Bound by Honor

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.”

“Nay,” he said, stepping away as she turned toward him. “If you do that, he’ll simply make another one.”

Marian stared at him, her belly churning. She had been right about the chamber being chosen specially for her. But was it John who’d made the decision, or Will himself?