time.
But he no longer wished to wait. The soft cry she’d made when Nottingham slammed himself into her could easily be imagined as one of pained passion-one of John’s specialties. Her wild struggles against the large, fully clothed man who strained over her John found arousing and delightful. Who did not want a woman who knew better than to lie there like a dead fish? He had a wife who did that. She could have been a statue made from ice-white porcelain for all she responded to his caresses. The most beautiful of women, true, with long, perfect golden ringlets of her own. . but Isobell was stone in comparison with Marian’s lush heat.
And yet Marian was, at the moment, unavailable to him.
John didn’t like to admit it, even to himself, but he knew better than to breach his agreement, such as it were, with Nottingham. The man knew too much about him, too many secrets, too much of his cunning plans to ally with Philip Augustus of France and to split Richard’s kingdom between them. Aye, ’twas true that Nottingham was nearly as deep into the plot as John himself, collecting funds and making allies here at Ludlow, even strategizing with him in between bouts of pleasure taking.
But most important, John knew that without William de Wendeval his plans to displace Richard would never be realized. For no traveler through the forest, from any direction to Ludlow, could reach the keep without the Sheriff of Nottinghamshire knowing who he was and from whence he came.
Thus John received no surprises, no messages that he did not wish to receive-for those messengers, oddly enough, often did not make it to the keep. Or if they did, it was after a delay. . and mayhap even to their physical detriment.
The outlaws were blamed, of course, but it was Nottingham and his control over the area that allowed for that selection. Aye, Robin of the Hood thought that he had full reign over the forest, but some of that freedom was at the pleasure of the sheriff. For if there were no outlaws, they could not be blamed for the ransoming or capturing of the messengers John wished to avoid or otherwise prepare for.
John’s real complaint over Robin Hood was that he stole his money, and those funds collected for taxes, not that he roamed the wood and frightened the travelers. The vassals would pay their fines whether they were robbed or not. John cared little for their hardship.
Thus he did not intend to offend the loyalty of Nottingham, who played such a vital role in this plot. For now, John had no choice but to make his way with care.
And Nottingham had never made any request of him before this. He had a personal grudge against the woman, and John could understand his need to put her in her place.
Nor was he the sort of man to look away, or to accept John’s reasons-whatever ones he might manufacture-for the breach of the agreement. De Wendeval was that rare breed of man who could be convinced to change his loyalty, yet maintain a strong sense of honor to that misplaced loyalty. And he expected it in return.
Thus, ’twas most unfortunate, but John could not afford to insult Nottingham, especially over a woman.
Even a woman such as Marian.
Yet. . John could not concentrate on the conversation he meant to have with Lord Tenselton, who sat to his left, when he was aware that the man to his right had had the delights he himself so lusted after. And had not even partaken of them as deeply or devoutly as John would.
Thus, during the meal, while Nottingham ate sparingly and spoke even less, the Angevin’s mind wormed about, seeking a way to have what he wanted. . but without offending the valuable, and dangerous, man next to him.
Aye, the man’s loyalty was worth more than the riding of a woman, but John intended to find a way to have both.
“She does not seem the worse for her experience this Nones,” John commented to Will idly. His eyes fastened on the lady in question, who seemed to be finding that brickhead Lord Burle quite fascinating.
Nottingham drank from his goblet, then settled it precisely on the trestle in front of them. “To the contrary,” he replied. “The lady wishes nothing more than to retire to her chamber after the meal. She claims, to anyone who will listen, of an ache in the head.” He gave a knowing rumble of laughter and drank again.
John chuckled along with him, suddenly full of good humor. His tactic had become clear, and he cast a sharp eye on the amount of wine the man next to him was drinking, with the intent of increasing it generously. “An ache in the head? I should have expected one elsewhere.”
Nottingham settled his goblet once again. “Aye, and mayhap elsewhere as well. I thought to give her a chance to contemplate her. . options. . this night. Mayhap after taking her ease, she will be more interested in the lessoning I mean to give her.”
Unfortunately for her, John had no intent of leaving that lovely piece to wallow in her chamber alone this evening. Smiling, he gulped largely from his own wine. His mother might be a bullheaded manipulator who loved her elder son best, but she was immeasurably generous with the excellent wines from her lands. And in addition to that, she’d bestowed upon her youngest son her own crafty mind. Which he had put to good use in planning strategies for overthrowing his brother. . and for luring gentlewomen into his bed.
“Indeed. Then I must presume your visit to the Court of Pleasure this evening will be solitary.”
John smiled to himself, as he did every time he uttered the phrase of his own making. Court of Pleasure. A more earthy, hedonistic version of his mother’s famed Court of Love.
“Aye, that it will,” Nottingham replied.
John frowned behind his goblet. He’d expected the other man to seize an excuse to decline the invitation. It hadn’t escaped his notice that Nottingham had seemed less than enamored of the pleasure taking as of late. Oh, he participated. . or, more accurately, most often watched and occasionally partook from a willing maidservant. . but more likely than not, he merely provided the audience for John’s activities.
Then John’s eyes narrowed in speculation. Mayhap this would work out best after all. If Nottingham arrived before Marian and was otherwise occupied-or incapacitated-when the lady arrived. . it would be incumbent upon the host to make her feel welcome.
He gestured for the page behind them to refill their goblets.
John was, if naught else, a most accommodating host.
“Come in, come in, my lady.”
Marian hesitated on the threshold. She did not wish to take that step over, into the chamber, into the den of iniquity. John’s voice sounded jovial, but there was an underlying command beneath it.
Her palms damp but her head held high, she stepped into the room and the door closed behind her.
Already this was very different from last night’s experience.
Will had escorted her back to her chamber after the evening meal and bidden her good evening. She’d gone eagerly inside, fully aware that he’d said nary a word to her but “Let us go” when he approached her in the great hall, and “Good evening” when he left as soon as she was inside the chamber.
Nor had he looked at her, other than a quick impersonal glance, during the few moments they were together. He simply walked with long strides next to her, his solid arm angled out for her fingertips to curl around, his thigh brushing occasionally against her gown. This all made her exceedingly aware of his presence, his size, his strength. . and what had occurred in her chamber earlier this day.
When they reached her accommodations, Ethelberga had been there, and she’d helped her mistress disrobe and prepare for bed-a circumstance Marian had readily welcomed. Despite the fact that she had left the hall before the evening’s entertainment ended, and the sun still sat above the horizon, she was glad to be in the solitude-and relative safety-of her chamber.
But no more than two candle marks later, when the sun had barely set and the bailey below had not yet begun to quiet for the night, a solid pounding came at her door. Marian’s heart leapt into her throat and she considered ignoring the knocking. Ethelberga had been dismissed and had gone belowstairs to visit with some of the other maidservants-and mayhap a handsome groom or two-and there was no one but Marian to answer the determined knock.
It could be Will. Likely it was. Her stomach gave another flutter and she resisted the urge to look toward the horse-eye peephole.
The knocking did not cease, and she had no choice but to respond. But when she opened the door, she found it was not Will, as she’d expected. And, in truth, half anticipated.
