from his mother’s notice as possible. When John was in residence, he required Will to attend him, which forced the sheriff to leave the small manor house he held along with his office. It also meant that he was relegated to a chamber with the other unmarried men of rank, since Ludlow wasn’t really large enough to accommodate a royal court.

John’s wife, Isobel, visited briefly, then returned to larger and busier residences, leaving her husband to amuse himself with hunting and other activities. Despite the princess’s absence, however, many of her ladies-in-waiting remained at Ludlow, as they were wards of the prince, or because their husbands, fathers, or other responsible male family members attended him.

“And so you’ve allowed Robin Hood to escape yet again,” John said as he sloshed a piece of bread in the juices of the trencher they shared. Since there were no ladies attending them at the trestle table, the single hollowed-out loaf of bread filled with fowl and potatoes served them both.

Despite the critical words, John’s voice was easy and casual, indicating that he wasn’t particularly angry or disappointed with Will’s most recent failure to clap Robin in chains and toss him in the dungeon. There were times when Will suspected that John, for all his fury and blustering at the band of thieves, might also find their continued freedom useful in some respect.

After all, if coin disappeared, it could always be blamed on them, even if it happened to end up lining John’s own coffers instead of in the hands of the bandits.

Yet, more important, John did not like to look the fool—and Robin Hood’s continued elusion of the sheriff and his men accomplished just that. Will did not like to look the fool any more than the prince did, but he had little choice in the matter.

“The man and his band become more bold as the days go by, my lord,” Will replied. He glanced out over the rows of tables that lined the hall. The gentry sat nearest the high table, where the most choice and freshest of foods were served. As one moved to the rear of the hall, the diners became more simple and mean, ending with the lowliest of serfs and villeins in the very back.

“He is too clever to capture in the forest. Methinks a trap ought to be set for the man. Something that will lure him from the safety of the trees.”

Will calmly broke a corner of bread from the trencher and chewed on it, trying to keep his mind on John’s words rather than his eyes searching the hall.

“An archery contest, and mayhap a day of jousting, would be in order,” continued the prince. “ ’ Twill draw him out, for Robin Hood is known for his skill with the bow.”

“He is a most skilled archer,” Will agreed. “He did, after all, skewer the cloak of Lord d’Arlande, pinning him betwixt hand and waist against a tree trunk.”

“Drawing nary a drop of blood in the process, the lickspittle. An’ from some perch in a tree,” John added, with a combination of disgust and wonder. “Did he not also pin your man—what was his name?—to a wagon he was robbing?”

Will picked up his goblet of wine. “Aye, three arrows and—”

“God’s blood,” said John suddenly. “And wherever did that vision appear from?”

The note of deep interest . . . almost reverence . . . in John’s voice caught Will’s full attention and he put his cup down and looked at the prince. His mouth parted and lips shiny with grease from the pheasant, John appeared quite taken.