“I am not hurt, only startled and a bit frightened,” she replied, realizing she was shaking-yet still clutching the arrow she’d been using as a weapon. It had been a very near thing, and the revelation that those men could easily have taken her off into the deep woods, and . . . well, it did not bear thinking about.
“What were you doing so far from the hunting party?” Robin chided, looking up at her from the ground. He’d taken the reins of her horse and looped them into his hand. His eyes danced brightly and his sensual mouth curved in a mischievous smile.
Marian had her breathing under control now, and saw that Robin’s men had melted back into the forest, taking the wounded bandits with them. “The boar was coming, and we ran to get out of its way. I didn’t realize how far I’d gone.”
That was a bald lie, for Marian was honest enough with herself to admit that she’d allowed her horse to run far and long, away from the hunters, in hopes of this very thing happening: that Robin would find her. And from the expression on his face, he suspected the same.
Of course, she did not expect that she would have been set upon by a different group of outlaws in the same forest, as odd as that might be. If there hadn’t been some very real arrows shot, and some definite cries of pain and the smell of blood, Marian might even have suspected that Robin had arranged the episode so that he would have the chance to appear to rescue her.
But she didn’t care. She’d wanted to see him, wanted not only to talk with him about how she might be able to help him evade the sheriff . . . but also to kiss him again.
“You could have been hurt, or worse,” Robin said. This time, there was a note of seriousness in his voice. Before she could respond, he pulled her down from the saddle. “There are outlaws that roam these woods,” he added, his voice low in her ear as she half fell against him.
“How was I to know that there was another group of bandits besides your own merry men?” she replied tartly, pulling away to stand on her own. He stood very close and was looking down at her with a particular light in his eyes.
“My merry men, as you call them, are not so desperate as those men who accosted you this day,” he said, again being serious. “These were men who have nothing to lose, and may even go so far as to harm a noblewoman in the stead of ransoming her. They have lost their homes and the lands they’ve farmed for Ludlow for generations. They hate the prince and his agent, the sheriff . . . and all the gentry equally.”
Now he closed his fingers around her hand and tugged her away from the small clearing created by the altercation. The horse followed docilely behind Robin, who still held on to the reins.
“They’ve lost their homes? Because of the king’s taxes, and the sheriff?” Marian knew that Robin spoke the truth and he was not exaggerating the role he’d played in saving her. There had been an empty, feral light in the eyes of the man who had first grabbed her, as if he, indeed, did not have anything to lose.
“The sheriff has collected the taxes, aye, of course, and that has left many of the people of this shire homeless and without position. Some of them are more desperate than others, for they also have resorted to stealing or murder for gain.”
“You and your men,” she asked, looking up at him, “do you murder?”
“Nay, Marian, what do you take me for?” Robin asked. “I may be an outlaw, a landless lord, but I still have my honor. That I shall never lose. And when Richard returns, all will be set to right.” He paused, but did not release her hand as he looped the horse’s reins tightly around a sapling. “And that which I st-borrow from the wealthy. What I take is no more than what John takes off the top of the king’s coffers for his own trunks-none of which is accounted for to Richard. I keep only that which I need to live upon-and in the wood, ’tis very little-and the rest is shared among the villagers, Marian. I am an outlaw, but I steal to live.”
She believed him, believed that while he enjoyed the adventure and the daring, he also meant his gains to help others.
“Where are we going?” she asked as he began pushing through the brush and she realized just how far they’d gone into the wood.
He looked back down at her, his good humor showing once more. “The sheriff will soon be on your trail-for your scream echoed through the wood and likely woke the bats and owls from their sound sleep. ’Twas only good fortune that my men and I were near enough to arrive first.”
“Good fortune, or sly planning?” Marian asked, ducking under a low-hanging branch. She did not care that sticks and leaves clung to her sagging braids, or that the train of her riding gown-which was extra long in order to create a fashionable image while spread over the rump of her horse-dragged through the dirt. She was with Robin. Her heart pounded in anticipation and her lips curved in a teasing smile as she glanced up at him.
“Most definitely sly planning,” he confessed with a grin. “Did you not know I wished to see you again?”
“I could not have guessed it, knowing that you have spread your favors among the other ladies. Joanna could not have been prouder if the green ribbon you gave her had come from the king himself.” She realized she was still carrying her arrow, which was tipped with blood from the hands of her attacker, and she paused to wipe it clean on a mossy tree.
Robin snorted in a derisive fashion. “The king would no sooner gift a lady with his favor than I would grant mine to the Sheriff of Nottinghamshire.”
Marian had heard tales of King Richard’s disinterest in women-an anomaly, considering the lusty blood from both father and mother that flowed in his veins. Whether he suffered from a different affliction, and preferred men-as some believed-or whether he was merely too busy making war to care about the fair sex, no one was certain. At any rate, he had recently espoused Princess Berengaria of Navarre in a hasty wedding, and by all accounts had consummated the marriage.
Slipping the clean arrow back into her quiver, Marian chided, “But you were sneaking through the halls of Ludlow Keep! Robin, how foolish of you.”
At that moment, he stopped and spun her sharply about. The quiver slipped to the edge of her shoulder. Marian felt the solid trunk of a tree behind her, and the rough bark under her hands, pressing into the back of her head as he crowded close to her.
“I wanted to see you, Marian,” he said. “I was well aware of my risk.” He gripped her arm as his other hand moved toward her head, and she felt her sagging hair loosen even further. “I hoped to see you last eve, to ensure that you returned to the keep safely.”
“You know I was safe with the sheriff. With Will.” There . . . she’d said it-reminded him that they both knew the sheriff from their childhoods.
Yet he avoided acknowledgment of that fact. “Being with the sheriff does not mean that you are safe,” Robin said, leaning closer to her as he moved his hand from her hair. His leg slid between hers, his knee bowing into the heavy folds of her gown as his hands slid up and along her shoulders. “He is greatly feared, and with good reason. Tell me, now: what is between you two? I saw him leaving your chamber last night.”
Marian would have drawn herself up in indignation and surprise upon learning that he had spied on her, but he was pressing her so close against the tree, lining his body up against hers, that she had nowhere to go.
She found it difficult to keep her mind clear and her thoughts focused when he did so, for, in truth, Marian was feeling more than a mild response to his hard body. If only ’twere Robin who had claimed her in the hall last night.
But she captured her wild thoughts and said, “You saw the sheriff leave my chamber?”
“I cannot stand to imagine you with him, Marian. He is so cold, so angry and cruel. Tell me he hasn’t hurt you.”
“He has caused me no injury,” she replied, though the memories of the carnality in John’s chambers brought a warm flush to her cheeks, and a renewed awareness to the pit of her belly. “He seeks to protect me from John’s attentions, ’tis all.”
Robin’s face darkened and his sensual lips twisted. “Is that the tale he has told you? He must speak a lie for a woman to spread her legs for him?” His breath was warm, but not unpleasantly so, on her face.
“I have not spread my legs for him,” she said, anger replacing the languor he’d begun to coax from her. She’d expected a kiss, not an insult, and she struggled to push him away.
But Robin had strong hands, and the pressure of his body kept her imprisoned against the tree. He captured her arms, pulling her hands away from where they pushed against his chest. “Forgive me, Marian,” he said. “I should not have said such a thing. ’Tis true that I am jealous, knowing that you can be with him-or anyone, even that blockhead Burle-while I must lurk in the wood like a criminal.”
She looked up at him. “And if you are jealous of Will, who simply left my chamber after ensuring there was no one hiding within,” she said tartly, wondering why she chose to defend the sheriff rather than ask Robin for help, “all the while you confess your affections for me . . . how should I feel, knowing that you spend your time drawing other ladies into the shadows to kiss them?”
He smiled down at her, his disgruntled expression disappearing. “Marian, is it possible that you are jealous? My heart be still, I can only hope that it is so.”
“Not jealous so much as befuddled by your foolishness in moving about the keep. What if you were caught? The sheriff-Will-could come upon you at any time.”
“Have no fear. I shall not be caught.” His lips came closer as his fingers curled around her upper arms. “I cannot resist being near you,” he murmured as his mouth fitted over hers.
Marian closed her eyes, lifting her face to meet him. His lips opened wide to devour hers, and his tongue was sleek and strong in her mouth, delving deeply as his hands slid to cover her breasts. Her nipples reacted to his touch, tightening beneath the pressure of his palms, and Marian realized that whatever she’d done to relieve her tension this morning had not fully tamped away her body’s need. Or else . . . it had merely whetted her appetite for something more. It was as if she had awakened to pleasure.
“Why do you not stay with me?” Robin asked, pulling away enough to take in a breath and speak. “You will be safe here in Sherwood, and I vow,” he said, pressing the bulge of his cock into her belly, “you will not regret it.”
“Stay with an outlaw?” she asked, angling her mouth away even as the rest of her body moved closer. “But, Robin, I cannot.”
“But there are so many delightful things about being with an outlaw,” he murmured, drawing her hands away from his chest to above her head, pressing the backs of them against the rough bark of the tree. “The woods are filled with surprises.” Leaning against her, hip to hip, leg merged with leg, he was smiling as he bent to kiss her again.
“But, Robin, that is what I wished to speak with you about,” she began as she became engulfed in the kiss.
He transferred one hand to his other grip, leaving one set of his fingers free to slip down over the curve of her throat and to cup her breast while her wrists were captured above her head. Then his hand left her breast and reached down to lift the weight of her gown, crumpling it in an awkward wad between them. She felt the fresh air through her light woolen hose and the brush of his strong leg between hers.
He pressed his thigh up into her quim and she felt something near her wrist, twisting around it. . . .
“Robin, what are you about?” she asked, pulling her face away.
“The sheriff is coming,” he murmured, slipping his fingers up beneath her gown and chemise, up until he cupped the warmth between her legs. “And I must go, but I shall leave you with something that Joanna of Wardhamshire cannot claim.”
“Robin,” she hissed, and then she heard it-the thrashing through the brush in the distance. Coming closer . . . and yet Robin’s palm pressed down onto her mons as if he had all the time he needed.