Read Bound By Honor: An Erotic Novel of Maid Marian for Free Online

rivalry. Even that short moment in the clearing, before she’d recognized Will, the antipathy between the men had been palpable.
    Was it possible that they hadn’t recognized each other?
    Nay, of course not. She had recognized Robin immediately; surely Will had done so. But Robin could not claim innocence. He was an outlaw.
    And it was Will’s duty to punish outlaws.
    Duty.
    Marian felt her mouth tighten. Oh, she knew well of duty, for ’twas duty that brought her here, into the court of the cruel and lustful John Angevin. Duty to her king, by way of his mother.
    She loved Eleanor as much as one could love a strong-willed liege—particularly one of the lesser gender, but who moved among men as if one of them—but Marian was not ignorant of the queen’s faults. It would be no surprise to her if Eleanor hadn’t picked her for this task purposely, knowing that Marian would catch John’s eye. For, in Eleanor’s mind, one must make sacrifices, and one must use whatever skills and advantages one had in order to complete the task. She herself had done so, and expected those whom she trusted to do the same.
    Marian was one whom Eleanor trusted, and as she felt the heavy salaciousness of John’s gaze on her, she shivered deep inside. Perhaps it was no boon to be a favorite of Eleanor’s after all.
    Yet, what choice did she have? Duty. She would do her duty, regardless of what she must endure.
    Though she feared it was too late to escape the prince’s attention, Marian spent the remainder of the meal with her back angled away from the high table and as close to the wall as possible. Perhaps some other fresh face would attract him in her stead. Alys, who was much more beautiful with her spun-gold hair and big blue eyes, was safe from the prince, as she was the heiress to Clervillieres, one of Eleanor’s strongest vassals in Aquitaine. She was still a virgin, due to the fact that her betrothed, a lord eight years younger than she, had recently died before they were wed. Even John dare not sully her maidenhead.
    When the interminable meal ended after six courses, plus a round of jongleurs’ entertainment, Marian thought to make her escape to the small chamber that had been put aside for her and Ethelberga. That she had a private chamber was in itself a sign of the queen’s influence.
    Making her excuses and slipping past the eager smile of Sir Roderick, Marian edged along the stone wall. She took care not to brush against it, for it was covered with smoke and other grime. One of the pleasures—few as there had been—of being sent to Ludlow was that she’d been able to prepare a new wardrobe. In retrospect, Marian wondered if mayhap she wouldn’t have attracted the prince’s attention if she’d been wearing less-fine clothing. Tonight, her floor-length undergown, fitted from throat to hip and with sleeves laced from wrist to shoulder, was the color of butter. The burnished-gold overtunic—a sleeveless shift—had been embroidered with gold-shot thread and tiny amber beads along the hems and neckline.
    Marian knew that the combination of yellow, gold, and amber made her fiery hair appear brighter, her green eyes sharper, and her skin color warm and peachlike . . . and at that moment she bewailed her choice. Vanity. Would it be her undoing?
    Just then, she felt a presence behind her, too close. She felt the hair at the back of her neck prickle, and she whirled around.
    “Leaving so soon, Lady Marian?” William de Wendeval loomed over her.
    The torchlight danced over his face, darkening shadows further, and giving his expression a wicked glow. His eyes were flat and cool, and his lips settled in a half smile that held no humor.
    “I’m weary,” she replied easily, though her heart, for some reason, pounded madly. She could not pull her gaze away from those dark eyes, and his large hand closed over her arm.
    “Ah, weary. Of course. You must have found it trying to fight off the advances of that rogue in the