Bound by Honor

Marian allowed the sleek kiss this time, even kissed him back for a moment, surprised at how much she enjoyed it. As much as she might have admired him as a young boy, she never imagined that actually kissing him would be this exciting. Kisses and coupling with her husband had been little more than duty, and, thankfully, of short duration-not only in each time he’d come to her bed, but also in the number of years in which they’d occurred. She’d been married for only three summers before Harold died of a fall during a boar hunt.

Robin’s arms tightened around her waist and his tongue thrust deep as she came flush against his body. His lips were soft, but there were other areas of his body that were hard and insistent, drawing another unfamiliar response from Marian. She felt a heightened awareness, and a low, twisting sort of tickle deep in her belly.

After a moment, he pulled back a bit, kissing her and smiling into her mouth as she opened her eyes. “Not so bad, was it, now, Lady Marian?” he said lightly. “Your veil is slipping too, sweetling,” he added, giving it a good tug off the back of her head.

“Robin,” she said, pulling the veil back up to cover her braided hair and trying to act as though she kissed men in the forest all the time, “tell me what has come of you. Why are you here, in the woods, instead of at Locksley Keep?”

Now the humor slid from his face to be replaced by an irritable expression. “ ’Twas all a mistake, and now here I am, running for my life. I never made it to the Holy Lands with the king,” he confessed. “We were set upon by bandits when we put ashore in Greece, and I took an arrow to the thigh. Fever set in and I could not travel, though I was not deadly. The king wanted to make haste, and continued on. And I had no choice but to return to England. And to Locksley . . . I thought.”

“You thought?”

He shrugged, stepping back, and she saw that though he stood only a hand or so taller than she, his shoulders had broadened quite a bit from the last time she’d seen him. He’d been fourteen, and she had been only twelve. His hair had darkened with maturity to brown-streaked honey, and he wore it cut short across his forehead and long over his ears. “When I returned, it was to find Locksley having been entailed to the king-through the prince, of course-on the claim of treason.”

“Treason!”

“It’s a lie, of course, Marian. Just another way for John Lackland to seize as much control as he can whilst his brother is fighting the infidels in Jerusalem. He has raised taxes and raised them more, and he skims more than his share off the top.”

Marian had heard about Prince John’s propensity for sly coin . . . among other things. After the overthrow of the unpopular William Longchamp, King Richard had allowed his brother, John, to act as regent of England while he was out of the country.

Eleanor had also left England to go on Crusade with Richard, but word had reached her that John was conspiring with King Philip Augustus of France. John had been old King Henry’s favorite son, but that hadn’t stopped him from plotting against his father. Eleanor did not doubt for a minute that he was now conspiring against his older brother, Richard. Even at the cost of the family lands in Normandy-what Philip would certainly require as payment for his complicity-it would be worth it to John to get permanent control of England. Yet, the queen must first attend to business in her native Aquitaine. The delay would enable Marian to act as her own secret eyes and ears, and to report back to her about any possibility that John was communicating with Philip.

“But it is the king who raises the taxes, to pay for his war,” she reminded Robin, trying to keep the bitterness from her voice. She had no liking for the Crusade. It had taken many of the young men away from England, including her own brother, Walter. He hadn’t returned from the Holy Land, for he’d been buried there.

“And then John raises them that much higher, so as to line his own pockets.”

“But how did you come to be an outlaw? How could they take Locksley from you while you were away fighting at the king’s side?”

Robin looked distinctly uncomfortable. “As I said, ’twas a mistake. I returned to find Locksley closed to me, and then I went hunting in the woods-my woods-for a meal. Then I was arrested for poaching from the king’s forest.”

Poaching from the king was indeed a serious offense-punishable by hanging, gouging of the eyes, or cutting off of the hands. “But surely once the mistake was found, you were released. Even the cruel Sheriff of Nottinghamshire could not keep an innocent man of the king’s in prison.”

Robin laughed. “Released? Nay, Marian, I made my own escape from the sheriff.”

At that moment, a deep voice interrupted their conversation. “Did you indeed?”