by Lisa Hendrix
“I wager he can,” said Emma.
“I wager he cannot,” said Susanna.
“Beh,” said Alexander, barely a year old.
Ari reached down to chuck the babe under the chin. “Well said, lad. Come, Goda. Bring that wet dumpling along. The rest of you, too.” He waved over the cook and groom and lady’s maid who lingered near the wagon and tents. “We will give his parents more privacy. Perhaps they will sleep more soundly and end their nap sooner.”
The collier girl, now grown and married and serving as nurse, chuckled knowingly. “I always liked midday naps myself.”
“Midday, midmorning, midnight. They seem to enjoy naps at any and every hour.” He said it loudly, hoping they’d hear, then led his procession off toward the spring. “Not that I blame them.”
In the depth of the elf house, Steinarr and Marian—she’d finally given up on getting him to call her otherwise and decided to take the name Marian in all things—lay twined together on a bed of thick furs. They had brought the family out here on a whim, a diversion on the way to Huntingdon to see Robert, with no purpose for the stop other than the rekindling of pleasant memories. But now they must move on, and tonight, their last night here, all the children would be allowed to crawl into the elf house together. Only Alexander and Goda would be banished to the family tent on the far side of the clearing, next to the tent full of servants.
“I am glad you thought of coming here,” she whispered. “I am even glad we brought the children, though it is more difficult to, um, let go with them and Ari chattering just outside.”
“They are clear over by the stream,” he said. “And I thought you, um, let go just fine.” He slipped his hands up, filling them with the richness of her breasts, fuller now that she’d born four children. “However, if you would like to try again … ?” He rolled her nipples between his thumbs and fingers and she groaned.
“Devil.” She pushed his hands down. “We should get dressed. I heard them wondering about our nap.”
“Let them wonder. Can I not keep you here for a year, naked as those birds above?”
“They are not naked. They have feathers for clothes. I cannot be naked if we are going to have the whole clan in here tonight.”
“I should never have let Emma convince me I wanted them all in here with us.”
“We had two nights of the magic ourselves. It is time to share.”
“I am not certain they will appreciate the magic.”
“They will,” she said with certainty. “The elf magic is not about tupping. ’Tis about love. This is where I first began to love you. Did you know?”
“No, but I knew it was where I first began to love these.” He curled down to taste her breast. “And this.” He curled farther, to press a kiss into the curls between her thighs. “And this.” He tipped her onto her back and pressed her knees apart and settled himself into her with a sigh.
“Devil,” she whispered.
“And most especially you,” he whispered, and he kissed her, long and slow, as he began to move.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The Robin Hood story in its many incarnations has been a constant source of delight in my life since Richard Greene first made me want to be Maid Marian. It was inevitable that I would write a Robin Hood story myself, heavy on the romance that was largely missing from those old black-and-white reruns. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that there was even less of Marian in the original tales. Silly men.
You can find out more about those tales, movies old and new, TV shows, and the real life Robin at my favorite Robin Hood website, “Robin Hood, Bold Outlaw of Barns-dale and Sherwood,” http://boldoutlaw.com.
Thanks to my own band of Merry Men and Women, who helped make this book a reality: my husband and two children; my editor, Kate Seaver; my agent, Helen Breit wieser; my whip, the inimitable R. Scott Shanks, Jr. (who has, since the last book in which I wished him praise and contracts, sold two stories. More! More!); and my good pal Sheila Roberts, who sets a good example, then kicks my butt just often enough to keep me honest.
A final acknowledgment (not thanks) goes to the plumbers who provided much financial motivation. To quote young Alexander, “Beh.”