The Robin Hood Trilogy

by Marsha Canham

  Eduard groaned as he buried himself inside her. He groaned and he gasped and he pressed his head into the curve of her shoulder, stunned by the tightness and the heat she wrapped around him. Ariel’s hands shook where she clutched him. She felt him plunging, stretching, pushing himself to the limit, and then more … more … until she was filled, swollen, aching with a deep, saturating pleasure.

  Her cries of awe fevered his blood and his first few thrusts were fast and powerful, more for the benefit of his sanity than anything else. Her body quickened against him in response, making his every muscle strain and beg for release. But Eduard was determined. He braced himself on outstretched arms, his lips moving in a silent litany of prayers to hold on, hold on, hold back even as Ariel flung her arms around his shoulders, her legs around his waist, and stiffened convulsively through wave after wave of intense, protracted ecstasy.

  His eyes closed, his neck arched. His breath came harsh and choppy and his body gleamed under a sheen of moisture, his muscles quivering, his whole body feeling like a raw, chafed nerve. The fierceness of his impending climax stole his breath away. He shuddered and rolled his hips faster into hers, letting the pleasure come, letting it overwhelm him, letting it burst, throbbing and flame-hot into the wild and violent friction of Ariel’s own continuing, continuous orgasm.

  Flushed and panting, they rocked together in a crush of damp, steamy flesh. Ariel was numb, dazed, and still beset by the tiny, shuddering bursts of liquid heat that pulsated from his body to hers. She kept her legs locked firmly around his waist, kept her hips moving, arching gently to glean every last drop, every last shiver from his flesh. The incredible fullness diminished inside her, but he made no move to pull away, not even when he thought to ease the burden of his weight by turning onto his side. He turned, keeping her close, his hands cradling her thighs so that there could be no thinking he wanted to leave her, no allowing it if she wanted to leave him. Luxuriantly slippery inside and out, Ariel was flushed with the knowledge that she could give as much pleasure as she could take—pleasure she would have thought to be commonplace to a man of such careless might. And yet, if the fiercely possessive pressure of his hands was anything to judge by, he was just as shaken as she by the intensity of their expended passions.

  Her head found a natural, comfortable pillow in the hollow of his shoulder. Her hair was stuck to the dampness on her temples and throat, and she gave a little sigh of thanks as he gathered it back into a single, thick tail that he spread beside her. It left his hands free to roam over the naked flesh of her back and shoulders, and he did so until the audible pounding of her heart slowed, and she could think and feel beyond the flush of carnal gratification.

  It was a soft, fuzzy, engorged contentment that replaced the urgent restlessness of wanting. It made her very much aware of the shape and texture of their bodies, of the heat he radiated even in repose. She wished she could stay like this forever and wondered if every woman felt this way, or if it was only the foolish ones, the ones who had been too stubborn to admit this was something they could not accomplish on their own.

  Ariel sighed and traced her fingertips over and around the contours of his chest. She could fire a bow, wield a sword, ride a horse, even swing a quarterstaff the equal of most men. And because she could, she had never felt any pressing need—or desire—to prove she could be just as soft and yielding as any woman. Eduard FitzRandwulf d’Amboise had wrought a change in all that. He had shown her, precisely and exquisitely, just how much of a woman he wanted her to be, how much of a woman she could be in the arms of the right man.

  This man, she realized dreamily.

  With this newfound pride in her own femininity bristling through her like a rash, Ariel lifted her head out of the snug cradle of his shoulder, intending to share the discovery with him. But Eduard was asleep. Soundly, deeply, blissfully asleep, with just the vaguest hint of a smile on his lips to suggest she did not have to tell him anything. He already knew.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Eduard was still asleep several hours later when a loud, urgent knock sounded on the outer door. The room was dark save for the low flame of the night candle, and it guttered to the brink of extinction as a sudden draft rushed across the bed. Eduard, quick as a cat, was on his feet and melting in the shadows as Henry came barging through to the bedchamber.

  “Ariel? Ariel—are you awake?”

  Ariel, scrambling to pull the bedsheets up to shield her nudity, pushed her hair out of her eyes and stared at her brother as he drew near the bed.

  “Ariel … rub the sleep out of your eyes,” he hissed urgently. “We have trouble. Brevant has just been to see me. A man was admitted to the castle not an hour ago bringing news that the king’s ship has dropped anchor in Christchurch. The Leopard himself will be upon us before noon.”

  Ariel was struck dumb—by the news, and by the sight of Henry standing beside her bed, superimposed in front of the naked, amber-lit spectre of Eduard FitzRandwulf, his back against the wall, his sword gleaming in the revived light of the candle. Her vision clouded briefly with the threat of a faint, a faint that grew proportionately stronger as Henry’s nervous pacing carried him around to the foot of the bed.

  “If we are to have any chance to steal the princess, it must be done now, before the rest of the castle is awakened to make preparations for the king. Brevant has looked high and low for FitzRandwulf, but he is nowhere to be found. In the process of looking, however, he found something else. He—” Henry stopped and his breath huffed from his lungs on an angry curse. His foot had become tangled in something, and, thinking it to be an article of Ariel’s clothing, he bent over to pick it up. While he was down there, his eyes were drawn to another crumpled heap … and another. He was able to identify each without too much difficulty once he recognized the black studded surcoat he clutched in his hand. A man’s belt, a shirt, a pair of braies … a pair of cuffed leather boots …

  It took another moment of stunned disbelief while he gaped at the bed, at the obviously naked and dishevelled figure of his sister, before he could straighten completely and turn slowly to acknowledge the glint of reflected light coming from the shadows.

  Eduard lowered his sword. He was still in the half-crouched position he had assumed when he thought it was Gisbourne’s men bursting in on them. To judge by the look on Henry’s face, he was not all that sure he would not have welcomed the sight of soldiers more.

  “You … bastard!” Henry exploded.

  “Henry,” Ariel gasped. “Please … I can explain …”

  “Explain?” The hot fury of her brother’s eyes shot back to the bed. “Explain what? Explain what you are doing naked in bed together? Christ Jesus, girl, I think I can guess that much by myself. Or perhaps you were going to explain why? Why you are naked in his bed, stinking of sweat and lust, when you were supposedly so eager, so determined to savour these fleshly delights with your intended groom!”

  “Henry … I know it comes as a bit of a shock—”

  “A shock? A shock to find you spreading your charms for the Bastard of Amboise? Nay, nay, sister dearest—” He paused and folded his arms across his chest. “It comes as no shock. A surprise, mayhap, that it took you so long to cull the stallion out of the herd.”

  “Henry, I would have a care,” Eduard began, his voice low and held in check with an obvious effort.

  “No!” barked the enraged lord. He held out a hand and thrust his finger up in warning. “You should have a care, sirrah. You should not speak yet. You should not utter one bloody word until I fetter this overwhelming desire to tear your heart out through your throat. What,” he demanded, turning back to Ariel “were you thinking? What could you possibly have been thinking?”

  Ariel glanced at Eduard, then met Henry’s accusing glare. Strangely enough, now the initial shock was passed, she started to feel quite calm. And not a little resentful that a man known to have cuckholded many a groom and husband himself could be standing so righteously before her now.
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  “I obviously was not thinking, brother dear. I was just doing.”

  Henry hissed the air out from between his teeth and raked a hand through his hair, grasping the tawny ends in his fist as if he would have liked to rip it out in chunks.

  “Ariel … ! Damnation, Ariel … do you know what you have done?”

  “I have a fair idea,” she answered coolly. “I have greatly reduced my value as a virgin bride.”

  Henry blinked. A few blond threads came away between his fingers as he lowered his fist and leaned it on the foot of the bed. He blinked again and seemed to gather his wits enough to force a sardonic smile. “Well, I am sure the donjon guards here at Corfe will not rue the loss overmuch; they seem to prefer their doxies experienced. And once they are finished passing you around, you might just want to have a fond memory or two to savour. I doubt the same may be said for your brother,” he added, casting a cold eye in Eduard’s direction. “After tonight, he will not have too many pleasant memories at all.”

  “What does Robin have to do with this?” Eduard asked.

  “Gisbourne has him,” Henry said succinctly. “How he got him, I do not know, but according to Brevant, when he went with Gallworm to announce the king’s imminent arrival, the boy was trussed like a hog and unconscious in the corner of Gisbourne’s anteroom awaiting the governor’s pleasure.”

  Eduard’s face blanched for all of the two breaths it took him to funnel his rage into action. He crossed the room in three long strides and started snatching up his clothes, donning his braies and tunic as fast as he found them, not troubling himself with any belts save the one that sheathed his sword.

  “Where is Brevant? How long ago did he see Robin?”

  “Brevant is below, in my chambers. He came straight here from the Constable’s Tower, uncertain of who you would want to see rescued more—the princess, or your brother.”

  Eduard stamped his feet into his boots and strode out of the room without another word. Ariel, who had made haste to pull on a shapeless bluet, was not far behind him, running down the stairs, all flying hair and belling linens.

  Henry caught her before she flew through the doors to his chamber, his fingers like iron bands around her arm.

  “We have not finished saying all there is to say; we have only delayed it.”

  “Fine! Good!” she cried furiously. “It will give you time to see how”—she grit her teeth and wrenched her arm out of his grasp—“happy he has made me!”

  Brother and sister entered the chamber in time to see Eduard selecting an arsenal of daggers out of the belts and bucklers lying amidst their armour.

  Brevant stopped speaking and looked up sharply, but a brisk order from Eduard started him talking again, low and swift.

  “—on the upper floor. There will be guards in the passage below the tower and two more posted at the bottom of the stairs. He had his favorite whore in the room with him, probably to prime him and share the fun.”

  Eduard glanced up and a muscle jumped in his cheek. “How long before he will be missed?”

  “Gisbourne? With the king coming—” Brevant’s eyebrows bunched together in a deep, hairy vee over the bridge of his nose. “Not much past dawn. Gallworm will be pissing himself to prove how efficient he is, so he’ll not let his master sleep until his usual midday debauch.”

  A quick look told Eduard there were only two scored lines remaining on Henry’s night candle to mark the proximity of dawn, and he had to stop and peer again as if he could not believe he had slept so long.

  Grimly, he tucked the last blade into the lethal array in his belt and clasped a hand around Brevant’s arm. “Can you still get to the princess? Can you bring her here now?”

  “Now?”

  “Did you not just say we have until dawn?”

  “Aye, but—”

  “But what, my friend? Are you turning squeamish—or do you have a better use for your ballocks at the moment than testing the mettle of your own plan?”

  Brevant stared intently. “You see to the boy, I will see to the lady.”

  Eduard gave the captain’s arm an extra clap and turned to Henry. “Sedrick and Dafydd will have to be rousted and told what we are about. The horses will have to be saddled, including the extras.”

  “Consider it done,” Henry nodded.

  Eduard’s gaze found Ariel. Her eyes were rounded and dark, set in a face so pale it glowed in the candlelight. Her hair … Jesu, God … her hair … the creamy smooth slope of her shoulders … the change … the noticeable look of a woman who has discovered passion … all these things combined to stall his ability to think past the danger he was putting her in.

  “Tell me what I must do to help,” she prompted determinedly.

  “Go through the packs and find all the extra clothing you can. When the princess and Marienne are brought here, they will have to be dressed, quickly and warmly, to look common enough to pass as varlets. See to yourself as well and remember: warmth above all. It would raise suspicions if we were to leave without the packhorses, but we will be moving too fast to take them much farther than the first bend in the road. We can forage for food, but blankets and clothing … we must take all we can carry.”

  “But … the princess? What if she still refuses to go?”

  “She will go. Once Brevant has brought her from the tower, she will have no choice but to go. In any event”—he rested his hand briefly on her cheek—“Robin and I will be back here in plenty of time to tup her on the head and sling her over the rump of a rouncie if that is what is required.”

  “Be careful,” she whispered.

  “Be safe,” he murmured. “And until I get back, do whatever Brevant tells you to do. Promise me this.”

  Ariel’s lips trembled apart and the best she could manage was a nod. He planted a swift, hard kiss over her mouth and walked out of the room. Henry and the captain were a beat behind, her brother passing a final, troubled frown over his shoulder before he dashed out into the stairwell.

  Ariel held her breath until she could no longer hear their footsteps pounding down the stairs. The feelings of contentment, well-being, and self-confidence that had made her so boldly reckless during the night dwindled away with the last echo, leaving only an erratic heartbeat and a certain, chilling sense of dread in their place.

  Robin concentrated hard on keeping his grip on consciousness. Twice it had slipped away from him and twice he had wakened no better off knowing where he was or why he had been brought here. Once, it had been the sound of voices that had blown away the suffocating clouds of insensibility, one of them gruffly familiar.

  “What is he doing here?” Brevant had asked.

  “The master was intrigued,” was the whispered reply. “So strong, so lean, such a handsome young Adonis. He had his guard watch for an opportunity to … ah … invite him along for the evening’s entertainment. The opportunity happened late, but happened, and, together with the news of the king’s arrival, you can see my lord is in a fine mood to celebrate. Of course”—a cackle of laughter brought the grating voice low enough to imply a delicious irony—“as always, he has to prove himself a man first. He is with his whore now, determined she should be able to bear witness to what an extravagant stallion he is in all ways. Alack, he will not be able to prove much if the boy refuses to come around. Curse those louts for being overly enthusiastic … I hope they have not killed him.”

  Robin had forced himself to lay very still and not to react to the bony finger that prodded his arm, or the vile stench of the seneschal’s breath as he leaned close to check for signs of a return to consciousness.

  “Mmm. I suppose as long as the flesh is warm, it will do.”

  “Gallworm,” Brevant snarled, “one day someone will squash you like a bug.”

  Another period of blackness had followed, not quite as deep or as long, for Robin had been aware of periodic bursts of laughter coming from nearby, and once … a woman’s clammy hand had smoothed over his brow, wiping his hair off h
is face.

  The gesture, repulsive in the one sense, made him think of Marienne, and the way her soft white hand had reached up to tuck an errant lock behind his ear. His skin had prickled all over at her touch, and had made him desperate to kiss her. He wished now that he had. He wished it with all of his heart and soul. But he had more to thank, with his heart and soul, that she had already left him to return to the princess’s tower when the two men had stepped out of the shadows and cornered him.

  It had happened so fast, he had barely put a hand to his dagger when the blow to his head had knocked all of the fight and most of the sense out of him. He had been aware, in a dim, sickening sort of way, of being slung over a pair of shoulders and carried like a sack of flour down a few turns in the corridor. He remembered stairs and he remembered coarse laughter. He remembered being dumped on the floor hard enough to hit his head again, and when he had awakened, he had been bound hand and foot, blindfolded, and had a sour rag stuffed in his mouth.

  The voices of Gallworm and Brevant had come later, as well as another drifting slide into blackness. Now he was fighting nausea, anger, and frustration in equal parts, chafing his wrists raw in an effort to loosen the ropes twisted around his wrists.

  There was only one man in the castle Gallworm would address as master, and that one person had eyed him with a distinctly carnivorous hunger all through the evening meal. Robin was not a fool, nor was he completely naive. He had heard of men like Gisbourne who harboured secret perversions. He had even heard the rumours about King Richard, but having met the godlike warrior once, he had found it too horrific to believe.