they might be bringing that Robin might find worth relieving them of.
Of course, Robin already had a variety of sources, including one that was very close to the prince.
And Nottingham and Marian had disappeared from the hall.
Together.
His lips pursed thoughtfully, Robin made his decision, and pulling the hood of his dark green cloak up and over his head, he eased from the shadows.
Nottingham had disrupted Robin’s playtime this afternoon. Now ’twas time for his own entertainment to be aborted.
“Where are you taking me?” Marian demanded, trying to drag her arm away from Will’s grip.
His face appeared even more dark and forbidding than before. They’d come to a narrow flight of steps and he stopped at its base. “Your presence is requested by His Highness,” he said in a low, tight voice. “In his private solar.”
Marian’s belly fell to her knees. Oh God, already? “The prince?” Then she drew in a deep breath and straightened. It would do no good to show fear. Especially to one as formidable as the man before her.
Who was taking her to the prince.
“Nay, Will.” Her voice came out in a gust of breath. “Not tonight. Please.” She reached for him, her fingers tight.
Will looked down at her, standing so that his head blocked the merry flames of the sconce behind him. The details of his face were thus obscured by shadow, but she saw his jaw move, and his lips tighten into a line so thin it was probably white. “You must make your choice, Marian, for he will not be put off.” His voice was not so harsh as it had been in the hall.
“Choice?” she responded, tamping back the wail that threatened to erupt. By the holy cross, she was Lady Marian of Morlaix, and she would swallow her weakness. Even though she’d fairly begged a moment earlier.
By her own example, Eleanor of Aquitaine had instilled in Marian the responsibility of duty and honor. And if one did not have honor, one had nothing.
“I have no choice, according to you,” she said. “The prince wishes my presence and you are to deliver me to him.” Now it was her turn to clamp her lips tightly, for fear that he might see them tremble.
In truth, what was the worst that could happen? Prince John might wish to tup her, and, well, she was no virginal maid. She’d endured Harold’s attentions as his wife. ’T could be no worse under. . dear God, under. . the prince.
“Your choice is to submit either to the prince. . or to me.”
Marian looked up at him, feeling her jaw sag slightly. It’s either him or me. . and I won’t draw blood.
Now his rushed words made sense to her, words that she’d barely heard in the blast of anger and mortification that he should have used her the way he did in the hall.
Or leave bruises.
She felt the waves of tension rolling off him as if they were heat from a fireplace.
“I’ve already made my claim,” he said. The words came out sharp and hard. “But if you prefer the prince-”
“No,” she said. “No, Will.” She drew in a deep breath. She didn’t really know this man any more than she knew the prince, and if the rumors were correct, he was as brutal as the Angevin. But his stark promise seemed sincere. I won’t draw blood. Or leave bruises. “I do not prefer the prince.” She snatched in her breath and looked around, afraid that her words might have been overheard.
“Then you have made your choice,” he said after a moment frozen in silence.
“Make no mistake,” she said, stepping back from him. “I prefer to make no choice at all.”
“You haven’t that freedom, Marian,” he said. “Make no mistake: if you aren’t with me, you will be with John. He accepts nay from no one. Nor is he swayed from his desires. You will attend him tonight, as my guest.”
Marian looked up at him, trying to read his face. Shadowed, closed, he looked as frightening as John sounded. She swallowed back a little shiver and said, “So you will protect me from John?”
“Protect you?” He gave a short, edgy laugh. “That is a loose word for what will pass between us, but if you wish, you may consider it that.” Once again, his fingers curled around her arm. “Now, come, before I lose what little patience I have.”
“Drink this,” Will said, shoving a skin of wine at Marian as they stopped just outside the door to John’s solar. “And if the prince offers you anything to drink, take it.” It would make things easier.
She looked up at him, fury mingled with fear in her green eyes, and for a moment, he thought she meant to refuse. Then she snatched the skin from him and drank. She might loathe him-and if she didn’t now, she would soon-but Marian was no fool. She knew the wine would soften whatever would happen beyond the door.
Will turned away, feeling as though his entire body were a jousting staff. Stiff and stark. Immovable. Unfeeling.
But that was nothing new.
She didn’t hand him the wineskin; she slapped it at his gut.
“Aye, that’s it,” Will told her. “Show your fury. Fight me. ’Twill keep him entertained.” The skin was empty, leaving none for him-which was just as well. He couldn’t afford any indulgence.
Folding the skin and tucking it into the belt of his tunic, Will gave a sharp nod to the two guards, then opened the door and shoved her in, making sure she stumbled.
She didn’t just stumble; she fell in a heap of golden skirts and a bounce of glorious, intricately braided hair.
“Ah. . already she is on her knees, I see, de Wendeval.” The prince chuckled deeply. “How efficient you are.”
One of the guards closed the door behind him and Will stepped farther into the chambers, trying not to breathe too deeply. The space smelled of indulgence: wine, food, sweat. . and sex.
“As you requested, my lord,” Will said, bowing briefly.
“Rise, Lady Marian,” John said. “Allow me to welcome you to my private chambers. I do hope that you will visit oft, here, in my Court of Pleasure.”
The prince sat on a massive wooden chair too heavy for even Will to move alone. The well-cushioned seat was situated to the left of the door, near one end of the large, rectangular chamber. Tapestries stirred on the wall from the shift of the heavy door closing, and thick rugs covered the stone floor instead of herbs and rushes. A long low table lined the wall directly across from the door. It was covered with wine flagons, platters, and bowls of food, drink, oils, lotions, and other indulgences.
The prince’s chambers lacked for nothing in the realm of sensuality. He’d taken over this large, well-lit space that had been the ladies’ solar at Ludlow and made it into a den of hedonism. Candles flickered on the table, from wall sconces, and throughout the chamber. Along with the fires crackling at each end, the candlelight gave the space a warm, golden glow.
Will made no move to assist Marian as she rose to her feet and smoothed her tunic, though he stood nearby. He realized his fingers had closed tightly into his palms, and knew there was little he could do if John took it into his head to forget their agreement.
He didn’t need to look around to know that there were other women in the room-but not gentlewomen, not tonight. He could hear the faint whistle of breath, a little catch of a sob from a corner. A servingwoman or two, most likely, at the other end of the chamber.
“My lord,” Marian said as she rose to her feet, giving him a brief nod. Will caught the trace of insolence in her voice and wanted to strangle her. “I am honored by your gracious invitation, but as I’ve told Nottingham, I much prefer to seek my own chamber this night. ’Tis been a difficult day of travel and I am quite exhausted.” She said it in the same tone Queen Eleanor might have done: as if she expected him to care.
“Then I am most honored that you’ve attended me,” John replied in his smooth voice. His dark eyes missed little, scanning her with interest.
Marian bowed again, and her hair, which had loosened sometime since they’d left the hall-likely when Will had shoved his fingers into it during the kiss-sagged over one shoulder. “Then you will permit me to take my leave, my lord?”
