Bound by Honor

It was the middle of the day, an hour past the midday meal. That fact alone made her feel out of sorts, for she’d never been summoned to John’s apartments other than at night. A single guard had been posted outside the door, and other than she and the prince, there was no other person present in the chambers. It felt odd to be in this place of hedonism in the full sunlight, with all its accoutrements showing in full, garish detail. The empty restraints, the massive bed with the curtains pulled away, the table of half-eaten food and drink and its array of crumbs and crusts and spills. The heavy smells of profligacy seemed particularly foul in the full light of day.

Marian swallowed and tried to appear as if the very thought of John’s hands on her didn’t make her skin crawl with revulsion. She looked up at him, at his greedy dark eyes and full red lips, and kept her face blank.

“I am reluctant, my lord,” she said. Had a woman ever told him nay? Mayhap he thought she was willing, or, at the least, not averse to sharing his bed. After all, he was the prince and likely heir to the throne. Most women would not complain at the chance for the wealth, privilege, or power that came with being a royal mistress.

“Is that so?” he asked, reaching to touch her hair. She hadn’t bound or otherwise confined it, and now it streamed over her shoulders and pooled on the bed. “I am sorry for that, for ’tis much more enjoyable with a willing partner.”

“My lord, please. I am flattered by your kindness and your attentions, but I pray, please release me. I have no desire to share your bed.” There. She’d spoken plainly. If he had any conscience, he would release her.

“ ’ Tis a disappointment that you feel thus, Lady Marian,” he said, stepping closer to her. His leg brushed her gown and the wayward edge of his tunic’s hem curled atop her lap. “For I shall not release you.”

His hands cupped the top of her skull and smoothed down over the long strands of hair along her shoulders and arms.

“Please, my lord.”

“Stand,” he ordered, his tone brisk and his eyes bright, as he pulled her to her feet. “I would see you clothed in naught but your hair.”

Marian stood reluctantly, and glanced toward the chamber door. Will could not know she was here. He was busy with his duties and thought her safely in her chamber.

But what could he do about it, in any event, if he knew?

In fact, it would be best if he did not know.

The realization struck her then. If Will found out she was here with the prince, he would react angrily, possibly violently. He’d already said it: There is naught I can do but violence.

Violence against the prince? That would be treason and would destroy his honor. Either he’d die or he might as well be dead, for he’d abhor himself for turning against his liege.

Marian felt nauseated, and it had little to do with the fact that John had not waited for her to remove her kirtle. He had begun to untie the string at the neckline and was tugging it off her shoulders.

“Oh, and did I forget to mention”-John lifted the kirtle up and over her head; she raised her arms reluctantly and it slipped off, leaving her naked-“that Nottingham will be unable to join us? I’ve sent him off on a task that should take a good while.” He smiled knowingly at her, brushing away the hair that had fallen into her face. “So you need not watch the door.”

She braced herself when he leaned forward to kiss her, suffering the full, wet lips over hers and the hands that never seemed to stop touching her hair: brushing, combing, wrapping, lifting it.

Marian closed her eyes, realizing that it was best this way. If she did not fight him, if she pretended to participate or at least allowed him to do what he wished, it would be over sooner. It would be no worse than submitting to Harold’s fumblings. And once she escaped from his chamber, she would hide and he’d never find her.

And, most important, Will would never find out. She shivered.

Did he not realize whatever the prince did to her meant nothing? Naught more than her husband pumping and groaning over her?

“Ah, so you do like that,” John murmured, lifting his face from her neck, where he’d been gently biting along her shoulder. “I am not surprised. You are a passionate woman. I’ve seen evidence of it.”

He pulled her onto the bed and fell with her, taking her hand and bringing it to the great bulge between his legs. She fumbled with it through his braies, trying to think on anything but what she was doing.

But then he was fondling her breasts, kissing and licking her nipples, and she felt his breathing rise and the insistence in his movements as he pushed her back flat onto the bed. He straddled her now, and she closed her eyes, unwilling to look at his face as he prepared to push himself inside her.