Bound By Honor: An Erotic Novel of Maid Marian (23 page)

“Did he not kiss you, then?” Joanna asked, a sly look coming into her eyes. “I trow if he had, you would not wish him ill. The man has a fine, sweet mouth.”

Alys merely looked at the other lady and replied, “He would not dare to do so. I find him arrogant and misguided. And I hope that he is caught by the sheriff and imprisoned for his crimes.”

Marian noted that Alys was not bloodthirsty enough to wish for Robin to be hung, and found that a bit interesting when coupled with the fact that Robin had obviously met her . . . but had not recalled her name. Or so he said.

She also noted the wash of pink over the fair-skinned girl’s cheeks.

“You had best hope that the sheriff does not capture him,” Pauletta said, her eyes slanted wickedly, “for he’ll do more than imprison the man. He’s as lief to tear him limb from limb with his bare hands as string him up with a black hood. I pray that he’ll attend the gathering tonight, for he’s one who fascinates me. So dark, so angry . . . I should love to be the woman who brings him to his knees.”

Catherine sniffed. “Not I. Every time I look at him, I vow, my blood runs cold.”

Pauletta merely smiled in a manner that Marian found both interesting and annoying. “Our dear Alys doesn’t find the sheriff frightening at all. Have you managed to stoke the man’s fires yet, my dear?” Her deprecating laugh indicated that she believed she already knew the answer.

Alys forbore to respond, but Marian noticed that the girl’s fair skin tinged pink again.

But before the conversation could go any further, the man himself entered the hall. He strode quickly to the front where a duo of barons stood next to one of the great fireplaces. He barely glanced at the ladies.

Marian stood, stuffing a last bit of bread into her mouth and selecting an apple to munch on as well. Not only did she have news to report to Robin via the oak tree—a warning that the archery contest was likely a trap meant to draw him out—but she was also revolted by the way Pauletta’s catlike eyes had narrowed, homing in on Will as he walked across the room.

How could she not find the man as repulsive as she?

 

 

Although Marian did her best to avoid Will for the rest of the day, hoping to evade any invitation the prince might wish to extend to her, she knew she was fighting a losing battle. If the prince required her to attend his revelry anight, hiding from Will would make no difference. And despite the fact that she didn’t wish to be in Will’s company, she also knew that if she had to attend, she would much rather do so with his escort than without it. It was simply a question of the lesser of two evils.

Thus, when she came down to dinner and saw that the high table was empty yet again, her relief was short-lived. The ladies buzzed with gossip that John had spent the day holed up in his chambers with his companions preparing for the night’s festivities. And no sooner had she finished her meal and attempted to slip unnoticed back to her chamber than Will appeared as if from the shadows.

His face was as haggard as the previous night, but when he bowed and offered his arm, his countenance remained expressionless.

“What, no reprieve anight?” Marian asked, then, without thinking, added, “I trow, Will, you look as though you’ve not slept in days.”

“Ah, the lady’s tongue speaks ever the truth,” he said.

“Why have you not slept?” she persisted. “Have you been up all the night plotting ways to destroy the village? Or how to squeeze more from the villeins? I should not sleep either if I had those sins on my conscience.”

“I’ve those and more,” he said, his words flat like the slap of a hand. “The wicked find no ease, do they?”

He turned and tugged her with him, but not before she caught a glimpse of his eyes. And she saw something there that did not match his harsh words. Something that looked like anguish.

Then it was gone. Or mayhap it was a trick of the shadows, for she’d never before seen anything soften his gaze. At least, not since she’d arrived at Ludlow. There’d been times when they were younger that a less rigid Will might smile or relax over a jest. As she recalled, once when they’d come upon a nest of newborn hares in the field, he’d been almost reverent as they examined the tiny creatures.

But she’d seen nothing like that of late.

Marian remained silent as they walked the now-familiar route to the Court of Pleasure. It was not lost on her that Will hadn’t specifically indicated that they were attending something unusual this evening. Either he wished not to scare her, or he assumed that the ladies had gossiped about it enough that she knew.

But tonight, she thought, with what she expected would be more occupants in the chamber than usual, she might have the chance to search for letters or documents that would give credence to the rumors Queen Eleanor had sent her to investigate. And mayhap she’d find enough that the queen would release her from her task and allow her to return to her lands—at least until a husband was found for her.

By focusing on that purpose, Marian was able to quell the nervousness spiraling in her belly as they climbed the stairs to the third level.

After all, how terrible could the gathering be if the other ladies were invited as well?

But immediately upon their arrival, Marian learned the terrible answer to that question. The meaning of “living statues” became horribly clear to her the moment she entered the chamber.

Now, stripped of her clothing, she stood near a post of the massive bed as one of her arms was lifted, her fingers curled around the column above her head. The prince, his eyes gleaming wickedly, posed her himself, taking his time to arrange the angle of her arm just the way he wanted it. Surprisingly impersonal in his touch, he seemed to have aesthetics in mind as opposed to carnality . . . or mayhap the two were inextricably entwined.

No sooner was she arranged thus at the post than the prince beckoned the woman Marian recognized as Glynna over to them. Glynna, the woman with the whip marks on her belly, was just as naked as Marian. And so were all the other women in the chamber, including Catherine, Pauletta, and Joanna, as well as others Marian had not seen before.

To her mortification, Marian was commanded to remain frozen. The prince arranged Glynna in such a manner that the other woman’s hand cupped Marian’s quim, curving over her mound to slide fingers between Marian’s parted legs. Then he brought Glynna forward so that her warm, wet mouth covered one of Marian’s breasts, centered over her nipple. Marian could hardly breathe and she felt her whole body flush with warmth and awareness. Her nipple hardened beneath the moist lips, and her little pip began to swell at the very brush of pressure.

Then, still impersonal and concentrated, John took Marian’s free hand and settled it in a similar position between Glynna’s legs. Marian gasped and would have jerked her hand away, but he tightened his fingers around her wrist.

“Tsk, tsk, my lady,” he said, leering close to her so that she could smell the vast amount of wine on his breath. “You mustn’t move. You are a living statue.”

And then he carefully arranged one finger so that it slipped between the warm, wet folds of the other woman’s quim, and the others so that they spread over the springy hair of Glynna’s mound. Satisfied, he stepped back to admire his handiwork.

But he wasn’t finished. “Your hair,” he muttered. And then he began to systematically, and none too gently, pull it loose from her braids so that it fell down her back in a long swath. Then he took one wrist-thick lock and arranged it over the breast that was not covered by Glynna’s mouth, draping the bottom part of it over the maidservant’s shoulder.

He stepped back and surveyed his work, then stroked his beard and nodded. “Lovely,” he said, then turned to look about the chamber with satisfaction. “All of you are quite the most beautiful sight I’ve had the pleasure of seeing.”

The other ladies and maidservants had already been arranged in similarly provocative positions throughout the room. They were indeed a garden of living statues.

“Be warned, the first one of you to move, to do other than to blink your eyes or change your breathing, will be punished.” He gestured to an odd-looking item that looked like half a large barrel, rounded side up, in the center of the room. Empty manacles settled at the base of the curve. “But those of you who remain like the statues you are shall be generously rewarded.”

He moved out of Marian’s eyesight for a moment, and she became aware of a low murmur of male voices. She dared not turn her head to look to the other end of the chamber, but she knew that Will was there, along with John’s other companions. Instead, she remained unable to think of little more than the pressure at her breast and the hand at her mound.

Moments later, the prince came back into view, and he was carrying something. When he spread his hands, standing in front of her, she saw that it was a heavy necklet of square gold links, such as a man might wear. In the center of the five largest links garnets the size of walnuts had been inset. He lifted the necklet and placed it around her shoulders, over her loose hair, and settled the garnets just below her throat. Heavy and cold, the jewels seemed to imprint themselves into her bare shoulders and chest.

“Such will be your reward if you are the last to move,” he said, his hands lingering on her hair. “I considered topazes, but the garnets look magnificent with your hair.” He leaned closer, brushing his lips over hers. “I vow, I cannot decide if I wish for you to win, or to lose, Lady Marian.”

Then John turned away to adorn the other ladies in a similar manner, with different jewels in girdles, necklets, or bracelets. The maidservants received much smaller baubles in the form of slender silver chains.

“And now . . . let the contest begin,” John said, spreading his hands wide and gesturing for his male companions to join him.

During this time, Marian had gone from flushed hot to bitterly cold and fairly trembling, from horrified to numb. She could hardly believe that she was to stand thus . . . to have such intimate liberties taken with her body. And that she could not move or find relief from the position! Already her limbs ached.

But as John shifted about the room, readying for the contest, the heat of Glynna’s mouth burned into her breast, and the weight of her fingers, positioned over her quim, began to feel less like an invasion . . . and more titillating. Her shield of numbness faltered, and she became aware of the pressure of gentle finger pads against her quim lips . . . and the weight of a mouth, of lips parted wide over her nipple.

Yet Marian refused to allow herself to think about where her own fingers had been placed, and instead stared unseeingly across the room at a tapestry on the wall. If she ignored the sensation at her nipple, the pressure within her quim . . . the heat and dampness of the nether lips of this woman next to her . . . she could bear it.

The thought occurred to her that she might move, might pull away, and end her part in the contest, removing the other woman’s hands from her body . . . but she feared John’s punishment even more. This . . . was awkward, but not painful nor even as humiliating as the other nights.

The men had moved from the far end of the chamber and now came into view. Marian kept her gaze focused straight ahead, fully aware of the trickle of saliva that had begun to run down her breast and torso from Glynna’s open mouth. It tickled, making her want to move and brush away the itch. She drew in a deep breath, staring into nothingness, willing the little discomfort to go away.

What were the men going to do? Try to make them move?

She was already having a hard enough time remaining still. . . . If they—

Suddenly, Glynna’s tongue flickered over her nipple. Marian snatched in her breath sharply and barely kept herself from jolting.

John turned to look closely at her, and she stared straight ahead. “Do you surrender so soon?” he asked, moving so that he came into her line of vision. “I had thought you more stubborn than that, Lady Marian.”

She didn’t move, didn’t allow her eyes to focus on him. Instead, she stared straight through him, his hair and handsome face nothing more than a dark blur.

Glynna’s tongue darted around her nipple again, secret and sure behind her open mouth. Marian caught her breath and nearly moved again as little frissons of sensation blasted through her.
Nay
. . . oh, this was
not
. . .

John moved very close, and she could barely breathe, knowing that if she moved, he would notice even the slightest twitch.

“You may of course move your eyes, Lady Marian,” he said, adjusting her hair once more. “And look about the chamber at your competition.”

She closed them, struggling to maintain her composure, measuring her breathing.

“You may move your eyes, but you must keep them open, my dear, or the others will cry foul,” John said in a deep voice near her ear.

Marian had no choice but to raise her lids to see that he was watching her with satisfaction. Then a faint sound from behind him drew his attention, blessedly, away. Marian nearly relaxed, almost biting her lip—which would have ended the contest—when she saw that Sir Louis Krench was watching her closely.

He licked his thin lips and she recognized the glint in his eyes. “Come now, my lady. Would you not rather a randy cock betwixt your legs than a whore’s fingers?” He would have moved up into her face, she believed, had a large dark figure not edged between them.

“I rather doubt she would find your cock all that randy,” Will said in an obvious jest. His voice held a tone of good humor that Marian had never heard before. “ ’ Tis more than a bit overused.”

“Step back, sirrah,” Louis replied in the same bantering tone. “For I doubt you can even find your cock, considering the amount of times you’ve used it.”

Will laughed, a short hard bark, as if he had to force it. “ ’ Tis not the measure of frequency but the manner in which it is wielded that concerns me. And the ladies.”