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woods,” he said. His fingers held her firmly, but not painfully, though now he stood so that she was between him and the wall, hidden to the rest of the hall by his great height and broad shoulders.
    “Release me, Will,” she said, again keeping her voice calm. She chose to use his name in an effort to remind him of their past. “I wish to go to my chamber.”
    Having spoken, Marian turned away, and in doing so looked beyond Will’s arm . . . toward the high table. John sat there, his eyes fastened on her and Will as he raised a goblet to drink. The cup hid the expression on his face, but the avidity in his eyes told her that he watched with interest. She realized that Will had maneuvered it so that while he blocked her from most of the hall, his angle left a clear view for the prince.
    “But you cannot,” the sheriff said, and she felt his foot brush against hers. The next thing she knew, the wall bumped up behind her and she was crowded between a large body and the stone. “Your presence is required elsewhere.”
    Marian’s throat closed and the pounding of her heart became stronger. “By whom?” she demanded.
    “By me.”
    The next thing she knew, the world changed: his hands closed over her shoulders and his mouth descended. The wall pushed into her from behind, and his powerful body pressed against hers from the front, one knee shifting to push between her legs. Will’s lips covered hers before she could react or twist away, and his fingers moved to grasp her chin, curving over the front of her throat. Not hard enough to choke her, praise God, but enough that she dared not move.
    She realized her eyes had closed, and her hands had gone convulsively toward his chest, her fingers closing over his embroidered tunic, grasping at the heavy stitching as she tried to push him away. He was as immovable as his mouth was skillful, and Marian tasted the heavy wine on his lips and tongue as she gave in to the kiss.
    It caught her by surprise, the intensity of his mouth pressed to hers, lips and tongue slipping and sliding in an angry dance. Her breath caught and she became aware of the pounding of his heart beneath her hands, and the matching stampede of her own pulse.
    But when she realized what was happening, she pulled her lips, her face, away angrily. His fingers fell from her chin, and before he could fully release her, she whipped her palm back. Will’s hand shot up and caught her wrist before she could slap his face.
    “How dare you?” she whispered, fighting to pull free.
    His half smile was back, arrogant and powerful and humorless, as he held her wrist with angry fingers.
    “Oh, I dare. Do you not know to whom you speak? The fearsome Sheriff of Nottinghamshire.” His lips twisted in a parody of a smile.
    “I know who you are,” Marian responded, her heart pounding. “Now take your hands from me, Will.”
    “I cannot in conscience do that, my lady. For it’s to be me,” he said, leaning down into her face, crowding his hip against her belly, “or the prince.” He slipped his other hand back up to cup her chin again, forcing her to look at him, up into those hard eyes, flat and dark. “And I won’t draw blood. Or leave bruises.”

CHAPTER 3
    R obin eased back into the shadows.
    From his vantage point high up in Ludlow’s great hall, he had a clear view of the diners below. After his men had distracted one of the men-at-arms standing watch, Robin had nimbly climbed the bailey’s wall. A corner window slit had allowed him to slip into the hall unnoticed. Now he stood on one of the narrow balconies, hidden behind a tapestry.
    The air up here was hot and dull, and his eyes stung from the rising smoke. But not so much that he missed the way the Sheriff of Nottinghamshire had made his way to Lady Marian of Leaford, backed her up against the wall, and fairly rutted with her right in the midst of the hall. ’Twas hard to mistake Nottingham’s height and unrelieved dark tunic pressed up near