Читать интересную книгу Bound by Honor - Colette Gale

“ ’ Tis absurd,” Marian said, though her voice was filled with wonder, and a smile tickled the corner of her mouth. The possibility was . . . fascinating. She looked at Alys. “If we listen and watch carefully, mayhap we’ll know for certain.” But . . . the prickling of her skin, the lifting of the hair over the backs of her arms, told her that they had to be right. “And the queen will soon arrive as well.”

Alys nodded. “Aye. I received a message this morn confirming it. She is on the move, though the prince doesn’t know to expect her.”

A weight seemed to lift from Alys’s shoulders, and her troubled blue eyes grew lighter. Then they darkened. “But, still, outlaw or no, sanctioned or nay, Robin Hood still cannot be trusted.”

“I am not so certain of that,” Marian said, her mind still working frantically. “Mayhap . . .” But she could not risk putting her suspicions into words quite yet.

And she did know that she now had more need of Alys’s assistance for her plans this night. “I wanted to talk to you because I am in need of your help once again.”

“The sleeping draught did not work?”

Marian’s lips twitched. Suddenly . . . suddenly, she felt so much lighter. “I believe I will need something stronger than a sleeping potion for this night,” she replied. “Something that will bring a man to his knees as he begs for mercy. And not in a pleasant manner.”

Alys looked at her for a moment, and then understanding dawned. Her eyes narrowed in thought and then she nodded, her blue irises sparkling. “I know just the thing.”

“Aye, indeed,” John said, leaning ever closer to Marian.

His thick thigh and warm knee brushed against hers, and his elbow seemed to find the softness of her breast more often than not. She could feel the expectancy, the lust, rolling off him. It made her stomach tight and the backs of her knees damp.

“Your trick was well played this day, Lady Marian. My mother would have been proud of your gentle deceit.”

Marian smiled demurely at the prince and looked down at the platter before them. She’d been given the dubious honor of sitting at the high table on his right side. For whatever reason, John had insisted that Will be seated on the other side of Marian. On the prince’s left side sat Lady Joanna, proudly wearing the necklet she’d apparently won during the festivities the night before. On her left sat Lord Beghely.

Thus, she felt the oily, rich presence of John on one side, and the solid, stoic persona of the sheriff on her other. Mayhap this very seating arrangement was meant to be a reminder of her fate, trapped between the two men.

Regardless, Marian had no intention of submitting to John, at the least this night. That he was intent upon having her to himself had become quite clear in his words and actions, so much so that she could barely force down any of her meal.

John noticed. “Why do you not eat, my lady?” he murmured, his bristling black mustache much too close to her cheek, the heavy wine of his breath hot on her skin. “You will need your strength for this evening.”

“The meat,” she said, gesturing to a platter of boar that John had already begun to sample. “I do not care for the smell, nor does the taste seem right. Mayhap ’tis spoiled.”

“Spoiled?” John leaned forward to sniff the piece he’d speared with his knife. “Nay, ’tis not spoiled.” He shoved the bite into his mouth and began to chew rapidly. “But if you do not wish to eat, then I cannot help it. Mayhap you will drink, then?”

Marian had indeed been sipping the wine offered by the page behind her, but only in small quantities. Even so, her head felt a bit soft and her body felt loose. She was aware of every move Will made next to her, though he never touched her, nor spoke to her.

“The meat has a taint to it, my lord,” she said firmly. “I have tasted such in the past and I’ve never been wrong. There was a time at Morlaix in which the whole of the house became ill.”

John snorted and a bit of that very meat flew from between his lips onto the table. “Nottingham, do you hear this? Does the meat taste rank to you?”

Remembering the way Will had guided her during the chess game in John’s chamber, Marian moved her foot very carefully, but swiftly, toward Will. She took great care not to cause the heavy cloth that covered the table to shift. She pressed her foot against his as hard as she dared while looking at the prince and his lean cheeks, bulging with victuals.

Fortunately, she saw out of the corner of her eye that Will had just lifted his goblet to drink, giving him a moment to pause before speaking. “I do not claim to be expert,” he said as he lowered the cup. He did not move his foot away, to Marian’s surprise. “But the meat does have a strange taste.”

“Bah,” said John. “I do not taste it.” He leaned toward Lady Joanna and asked of her the same question. Her response was unintelligible, but since it was accompanied by giggles and overt flirtation, Marian did not think the other woman agreed with her.

Marian did not eat any of the meat in question, and she noted that Will did not touch the remainder of the slice on his trencher. But she dared not look at him and instead focused on keeping her conversation with the prince light and banal as she hid her apprehension.

The meal was only half-over-that is to say, the meats and breads had been served, but there were still potatoes, carrots, and beets to follow, as well as fruit tarts-when Marian became aware of movement under the table.

Something brushed against her legs, bumping near her feet, and she knew it wasn’t one of the hounds. It felt too . . . human. Hands, most definitely … moving along her thighs beneath the table.

Marian froze, her breath catching in her throat. She carefully looked to her right, toward Will. The cloth hanging over the table had bunched and moved slightly, and she noted that he seemed to be holding himself as rigid as she was holding herself.

But now hands were lifting her skirts. Warm fingers eased up along her hose-encased legs gently, so gently they tickled her sensitive flesh, prickling the skin beneath the thin fabric . . . and then onto her bare skin at the tops of her thighs.

She knew her eyes had grown wide and that her lips had parted in shock. Clearly it was not Will who accosted her; he was too still beside her. Nor was it the prince. She dared not look at John, for from the activity happening beneath the table, bumping and nudging her leg on the left side, she knew that he was fully involved in his own pursuits. In fact, the bumping and nudging became a familiar rhythm next to her, and it took little imagination to confirm that someone had knelt before John and was working his cock in and out of her mouth. This knowledge, combined with the pressure of the hands on her legs, pulling them apart, sent a warmth flushing over Marian’s face.

But whose hands were they?

Next to her, Will had remained completely still, yet she could feel the same sorts of movements happening on his side. The brush of his leg as it shifted against hers, and the flush of cool air over her now-bared thighs. The cloth of her undertunic and overgown had been bunched up in her lap beneath the table, and Marian stifled a little gasp as her legs were spread wide despite her attempt to keep them closed.

Her knees bumped into the rhythmic legs of the men on either side of her, and something warm and wet buried itself in the folds of her quim.

She could not move away; she could barely squirm in her seat as the tongue drove relentlessly into her warmth, tickling and teasing her little pip. Fingers spread her nether lips wide, and she felt the gentle scrape of teeth over her flesh, followed again by the strong thrust of a tongue . . . deep. Long, smooth strokes, licking around the inside of her as if it were a gentle knife spreading soft cheese.

Marian gripped the edge of the table and realized that John had turned to speak to her. His own eyes held a glassy look of pleasure, and the rhythm between his legs had become faster and faster.

“And how do you like my little . . . surprise, my lady?” he asked in a strained voice. His lips stretched in a pleased smile even as a tiny gasp burst from him. “Ohh . . . ,” he said softly, his eyes fastened on her, still murky with pleasure. Yet there was a dark glint there that made Marian’s belly twist.

“I prefer to confine … such activity . . . ,” she said, working hard to focus on her words, and not the insistent sleek thrumming between her legs, “. . . to the bedchamber.”

John smiled wide, showing yellow teeth and glistening gums. “That . . . can be . . . arranged.”

Nauseated, yet flush with warmth and the need to twitch and move, Marian turned away. The pressure between her legs, the focused tip of a tongue vibrating against her, the gentle pull of lips . . . she could no longer ignore the delicious torture.

She wanted to free herself . . . but she couldn’t. Or she needed to close her eyes . . . give in to the pleasure swarming like warm water over her . . . but she could not. Not here, not at the front of the hall, where everyone would see.

John might not take great care to hide his lust, but she could not-

A sudden shudder caught her by surprise, and her fingers tightened at the edge of the table. She needed to move . . . away . . . away from the demanding mouth and tongue that drove into her, sliding in her sleek warmth, teasing and luring her to a place she did not want to go.

As her attention skittered, trying to focus somewhere safe, she glanced at Will. His tanned face was flushed at the cheekbones, and his eyes seemed to be focused elsewhere-on a tapestry in the corner, mayhap, or even on a flickering torch. Marian watched him, drawn to the profile of his dark, emotionless face, to the strength of his firm chin dark with stubble, the full lips flattened in concentration . . . and as her own desire spiraled higher, she gave in.

She wanted it. She wanted him.

She no longer fought to ignore the slick heat between her legs, the throb of her tight little pearl . . . and she could not turn away from Will. She watched him as his own pleasure grew, and knew that she matched it, low and deep.

His cheeks sharpened as if he’d sucked in his breath, and she felt the faint trembling in the thigh pressed against her knee . . . and then, as she watched, his eyes fluttered for a moment, he drew in a short, sharp breath . . . and then, his cheeks flushing darker, he tensed . . . then silently eased.

The beauty of his harsh face, the controlled intensity, the way his eyelids swept down for a moment, then up again . . . the gentling of his mouth . . . oh, God . . . made her belly swirl deeply, then suddenly shoot lower, down, and she let herself go, arching a little beneath the table.

She may have gasped or closed her eyes, or even sighed. . . . Marian didn’t know. . . . But when she came back to herself moments later, no one seemed to have noticed anything. She felt flushed and warm, and a trickle of sweat trailed down her spine. Her belly had softened and she still throbbed between her legs . . . but the insistent tongue had retreated. The demanding hands had moved away. Warmth pulsed gently through her.

And she looked over and saw Will watching her.

Their eyes met and then he tore his away. But not before she saw the truth in their darkness.

The truth that made her belly burn again with want.

At last, the meal . . . which had seemed to go on much too quickly at first, but then had slowed to an interminable crawl after John’s little surprise underneath the table . . . rolled to an end.

Marian, whose knees had recovered, felt her belly begin to pitch with nervousness. Either her plan was going to work or she was going to find herself alone with John in that room with the massive bed, the restraints and whips . . . and the memories of nights past.

Or, worse, in that situation and accused of treason.

Her mouth felt parched, and when she clapped a hand to her belly, the nausea wasn’t completely feigned. “I do not feel well, my lord,” she said. It was not difficult to appear wan and weak. “ ’ Tis the meat, I am sure of it.”

“Now, my lady, ’tis no sense in delaying the inevitable,” John told her. Yet, he didn’t look as robust as he had appeared earlier. Or mayhap, she only hoped he didn’t. “ ’ Tis not the meat but your fears, methinks. Come, now, and I shall put your worries to rest.”

He offered his arm, and Marian, her belly swirling, took it reluctantly. She felt the weight of Will’s stare on her back, but of course she dared not look at him as she straightened her spine and allowed John to lead her away.

“I feel a bit ill,” Lady Joanna said in a shrill voice. Marian paused, looking back at her in relief, and noted that the woman’s face did appear to be a bit pale. Aye, oh, aye!

John turned toward the other lady and Marian took the opportunity to duck slightly and jam a finger down her throat. As the prince turned back, her belly revolted, and she upended its contents on the floor, splattering John’s fine boots.

“Peste!” he exclaimed, stumbling away. His face glowed with annoyance, but Marian didn’t care. She just hoped that Alys’s special decoction would begin to work soon.

At the least it seemed as though Joanna had been affected already, and mayhap the others would soon follow.

“My pardon, my lord,” Marian said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She grasped the edge of the table, trying to appear weak. It wasn’t difficult.

“Your false illness will not keep you from my bed this night,” John hissed, grabbing at her arm with strong fingers. Yet, a fine sheen glistened over his forehead that Marian hoped meant he would have his own problems soon enough.

But then Lady Joanna coughed, and became sick in the rushes behind the great table. The pages leapt away, but the hounds lunged. And in the next moment, Lord Beghely, who had also eaten of the “tainted” meat, was bending over, retching from the depths of his belly.

“My lord,” Marian said, “I am sorry. But I-mpph!”

She clapped a hand over her mouth as if she were to vomit again, making the appropriate gagging noises, and the prince sidestepped her with alacrity. Turning away, she faced Will, whose countenance had paled beneath his tan. Their eyes caught, and he looked at her with accusation and fury. She saw the illness in his face, lighting his eyes and making his skin appear clammy. Realization blazed in his eyes, and fear lurched through her. Would he accuse her here and now?

By now, there were others in the hall who’d become ill. The excuse of the tainted meat seemed to have taken hold, for Marian heard others speaking of the odd taste of the boar’s meat . . . despite the fact that she knew for certain that it was only a bit of boar’s meat that had been tainted.

Only a particular hunk of that cut had been shared among the high table and a few rows below it. But the power of suggestion was strong, and the sight, smells, and sounds of illness tended to raise the same in other spectators.

Of the residents of the hall, only the hounds were in their glory.

“ ’ Tis the meat!” John said, as if it were his own realization. He appeared pale and weak, and when he gagged, Marian lurched away, bumping into the solid arm of Will.