The outraged roars from Bruse and the responding threats from the band of thieves faded as Robin kicked his horse into a gallop, crashing through the brush with his captive. Branches slashed across her face and caught at her veil, pulling it half off, as they dashed through the forest.
“Robin! What are you doing? Are you mad? It is you, isn’t it?” Marian hardly knew what to think. The last she had heard from the young man who’d fostered at her childhood home, Mead’s Vale, was that he’d gone on Crusade with the newly coronated King Richard.
“Aye, indeed, Lady Marian,” he said, stressing her title a bit. “I thought it would be a fitting welcome to you as you journeyed to that blackhearted cocklicker’s court.”
“Robin,” she gasped, all the air jolted from her lungs as they galloped through the woods. “What are you talking about?”
Suddenly, he wheeled the horse into a small clearing and slid down from the saddle. Looking up at her, he gave her the slow, easy grin she remembered from their youth, and rested his hands at her hips as though to help her down. But he didn’t; instead, he curled his fingers firmly into her flesh and then slid all along the sides, from thigh to knee. Little bumps rose on her skin, tingling at his intimate touch.
“And little Marian is all grown up now, into a beautiful, rich lady. I am honored that you should remember me after all these years.” His eyes sparkled with naughtiness, and the next thing she knew, he pulled her down from the saddle, sliding her body all along his. All along his, so that she felt every bump and crease of the mail hauberk he wore. And something that most certainly felt like the beginning lift of a cock. “You’ve grown quite beautiful.”
“Robin,” she said, truly happy to see him. She’d always favored him, always found him irresistible. With his easy personality, bright eyes, and handsome face, it would have been difficult to feel otherwise. “What are you about?” she asked again, aware of his thighs pressed against hers, her slippers captured between his heavy boots. And, most definitely, the growing bulge of his cock. Her hand didn’t have anywhere to go but flat against his chest. “Are you truly an outlaw?”
“An outlaw of great repute,” he said, his lips curling. “Have you not heard of Robin Hood and his band of men who make merry with the king’s coin? I thought for certain tales of our waywardness had reached the court’s ears by now. Alas, mayhap I shall try harder, take more risks. . be more daring!”
His face swooped toward hers, covering her mouth with his for the second time in a matter of minutes. Before she could react, his tongue slid into her mouth, licking in and around and tangling with her own.
Marian allowed the sleek kiss this time, even kissed him back for a moment, surprised at how much she enjoyed it. As much as she might have admired him as a young boy, she never imagined that actually kissing him would be this exciting. Kisses and coupling with her husband had been little more than duty, and, thankfully, of short duration-not only in each time he’d come to her bed, but also in the number of years in which they’d occurred. She’d been married for only three summers before Harold died of a fall during a boar hunt.
Robin’s arms tightened around her waist and his tongue thrust deep as she came flush against his body. His lips were soft, but there were other areas of his body that were hard and insistent, drawing another unfamiliar response from Marian. She felt a heightened awareness, and a low, twisting sort of tickle deep in her belly.
After a moment, he pulled back a bit, kissing her and smiling into her mouth as she opened her eyes. “Not so bad, was it, now, Lady Marian?” he said lightly. “Your veil is slipping too, sweetling,” he added, giving it a good tug off the back of her head.
“Robin,” she said, pulling the veil back up to cover her braided hair and trying to act as though she kissed men in the forest all the time, “tell me what has come of you. Why are you here, in the woods, instead of at Locksley Keep?”
Now the humor slid from his face to be replaced by an irritable expression. “ ’Twas all a mistake, and now here I am, running for my life. I never made it to the Holy Lands with the king,” he confessed. “We were set upon by bandits when we put ashore in Greece, and I took an arrow to the thigh. Fever set in and I could not travel, though I was not deadly. The king wanted to make haste, and continued on. And I had no choice but to return to England. And to Locksley. . I thought.”
“You thought?”
He shrugged, stepping back, and she saw that though he stood only a hand or so taller than she, his shoulders had broadened quite a bit from the last time she’d seen him. He’d been fourteen, and she had been only twelve. His hair had darkened with maturity to brown-streaked honey, and he wore it cut short across his forehead and long over his ears. “When I returned, it was to find Locksley having been entailed to the king-through the prince, of course-on the claim of treason.”
“Treason!”
“It’s a lie, of course, Marian. Just another way for John Lackland to seize as much control as he can whilst his brother is fighting the infidels in Jerusalem. He has raised taxes and raised them more, and he skims more than his share off the top.”
Marian had heard about Prince John’s propensity for sly coin. . among other things. After the overthrow of the unpopular William Longchamp, King Richard had allowed his brother, John, to act as regent of England while he was out of the country.
Eleanor had also left England to go on Crusade with Richard, but word had reached her that John was conspiring with King Philip Augustus of France. John had been old King Henry’s favorite son, but that hadn’t stopped him from plotting against his father. Eleanor did not doubt for a minute that he was now conspiring against his older brother, Richard. Even at the cost of the family lands in Normandy-what Philip would certainly require as payment for his complicity-it would be worth it to John to get permanent control of England. Yet, the queen must first attend to business in her native Aquitaine. The delay would enable Marian to act as her own secret eyes and ears, and to report back to her about any possibility that John was communicating with Philip.
“But it is the king who raises the taxes, to pay for his war,” she reminded Robin, trying to keep the bitterness from her voice. She had no liking for the Crusade. It had taken many of the young men away from England, including her own brother, Walter. He hadn’t returned from the Holy Land, for he’d been buried there.
“And then John raises them that much higher, so as to line his own pockets.”
“But how did you come to be an outlaw? How could they take Locksley from you while you were away fighting at the king’s side?”
Robin looked distinctly uncomfortable. “As I said, ’twas a mistake. I returned to find Locksley closed to me, and then I went hunting in the woods-my woods-for a meal. Then I was arrested for poaching from the king’s forest.”
Poaching from the king was indeed a serious offense-punishable by hanging, gouging of the eyes, or cutting off of the hands. “But surely once the mistake was found, you were released. Even the cruel Sheriff of Nottinghamshire could not keep an innocent man of the king’s in prison.”
Robin laughed. “Released? Nay, Marian, I made my own escape from the sheriff.”
At that moment, a deep voice interrupted their conversation. “Did you indeed?”
Marian whirled to see a powerful black horse standing at the edge of the clearing. Atop it sat an equally powerful-looking man, dressed in equally dark clothing, holding a sword at his side. She stepped back automatically, but he inclined his head regally to her.
“Lady Marian.” He urged his horse into the grassy clearing.
Robin released her, fairly shoving her away so that she stumbled with the force as he moved quickly away from her, gathering up his reins. “Ah, so to speak of the devil himself,” he said, launching into his saddle. “Sheriff.” He nodded. “I trust you’ll see my lady to the keep.”
These last words floated back behind him as he bolted off into the wood, leaving Marian standing in the center of the grass, suddenly alone, and feeling more than a bit disheveled.
Marian turned to look up at the man who remained astride his mount, edging his horse toward her, but not, thankfully, chasing after Robin. She was grateful for his restraint, for he would have had to fairly run over her to go after the bandit.
The sheriff sheathed his sword, but still held the reins in one gloved hand. The hooves on the majestic animal were larger than the trencher plates at a court dinner, and he was pure coal black from hoof to mane to wild, flaring nose.
The man himself had dark hair that fell in thick curls onto his forehead and brushed the sides of his neck,
