Jennifer Roberson - [Robin Hood 01] by Lady of the Forest Read Free Book Online Page B

merchants. Again the sheriff spoke easily. “My lord, the Lady Marian is only just recovering from mourning her father’s death.”
    John’s dark eyes flickered. “Dead, is he? How did he die?”
    He was close, too close. She could smell the bad teeth, sour wine, soiled clothing. She had never before met any man so closely linked to supreme royalty, and yet she could not believe, in good conscience, John was a king’s son. Were they not taught better manners?
    John’s gaze narrowed when she did not answer at once. “How did your father die? Poaching the king’s deer, was it?”
    It was hideous. He provoked purposely, crudely, seeking chinks in armor so he could rend it, then mend it, reaping a woman’s regard. But to suggest such a crime ... Marian felt the shock vibrate through the chamber, understanding it too well. Poachers were common outlaws often purposefully maimed or executed for their crimes. To suggest an English knight was guilty of the same was too much for anyone.
    Save apparently for John, who awaited an answer.
    Marian cleared her throat, petitioning God for courage and patience. “On Crusade, my lord ... with your brother the king.”
    John laughed, then gestured expansively, sketching an ironic and sloppy cross against forehead, abdomen, chest. “How inspiring. Surely God will reward him for piety and duty.” Dark eyes did not smile, if the wine-darkened mouth did. “And just out of mourning, are we?” He took one of her hands and tucked it into his arm. “Shall we not waste time?”
    “My lord—” She was helpless and apprehensive. This was the king’s brother, powerful in his own right; it was entirely possible John could, beneath the earl’s roof, do exactly as he desired. “My lord, if it please you, I beg you to let me go—”
    “What would please me, lady, is to take you off to bed.” The slurred tone now was steadier, fixed upon a goal. “Have you a bed, Huntington? And free of local vermin?”
     
    Eleanor leaned closer as the minstrel sang to her. I have him. He’s mine. She smiled, displaying overbite, promising him full pleasure. She saw no sense in playing coy or delaying what she wanted. And while her father had taken cruel pains to point out she was no beauty, she had not yet met a man who would refuse to lie with her. She was plain, perhaps, but lush, with a body made for bedsport and the temperament to want it.
    Others still gathered: matronly women overcome by his blandishments; two or three young wives who had only recently discovered true romance was confined to songs and poetry; a handful of young girls much taken with Alan’s Saxon beauty. He was fair, like Robert of Locksley, but with richer, deeper tones in hair, skin, eyes. Curls tangled on velvet-clad shoulders. A smile lingered in blue eyes. Long, supple fingers caressed the strings of his lute.
    Eleanor’s breath ran ragged. Why must the game last so long? Why not end it now, and tend to our bodies’ needs?
     
    The shock of John’s bluntness and vulgarity overcame the knowledge of who he was, though Marian’s natural inclination was to give way to a prince of England. She could withstand what he said of her, no matter how vulgar, no matter how blatant, but to so insult her father roused her to defense.
    Apprehension dissipated beneath unexpectedly firm resolve. She jerked her arm free. “My lord— no. ”
    The chamber went very quiet. John stared at her from bloodshot eyes. His chancy temper was legendary. “By God—you refuse? ”
    She coaxed anger and outrage higher to maintain the newfound resolve. She did not resort to displaying either of the former, knowing it too risky, but she did bestow upon John a declaration allowing no doubt as to its intention. “My lord, if it pleases you ... I am a decent unmarried woman only just out of mourning—”
    “And I am heir to the throne of England.” John’s tone was cold as ice. He stood firmly now, legs spread to steady himself, narrow shoulders