saw her young, heart-shaped face. That was most definitely not Henriette of the knife-blade nose and abundant bosom.
A new female addition to John’s court meant more than a chance to steal kisses in dark corners. It meant yet another source of information, another opportunity to learn who was traveling to and from Ludlow and what they might be bringing that Robin might find worth relieving them of.
Of course, Robin already had a variety of sources, including one that was very close to the prince.
And Nottingham and Marian had disappeared from the hall.
Together.
His lips pursed thoughtfully, Robin made his decision, and pulling the hood of his dark green cloak up and over his head, he eased from the shadows.
Nottingham had disrupted Robin’s playtime this afternoon. Now ’twas time for his own entertainment to be aborted.
“Where are you taking me?” Marian demanded, trying to drag her arm away from Will’s grip.
His face appeared even more dark and forbidding than before. They’d come to a narrow flight of steps and he stopped at its base. “Your presence is requested by His Highness,” he said in a low, tight voice. “In his private solar.”
Marian’s belly fell to her knees. Oh God, already? “The prince?” Then she drew in a deep breath and straightened. It would do no good to show fear. Especially to one as formidable as the man before her.
Who was taking her to the prince.
“Nay, Will.” Her voice came out in a gust of breath. “Not tonight. Please.” She reached for him, her fingers tight.
Will looked down at her, standing so that his head blocked the merry flames of the sconce behind him. The details of his face were thus obscured by shadow, but she saw his jaw move, and his lips tighten into a line so thin it was probably white. “You must make your choice, Marian, for he will not be put off.” His voice was not so harsh as it had been in the hall.
“Choice?” she responded, tamping back the wail that threatened to erupt. By the holy cross, she was Lady Marian of Morlaix, and she would swallow her weakness. Even though she’d fairly begged a moment earlier.
By her own example, Eleanor of Aquitaine had instilled in Marian the responsibility of duty and honor. And if one did not have honor, one had nothing.
“I have no choice, according to you,” she said. “The prince wishes my presence and you are to deliver me to him.” Now it was her turn to clamp her lips tightly, for fear that he might see them tremble.
In truth, what was the worst that could happen? Prince John might wish to tup her, and, well, she was no virginal maid. She’d endured Harold’s attentions as his wife. ’T could be no worse under . . . dear God, under . . . the prince.
“Your choice is to submit either to the prince . . . or to me.”
Marian looked up at him, feeling her jaw sag slightly. It’s either him or me . . . and I won’t draw blood.
Now his rushed words made sense to her, words that she’d barely heard in the blast of anger and mortification that he should have used her the way he did in the hall.
Or leave bruises.
She felt the waves of tension rolling off him as if they were heat from a fireplace.
“I’ve already made my claim,” he said. The words came out sharp and hard. “But if you prefer the prince—”
“No,” she said. “No, Will.” She drew in a deep breath. She didn’t really know this man any more than she knew the prince, and if the rumors were correct, he was as brutal as the Angevin. But his stark promise seemed sincere. I won’t draw blood. Or leave bruises. “I do not prefer the prince.” She snatched in her breath and looked around, afraid that her words might have been overheard.
“Then you have made your choice,” he said after a moment frozen in silence.
“Make no mistake,” she said, stepping back from him. “I prefer to make no choice at all.”
“You haven’t that freedom, Marian,” he said. “Make no mistake: if you aren’t
Learning to Kill: Stories