Bound By Honor: An Erotic Novel of Maid Marian (18 page)

She bolted the door, once again annoyed by the absence of her maid, and retired to the inner chamber.

Will’s words gave her pause. She could go with Robin. Stay with him, be with him. They would likely become lovers . . . and she would leave behind the threat of the prince.

But Will would come after them, even more fiercely than before. He had the right of it: the gentry would be incensed by the abduction of a noblewoman by the bandits. And if she admitted her desire to be with Robin, not only would she then be regarded as an outlaw and thus subject to the reach of the law . . . but she would no longer be in Ludlow, able to spy on John for the queen, and on Will, for Robin himself.

Not that, Marian admitted, she’d yet found anything of import to tell the queen. Or to help Robin. When in John’s presence, she’d spent more time in a state of unease or discomfiting arousal than anything else.

Nay, much as she might wish to be with Robin, she could not go. She must stay in the keep, within reach of the grasp of the prince.

And Will.

CHAPTER 9

A
lys of Wentworth pulled the cloak’s hood up and over her head, hurrying through the hall. Empty of diners and drinkers, the vast room offered shelter to the half dozen hounds twitching and groaning by the fireplaces near the dozing serf boys charged with keeping the blazes going. A man-at-arms well beyond his cups slumped in one corner, and another, propped up on the trestle table by naught but his nose, snored loudly.

Long past vespers, hours since the evening meal had finished, the night was fading toward dawn. It had been a tiring day, and Alys was quite ready for her bed.

It had begun with the wild hunt, and all the gossip of Robin Hood . . . and then for her to have been so unfortunate as to fall into the clutches of his men! Of all the things to have happened when Sandy threw a shoe. And then for the blackhearted rogue to steal a kiss from her . . . but most of all, to believe she might actually welcome it!

She pursed her lips as her fury at Robin Hood and his silly games rose anew. A bandit with a love for himself so great that it threatened to explode his head! So foolish of him to have crept into the keep last night. Why would he travel into the nest of the very hawk that wished to devour him?

’Twas simple. . . . He believed he would not be caught! Well, he would have a fine surprise if he ever accosted her in the keep. Joanna of Wardhamshire might giggle and blush at his kisses, but Alys had no misconceptions. The man was an outlaw, and he must be made to face the laws of the land.

As had happened throughout the day since her escape from Robin Hood, Alys felt the anger boiling inside her. A slick, cowardly bandit slipping through the night, stealing from good people—why, her friend Lady Marian had nearly lost her belongings to the outlaws! And then to make light of it by—

A faint noise from the shadows startled her. She paused, heart thumping, and looked . . . but saw nothing. Raising her chin at her foolishness, Alys continued on along the rear passageway of the keep toward the staircase that led to the second floor.

She had just turned the corner and seen the steps at the far end of the passage when she noticed a tall figure walking toward her.

The yellow light of a wall sconce cast illumination over his face and—saints! bare torso!—and Alys recognized him immediately. Nottingham.

He didn’t appear to see her moving swiftly through the shadows, for his head was bowed, as it had been earlier today when she’d found him near the same place. At that time, he’d seemed ill and out of sorts, very troubled . . . and to see such a handsome, powerful man so vulnerable had tugged at her healer’s heart. Not to mention her womanly desires.

Now he merely paused at one of the window slits and looked out into the night.

She drew near, her heart thumping and curiosity dampening her palms. He was so very large and dark, with an aura of annoyance that most often put people off . . . yet there was something about him that caught deeply at her. And she had seen the expression on his face earlier today; he’d looked disgusted, ill, and yet resigned. Now he stood, staring into the dark, an image of tension and frustration.

As she approached, Alys tried to think of what she might say to him, to ease whatever it was that ailed the man . . . but before she could, he looked up and saw her.

“Lady Alys,” he said, turning from the window. “What do you about this time of night?” His voice cut sharply, coldly into the silence, and if she had not had a grandfather with much the same temperament, she might have been frightened by his discourtesy. As it was, she felt a shiver at his unfeeling expression. He was a man one did not wish to anger.

“Good morrow, my lord,” she said, moving closer. “I seek my bed at last, though the sun is nigh ready to rise.”

“ ’ Tis not safe for a lady to be out alone in the night, even in the castle.” He stepped toward her, and for a moment her lungs seemed not to work. He was so large, and dark, and forbidding . . . and even more so with naught to cover his chest and belly. He was broad and haired and scarred . . . very daunting. He made no move to cover himself, nor did he seem to care that she saw him in such a state.

She swallowed and pulled her eyes away from his imposing chest . . . and found her gaze snagged by cold eyes. “I had my maid with me, but I allowed her to stay behind. Her sister lives here in Ludlow—a freewoman, married to Frederick the fishmonger—and she had taken ill. Rose—my maid—knows of my skill with healing, and she begged that I might assist her.” She moistened her lips, aware that her voice trembled a bit.

“And so you came from your soft warm bed to help your maid’s sister.” His words came out more quietly, but only a bit. Frustration and impatience colored their tone much more strongly than empathy.

Alys shrugged. “I have oft been called from my bed at Wentworth for the same purpose. ’Tis nothing new.” She looked boldly up at him. “I am a healer, my lord. Will you not tell me what ails you?”

At this proximity, despite the wavering torchlight, she could see the lines etched on his face, the weariness in his eyes. A brittleness too, which she feared might crack.

“There is naught that ails me, Lady Alys,” he replied flatly.

She reached for him, touching his warm arm. “I would that you trusted me enough. If you are ill, you know where to find me. I . . .” She felt a rising flush warm her face, but she continued. “I would have a care for you if you wish.” She drew in a deep breath. “I should very much . . . like to.”

“A care for me?” Incredulity laced his voice. “Do not be a fool, Lady Alys. There are others for whom you should cast your heart in the stead of my black one. I am fit for no lady.”

She’d expected nothing less from such a man, and would have spoken again, but he drew aside, turning his face away. “Take yourself to bed, Lady Alys.”

Then, as if gaining control of some runaway emotion, a breath later he added, “If you have need of going to the village again at night, send for me and I will find a man to accompany you. ’Tis foolish of you to take such a chance. This is not Wentworth, and you are not the lady of this manor. And now . . . I will escort you to your chamber to ensure your safety.”

She shook her head. “Nay. There is no need. I can see the steps from here, and there is no one about . . . for you have just come from above, is that not so?”

Why that simple question should turn his expression even blacker, she did not know. But she did step back at the look in his eyes, heart thumping.

He said nothing, however, and turned away. “I will escort you to your chamber, Lady Alys.” And with that, their discussion seemed to be at an end.

But just as he gestured for her to accompany him—and she hesitated at touching his bare arm, so close to such a naked chest—there was a loud shout from the direction of the hall. Nottingham stiffened and listened, and when there was a similarly violent response, he cursed under his breath.

“I must investigate,” he said. “Yet I am loath to leave you to make your way alone.”

“I am in no danger of losing my way here, Sir William. As I have said, I can see the steps from here, and you forget—I have also made my way from the village across the bailey and through the hall . . . all without incident. I am certain I shall find my way without mishap.”

A nasty crash from the hall pulled his attention from her, causing his lips to flatten even farther. “Very well, then. But make haste.” And with that, he turned and hurried off toward the hall.

Alys could not help but watch, noticing how gracefully and smoothly he moved, despite the bulk of his body. A man that large and powerful should not have the grace of a cat . . . yet he did.

She turned and began to make her way toward the stairwell, the noise of whatever altercation had begun in the hall echoing behind her. A mere three steps away from her climb, Alys felt something behind her.

She spun, heart pounding, just in time to see a figure emerge from the shadows.

“Lady Alys,” said Robin Hood, moving toward her. “What a delightful surprise.” His smile was charming and a bit self-deprecating, as if he was encouraging her to join him in a bit of humor—but uncertain if she would. And mayhap . . . mayhap that grin was a bit forced. “I hope I do not interrupt your tête-à-tête.”

He was comely to look at; that she could not deny. Though the light was dim, she remembered his sparkling blue eyes from earlier, and she could even see a hint of that gleam now. Though half his face was obscured by his beard and mustache, she could make out the strong lines of his jaw and sculpted cheekbones, and his elegant brows arched beneath the thick fringe of his dark blond hair.

“What are you doing here?” She stepped back, yet only a bit. Fascination and exasperation at the man’s foolish boldness kept her steady. She had no fear of him, of course. Naught but abhorrence for his imprudent ways. “And unless you caused the disturbance in the hall, the interruption was none of your doing.”

To her surprise, Robin smiled ruefully. “Alas, I am discovered. I have disrupted my lady about her business of wooing the cold, flat-eyed Sheriff of Nottingham.”

It took her a moment to comprehend, but then she did. “I did hear you earlier, then. I thought I felt as if someone followed me. You sneaked back and caused some fight in the hall in order to draw him away, did you not? You are indeed a sneaky fiend!” She would have pushed past him, but he stepped forward and blocked her way.

“My lady, I could not resist. ’Twas fairly painful for me to witness your attempt to seduce the man.”

Alys felt a flush begin to creep over her throat. Horrid of him to have seen Nottingham’s flat-out rejection. “You are beyond foolish to come inside his stronghold yet again when he hunts you so fiercely.”

He shifted toward her, crowding her toward a shadowy alcove. He smelled fresh and woodsy, like crushed pine needles. “I had business to attend herein.”

“Someone to rob?” She became aware of the shift of darkness over her face, enveloping her person as he edged closer. The stone wall brushed her hand and she realized that her heart had begun to pump a bit faster.

“Nay,” Robin replied. “But I would find it no hardship to steal a kiss from a lovely lady.”

“Ah . . . so if your business was not to rob a slumbering rich lord, it must have been to visit some woman who sighs at the mere mention of your name . . . and who sleeps with your green ribbon favor.”

“I don’t believe they sleep with my green ribbon favor,” he said, the corners of his eyes crinkling and his dimples showing beneath the beard, “but mayhap I ought to make such a suggestion. Alas, I cannot be everywhere at once.”

“And so your head grows the larger! Soon even the forest will not be vast enough to accommodate it,” she said, rolling her eyes in disgust. “I cannot fathom that the ladies swoon and gasp when they see you.”

“Do I sense a bit of envy that you’ve not received a pretty green ribbon, Lady Alys? Do not be ashamed to admit it.” He leaned closer. “For you are speaking to the one who can correct that situation.”

’Twas all she could do not to laugh in his face . . . but the light in his eyes, a lingering intensity there, kept her from more than a scoff. “I have plenty of ribbons, Robin Hood, and several of them are green. I am in no need of yet another frill.”

“Come now, Lady Alys. A green ribbon would look very lovely twined in your honey gold hair,” he murmured. His eyelids had become heavy and he was looking at her in such a way as to make the insides of her belly flutter.

’Twas a feeling she did not welcome in the least.

“Robin Hood, I do not wish to have anything from you . . . least of which a green ribbon, which was most likely stolen from some other lady,” she said, the wall very close behind her now, and the warmth of his person seeping into her awareness. “Did I not tell you most clearly today that should I be accosted by you, I should not hesitate to raise the alarm?”

“Aye, that you did.” And still he did not release his gaze . . . which had somehow become fastened upon her lips.

“And yet you string my patience taut.”

He gave a low little chuckle. “My lady Alys, I am most accustomed to a woman speaking what she
believes
is on her mind . . . but more oft than not, I find that what she speaks is not what she truly means.”

“And so now, sirrah, you accuse me of not knowing my own mind?” she replied, raising her hands to push at his chest.

Not as tall as the forbidding sheriff, nor as powerfully built, he was nevertheless muscular and graceful. Lean and strong, and more wickedly handsome than she would willingly admit. And he did not make the slightest shift when she shoved at him.

“But ’tis quite obvious, Lady Alys . . . for if you’d truly intended to cry ware, you would have done so long before now.” His grin was wide and knowing and he leaned in.

Infuriated—for he was partially correct, curse the man—Alys drew in her breath to shriek to high heaven.