She hurried up the stairs, and at the top of them, she came out into the darkened great hall. A few low rumbling snores met her ears, and she recognized several shapes of men slumped over the tables, well asleep. But no tall, broad-shouldered sheriff.
Disappointed, she began to walk into the hall when a shadow detached itself from the wall at the head of the stairs. “Lady Marian.”
She didn’t recognize the voice and reared back a bit, her heart pounding unpleasantly. Lifting her torch toward him, she demanded, “Who is it?”
The man stepped into her torchlight and she recognized one of Will’s men-at-arms.
“Nottingham directed me to escort you safely to your chamber,” he said with a little bow.
Marian’s mouth tightened. So he had truly run away, and left one of his own men to see to her.
What she did not know was whether ’twas cowardice or disgust that had the Sheriff of Nottinghamshire shirking his duty.
Will watched from deep in the shadows as Merle escorted Marian from the hall.
To his overwhelming relief, she did not appear to be overset. There were no tear streaks on her cheeks, and although she’d started when Merle appeared in front of her, there was no terror on her face. He’d not torn at her clothing, nor pulled her hair down.
Not that he could recall anything but her taste and softness, and his own great need, once he pulled Marian against him. A whirl of pleasure and comfort, and, damn him, hope. A moment of hope.
By the saints, his fingers still shook. His lips still throbbed from their assault on her lush pink ones. His cock felt as though it were ready to explode, as if it were as hot as the smith’s iron.
Yet a great emptiness left him cold and brittle. A familiar feeling, but more acute this night.
If he’d not come to his senses, he’d have rutted her against the wall right there. Like a whore-the whore he’d watched her-nay, forced her-to become. But this time it would have been without the bloody, lickspittle prince watching over them.
Will brought a shaking hand over his face. Was he going mad?
He’d protected her as well as he could, and damn him if he was actually considering ways to keep John from her. Forceful ways.
Treasonous ways.
Where was Richard? He’d heard naught from the king for three moons, after having regular missives and directives. Watch you over my brother. Do what you must to gain his trust. Become his closest ally. What you do, you do in loyalty to Us, and We will know this.
But for so long there’d been naught from the king. Had he forgotten his loyal man? Left him to live a life where all thought the worst of him, where he’d destroyed any chance of having the woman he loved?
Will swallowed hard, refusing to taste the bile that still churned in his belly. There was naught left to erupt but the worst of it, the acidic bitters that stung throat and mouth.
He’d believed there’d never be anything as glorious as having her, at last. And then, in all her lush, gold-brushed beauty, arched over the barrel, he could no longer find a way to avoid it.
Or so he told himself.
If he had not done so, John would have. And Ralf.
Or so he told himself.
’Twas better that he violated her than John. Or the others.
Was it not?
Or had he merely lied to himself about that too?
I don’t wish any of this-you or the prince or even to be here at Ludlow. Are you mad? I wish for none of this!
Those words burned into his brain, haunted his dreams even as he took and coaxed from her in the murkiness of sleep, in the deepest part of the night, in the depths of his mind. Those words wakened him in the blackness, leaving him dank with sweat and ripe with shame.
Will. Please.
He swallowed, hearing the low scratch of his throat convulsing, and scrubbed a hand over his face. When he removed it, he noticed quite by accident a lithe shadow moving across the nearly empty hall.
The slender shadow was a woman, and she appeared to be following a taller, more solid figure. A furtive one. If Will had not recognized the cloak she wore, or found the figure familiar in its shape and movement, he may not have investigated. But he knew who it was, and he eased from the shadows.
This caused her to stop in her tracks, rearing back at first in fear. But then she must have identified him, for she eased her stance. “Nottingham,” said Lady Alys. “Is there something I can do for you?”
He glanced into the darkness where Alys’s presumed guide had melted into the shadows. He suspected he knew who it was. “Back out to the village again, to visit the sick?” he asked.
Her eyelids flickered. “Aye.”
He noticed she carried a sack that bulged awkwardly. Presumably, she carried either her medicines or her personal belongings. “Did I not offer you escort-nay, did I not insist that I provide you with a man to ensure your safety if you were thus called again?”
“Aye, my lord, but I have my own escort. I’ll come to no harm this night.” Again, her eyes flickered toward the shadows.
He recognized this gesture as her nervous sense of urgency, but he was not quite ready to allow her to pass. Not until he had his own concerns allayed. In an effort to keep his next words indistinguishable to anyone but Alys, he moved closer, but took care not to block the light from an overhead sconce. He wanted a clear view of her face.
“You are a healer,” he said, looking at her with unrelenting eyes. “Will the tainted meat cause harm to anyone?”
At once he saw that she understood what he knew, and what worried him. “Nay, my lord,” she said, reaching to close her fingers briefly onto his wrist. “I give you my word. No real ill will come of the tainted meat. Aye, some discomfort, but that is the most of it. I swear it.” She lifted a silver filigree crucifix from under her neckline, clasping her fingers about it in oath.
He searched her eyes, and saw them completely bereft of guile . . . and filled with something like understanding. Will stepped back, hooding his gaze from her knowing one, and nodded. “Aye, then, Lady Alys. You have put my fears to rest. Now, may I escort you through the bailey, at the least.”
His words were not a request but a command. And when she acquiesced, he had a clearer glimpse of her guide, who’d thus far remained in the shadows. But as they walked through the hall and out into the bailey, the other man passed beneath a torch such that Will was able to see his face.
He recognized him at once: Allan-a-Dale.
A companion of Locksley.
CHAPTER 15
“Is he badly hurt?” Alys asked as the man led her through the darkness.
She didn’t know his name. She’d awakened to her maid’s gentle shaking, and gone out to see the man, who’d said only, “We need your assistance, lady healer. Will you come?”
She’d risen hastily. She knew him to be Robin Hood’s companion, for she’d seen him during her short captivity in the tree hideaway. Some of her salves and herbs were already in the bag, but she shoved more in, along with a sharp knife and some clean linen cloth. Without knowing the nature of the problem they had called her to help with, she knew she must be as prepared as she could.
Outside the keep, her guide, who at last told her his name was Allan, walked quickly. Besides offering his name, he spoke not at all, and expected her to keep pace with him. She wasn’t certain whether it was because he did not care that her legs were shorter or because he was in a great hurry to return, but she had trouble doing so.
“Did you fetch me for Robin?” she asked finally.