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.
“Nay, sweeting,” he said, laughing into her mouth as his fingers slid inside her. “Ah, you are ready for me, aren’t you?” he said, pushing his fingers up inside her slick opening.
Marian gasped, catching her breath as his thumb found the hard little nub that pulsed anew, teasing it back and forth, slowly. . The now-familiar tingle gathered there in the recess of her belly, and her nipples knotted, thrusting against the soft linen of her chemise. He rubbed and flickered against her, his fingers moving deep inside, up and hard, as if he were fucking her, as he breathed softly into her neck.
“Ah, yes,” he whispered, “come along, sweeting, come along.”
Caught by the pleasure, lulled by his voice, she ground her head back against the tree, her hair catching on the rough bark, her hands looped above helplessly to the tree by some trick of Robin’s.
Robin leaned into her, kissing her neck, the pads of his fingers spreading up into the folds of her quim, jolting her hard little pearl. The crashing in the bushes became louder as her pleasure built, and Marian bit her lip as the needy ache tightened and she felt her body gather up as it did, ready to slip over.
“Hurry, my sweet, hurry,” Robin coaxed, moving his fingers faster and deeper, using the pad of his finger to tickle her as he drove inside.
The bark pushed into her skull and her uneasy hips, her eyes closed and mouth parted as she gasped in the air, wanting. . knowing. . she heard the crash in the bush. . the sound of her name. . felt the frantic jiggling of Robin’s fingers, and suddenly it all exploded into a burst of pleasure and noise and great, deep, gasping breaths.
She may have cried out; she definitely heard Will shout, “Locksley!” and was aware of the sudden wuft of her layers of clothing falling back into place. There were vague sounds that melded with her world of pleasure: a solid thud, the rustling of brush, a faint shaking of the tree as if someone climbed or danced past it. The erotic
