Bound by Honor

But he paused, holding himself up on two strong arms without touching her but for the hair-covered thigh settling gently between hers. “Marian . . .” He waited, searching her face with sharp, serious eyes.

She smiled up at him, understanding his hesitation. “And so you have lost to me twice on this day. At chess . . . and in bed.”

He returned the smile with one of his own . . . one she’d never seen before: warm, tender, loving. Real.

“I do not consider this”-he slipped inside her with a quick, sure movement-“losing.” They both groaned with deep pleasure.

Marian closed her eyes and lifted her hips, rising to meet him and the delicious long, sleek strokes, turning her head as he buried his face in her throat, gently kissing her as he moved so slowly . . . in . . . out . . . as long, slow, sweet pleasure rose lightly inside her . . . curling, unfurling, warm, and delicious. Skin to skin, warm and damp, rough with hair, smooth with muscle, soft and lush and hard, they tangled and sighed, stroked and kissed with reverence. Without hurry. With promises.

And then with a quiet groan of acquiescence, Will lifted his face from her skin and settled back on his haunches, guiding her along with him, his hands at her hips. He moved faster now, with greater urgency, and she planted her feet on the bed on either side of him, matching the rhythm, meeting his dark eyes, feeling her tight, sensitive breasts bounce and sway and her core deepen and lengthen and swell. . . .

She made it first, just tipped over the edge on a long, downward spiral, dizzy and undulating helplessly beneath him, around him, her eyes rolling back in her head. Her toes curled. Her heart stopped dead . . . then picked up again a moment later, pounding harder and faster.

He swore softly under his breath, more a prayer than an oath, and her eyes flew open in time to see what she needed to see: to meet his gaze and watch the flash of rapture over his upturned face, the long, sleek lines of his neck, the gentle parting of his lips.

Not the hard, triumphant expression she’d seen on John, or the shameful, desperate one from Robin . . . but an ecstatic joy, contained . . . but true. Beautiful in its vulnerability.

He said her name again, a caress of syllables that settled her pounding pulse into easy rhythm. Then, skin to skin, arms and legs tangled, they collapsed onto the bed, damp, warm, and well sated.

CHAPTER 17

W ill awakened abruptly. His eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness, thanks in part to the glowing coals of the fire, and his years of instant readiness in battle. Marian still slept curled against him, her soft, warm body comforting and welcome. He was covered more by her hair than the furs of the bed.

He saw the figure standing in the chamber and recognized it immediately.

“This will be the last time you invade my lady’s chamber,” he said, reaching for a candle. He would not conduct this conversation in the darkness.

“Nottingham.” Locksley didn’t sound surprised or even annoyed at discovering a man in his lover’s bed. “How convenient to find you here.”

The candle flared to life thanks to a sharp piece of flint and a tendril of cotton, and Will looked up at Locksley. The man seemed unconcerned by his presence, and barely cast a glance at Marian’s ivory skin, more exposed than Will would have liked.

“What do you want?” Will asked.

“I came with news, and to bid Marian farewell. And since you are here as well, that makes my task even simpler.”

Will sat straighter, and Marian shifted against him, waking at the sound of their low voices. “What news?” he pressed.

“Farewell?” she asked, pushing her hair out of her face.

Will glanced down at her, unable to keep himself from tensing, awaiting her reaction. But her first look was up at him with sleep-drugged eyes, and her fingers curled around his beneath the covers as she pulled herself upright. She tugged the furs to cover her breasts, and looked at Locksley . . . with naught but curiosity in her face. Will relaxed.

“I’m leaving Sherwood. Robin Hood will be no more.”

“Except for the man in the dungeon below,” Marian said drily, her hip and leg lined up with Will’s, rubbing with little, gentle caresses.

“He’s an outlaw at any rate, and will hang regardless of his name,” Will told her. “He was part of the group that attacked you.”

“But why are you leaving?” Marian asked, turning back to their visitor.

“My work is finished here. The queen will soon arrive and she will set all to rights.”

“The queen? How do you know this?” Marian asked, echoing Will’s thoughts.

Locksley flushed lightly. “Alys . . . er, Lady Alys,” he corrected himself. “She has received word that Eleanor makes haste to see her youngest son. She could arrive as soon as two days from now.”

Marian nodded. “Aye, the queen is a rapid traveler and waits for no one. Even the stoutest men-at-arms have difficulty keeping pace with her.”

“Or so the tales claim,” Will said. He looked at his former friend. “And so you leave before she arrives?”