Colette Gale - Bound by Honor
Suddenly, her skin was beneath his mouth again, there at the side of her neck, where her pulse raced and jumped, and he tasted and nibbled. She moved on his lap, brushing against the raging swell of his cock, and he had to stop for a moment and close his eyes. Breathing in that violet scent helped not at all, nor did holding her breasts in his hands, though they were protected by layers of cloth. He could feel the soft little pants of her breath and the roundness of her bottom against him. . . .
The two women on the bed continued their play, and the sounds became more urgent. One lay back on the cushions, her knees bent upright and her feet planted on the bed. Her companion bent between her legs, and Will could see the strong swipe of tongue over the glistening folds of her quim.
Marian breathed harder, fairly in tandem with the girl on the bed, leaning back against him as if he wasn’t forcing her to watch. His fingers slipped through the sides of the sleeveless overtunic, finding her nipples and the weight of her breasts through the thin layer of silk.
John gave a loud groan, followed by the unmistakable gagging and choking sounds of the woman in front of him.
The noise drew Will back to the moment, and had the effect of a splash of cool water. Not ice-cold water, and not a complete submersion . . . but enough that the urgency waned.
He removed his hands from Marian, forcing them to his sides, and watched the prince from the corner of his eye while avoiding looking at the bed. Either John would be sated, and fall into slumber, or he would merely have his appetite whetted and would expect more forms of entertainment.
Will had done his best to keep the prince’s goblet filled with wine during dinner, and he was hoping for the former. For the moment, he focused on the stone wall beyond the bed, keeping his eyes from the tapestry-which portrayed a scene more lascivious than the one in front of him-and counted the stones. He couldn’t block out the sounds, and now the scent of woman’s musk filtered through the air, teasing his attention back toward the bed.
And then, he heard the sound of a snore. The faintest little tease of a rumble.
Relief washing over him, Will turned to look.
John was asleep.
The first night of torture had ended.
CHAPTER 4
W here had they gone?
Robin had been slinking through the shadows of the keep for more than an hour, dodging behind tapestries and into dark alcoves-alone, unfortunately-but he’d seen not a sign of the sheriff and Marian.
’Twas possible Nottingham had escorted her to her chamber and Robin had missed seeing them pass by as they made their way to the stairs on the opposite site of the keep. He had, after all, been considering which of the other lovely women would be an appropriate distraction.
But just as he considered giving up his search, he heard the unmistakable sound of a skirt swishing through the rushes. Robin eased once more into the shadows.
He always found it surprisingly easy to move about within the keep, in the midst of the very people who sought him. Of course, the rough and mean clothing he wore was fit more for a serf than a lord turned outlaw, and he took care to keep his face averted. He’d been gone from court long enough that the people who gathered here-most of them John’s cohorts anyway-wouldn’t necessarily recognize him, particularly with his beard. Other than Nottingham, of course.
Despite his disreputable clothing, Robin wore his own good boots, carried his own dagger, and always kept a swatch of forest green ribbon on his person to leave with a lady who accommodated him with a kiss . . . or more.
Ahh. Robin’s mouth twitched in a very pleased smile as he peered around the corner. The swish of silk skirts announced the approach of Lady Joanna Wardhamshire, with the huge blue eyes and small, rosebud mouth. Her nose might be a bit large, but one could forgive that. And best of all, she was a young widow.
“And a good evening to you, Lord Burle,” she was saying. “Thank you for the turn about the bailey. Shall I see you at the hunt on the morrow?”
Hmmm. A hunt? An activity that would draw the richly dressed gentry and jewel-clad women out into the wood? Robin nodded to himself in delight.
“I shall indeed hunt, my lady,” replied the man. Robin had noticed Burle before and knew him to be a serious-minded sort of person with a tedious sort of earnestness. Never would an exaggeration nor a falsehood pass his lips, nor even, Robin wagered, the slip of a tongue during a passionate kiss.
Even better. Lady Joanna must be bored to tears after walking with such a monotonous person. Hadn’t the man a better sense of romance than to propose a walk around the stinking, crowded bailey, among the pigs and hounds and stables? Why not on the high parapets, overlooking the yard and out beyond the walls of Ludlow, where the dark forest and rich fields lay?
Robin shook his head, smiling to himself. One man’s missed opportunity was another’s delight. He listened and heard a gentle, moist smack that sounded decidedly like a kiss on the back of a hand. Definitely not lip to lip.
And then the swish of skirts came closer, and the faint sound of Burle’s metal belt clinking faded into silence. Along with the swish came a gentle scent of rose and then Lady Joanna paced on past Robin’s hiding place.
He waited until she’d gone a few steps farther, then stepped out into the empty corridor. “My lady, have you dropped something?”
Joanna turned. “Oh,” she said when she saw him standing there. Her voice held a hint of wariness.
“Does this belong to you?” Robin asked, taking one step-only one, and no more until he determined how skittish she was-and offering the scrap of green ribbon.
“Why”-she stepped closer to him, her eyes roving over his belted burlap tunic and tight but holey hose-“I don’t know.” Then she looked at his feet, clad in well-tooled leather boots, and raised her gaze.
“ ’ Tis a green ribbon,” Robin said, letting his eyes glint warmly, knowingly at her. “Do you know of anyone who might miss a green ribbon?”
“Oh.” Joanna’s voice held a different note now . . . one of curiosity and fascination. “A green ribbon?” Ah. At last a multi-syllabic word from her lips, albeit an echo of his own speech.
“Would you like to have it?” he asked meaningfully.
“Are you . . . ?” Her voice trailed off, but she looked neither frightened nor skittish. Rather, delight seemed to have sparked to life in her eyes. And taken control of her tongue.
Robin was certain he could remedy that.
He moved toward her, the ribbon dangling from his fingers, and eased her back into a little notch in the brick wall. Her breathing came faster, and her hands clasped his shoulders.
“You’re . . . ,” she began, but he covered her mouth with his.
Ah. Nothing like the feel of warm, slick lips, and the press of womanly curves. Robin molded himself to her as she kissed him back-her tongue was working perfectly now-and allowed his hands to curve over the swell of her hips. She tasted a bit like smoke from the great hall, and rose, and woman, and he nibbled on her ear. The soft mewling noises she made had his eyes closing and his hands moving more boldly.
Not to mention his cock lifting in salute.
He pressed closer, feeling for the juncture of her thighs through the layers of undergown and tunic. His palms held her breasts, found the thrusting nipples, and rubbed over them as she moved against him in pleasurable little circles. ’Twould be no problem to lift her skirts and slide right home, here against the damp stone wall. She was more than willing.
He’d just begun to gather up the woolen fabric between them when he stopped, pulling away to listen intently.
’Sblood, that was Marian’s voice.
Joanna opened her mouth to protest his retreat, and he covered her lips with two fingers. “We cannot be seen,” he murmured, fainter than a whisper, and brushed his fingertips over her soft mouth to seal it closed. “I vow, I’ll come to you again. Take you this,” he added, pressing the green ribbon into her hand, curling her fingers over it. He gently but firmly pulled her out of the corner. “Go, quickly, before you are seen.”
“But . . .” She looked at him with full lips and shining eyes, and Robin smiled back.
“You’ll keep my secret, will you not?”
“Aye,” she breathed, clutching the ribbon that dangled from her fist.
“Now go,” he said, half-listening behind him. He heard nothing. Had he been wrong? Still, he’d nearly forgotten his resolve to find Marian in the heat of this moment of pleasure.
If it had been so delightful to pull Joanna of Wardhamshire into the shadows, it would be that much more so to have his hands full of the lovely Marian. All that fiery red hair and those snapping green eyes and lush curves.
“I’m well able to find my own chamber,” she was saying. And she sounded displeased.
There. It was Marian, and her voice was closer.
“I will escort you,” came Nottingham’s deep voice, equally flat and hard.
“Have you not escorted me enough this night?”
“I will see you to your chamber,” the sheriff said again, and they were nearly upon Robin’s hiding place.
Peste. He flattened himself against the wall, wishing for a deeper alcove. If the sheriff found him lurking about, ’twould be the end of his pleasant evening. Not that his childhood rival’s attendance on the lovely Marian wasn’t enough to ruin the night anyway.
Yet, through the risk, it appeared he would have the unexpected pleasure of learning which chamber Marian had been assigned to. Robin had been known to slip into a room filled with sleeping ladies and locate the one he sought . . . even if she was double or triple bunked. All without making a sound. The liberties he’d enjoyed as an outlaw were, at times, greater than those he’d enjoyed as the lord of a manor.
Marian and de Wendeval walked past him and Robin observed from his corner. The lady walked erect and stiffly, apart from her companion, and the sheriff made no move to take her arm or otherwise touch her.
Robin smoothed his hand over the beard and mustache he’d taken to wearing and smiled. The language of their bodies told him all he needed to know. Nottingham was no closer to wooing Lady Marian than Robin was to walking freely into Ludlow Keep and supping with the prince.
Not that he would wish to, but he sorely missed the opportunity to play his lute for the ladies. They became all moony-eyed and fell into his hands like ripe plums. Or apples. Or, in some cases, small pumpkins. With nipples that begged to be sucked and licked, and quims that ached for his fingers.
Robin followed the pair from a distance as they walked silently along the corridor on this second level of the keep. The unmarried men were housed in chambers belowstairs, crowded and lined up pallet by pallet, while the women shared space on the second floor in two different rooms and actually had beds. A few fortunate married couples shared smaller chambers on the opposite side of the great hall, and the rest either rented houses in town or slept apart with their appropriate gender. Prince John had made the third-floor solar his own private area, and that was one place even Robin hadn’t dared venture in his exploration of the keep. But he well knew the two chambers apportioned to the ladies.
Yet, Marian and Nottingham walked past the two doors that Robin knew led to those chambers, and continued past the garderobe and to a door at the very end of the hallway. Most curious. Did Lady Marian have a chamber to herself? Why would that be?
Robin grimaced. Mayhap Nottingham had arranged it himself. But even if he had, it appeared he would not be taking advantage of it tonight if the lady’s stance was any indication. Again, Robin’s lips moved in a pleased smile.
“Good night,” Marian was saying as she stopped in front of the door, clearly dismissing her companion.
Nottingham ignored her and opened the door to the chamber, walking in without invitation.
Marian glared at him for a moment, then followed.
Then, to Robin’s utter vexation, the door closed.
Marian looked at Will, who’d closed the door and followed her through the small antechamber into the larger room, instead of leaving. Her heart, which had not yet returned to its regular rhythm since the episode in John’s chambers, took another great leap and began to pound anew.
You must submit to him . . . or to me.
“What do you want?” she said, trying not to think about how tall and dark he was, how he seemed to fill the room, make it closer and smaller. How his hands had been all over her. And how she’d squirmed and twisted and wanted them there.
Her breasts still ached with a heavy, unfamiliar weight. And she felt prickly all over, prickly and unsettled.
“I wish for a moment of privacy,” he replied. To his credit, he’d not moved away from the door and there was a comfortable space between them.
It would be comfortable if she didn’t feel so aware of the man before her. Where was Ethelberga? She should be here, waiting for her mistress, snoring on her pallet in the cozy antechamber, and not leaving her alone with a man who’d taken her somewhere so depraved. Who’d made her watch what she’d watched.
Marian’s throat was dry, but she kept her composure. Lifting her chin, she said, “So is it to be now? Shall I undress? As you can see, my maid is not here to assist.”
Will’s face grew darker, and her breath caught. Lord, he was fearsome. I won’t leave bruises or draw blood. Please God, he would keep his vow.
“If that is what you wish,” he replied through a tight jaw. “I’m no saint, Marian, and I won’t deny ’twould please me greatly.”
She looked up at him, where he stood against the door, as if fixed to it. His hands hung at his sides, large, powerful, scarred hands that had held her breasts, stroked them, and made them heavy and achy.
“I don’t wish it,” she burst out. “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.”
Yet, she had no other option. Duty and honor demanded her compliance with the queen’s orders. And Will thought she had no choice as a ward of the king.
Will gave a sharp nod and moved away from the door. Her heart leapt into her throat and Marian held her breath, but he walked not toward her but to the wall opposite where a heavy tapestry hung. To her surprise, he lifted it, coiling up its substantial weight as though it were a scrap of silk. Will smoothed his hands over the stone wall beneath it, then reappeared with an unreadable expression on his face.
“Look you here,” he said, crooking his finger imperiously at her.
Marian hesitated, then walked over to the wall. Taking care not to brush against him, she leaned where he directed and looked up under the bundle of cloth. “A hole?” she said, seeing the gap in the mortar between two of the bricks. She knew the garderobe was on the other side of the wall.
“A peephole,” he told her grimly, then let the tapestry flow back into place. “See you here?”
He smoothed his hand over the cloth, but she’d already found it. “The horse’s eye,” she said, poking her finger through the hole that had looked like merely a black spot. Until now. A skitter of discomfort swept over her. “I’ll cover it up.”
