But then she thought no longer . . . for his lips had covered hers, and she did not turn away, instead accepting the kiss as a peace offering. And something more.
An edge of desperation colored his kiss, as though he’d been waiting for this and needed it. His mouth was harsh, devouring hers, covering her lips and scoring the sides of her mouth with his teeth. Tight arms crushed her against him, compressing her lungs so that she found it difficult to breathe, and she had to pull her face away to gasp for air.
Looking up, she realized he wasn’t as tall and forbidding as the darker Will was, and that should have made her feel more comfortable. Softer. More willing to melt against him, to arch into the hand that had moved to cup her breast. Robin’s mouth was supple and more finely drawn, elegant, where Will had not a bit of elegance about him . . . no elegance, but something else.
A rough, deep sensuality. Power. An underlying fury.
And ruthlessness. The scent of smoke wafted anew to her nose, reminding her of the scene she’d left behind in the village. She must not forget the ruthlessness.
She pushed all thoughts of Will from her mind and smoothed her hands up and over Robin’s chest to cup his shoulders. His fingers had curved around her breasts, thumbs finding the tightening nipples beneath two layers of cloth, and he smiled down at her.
“My lovely Marian,” he said, groping lower to raise her skirts. “You’d not lure me in with lovely kisses and then cry ware down upon me, would you?”
“Nay, of course not, Robin,” she murmured, wondering why he should say such a thing. She’d not betrayed him. The cool forest breeze brushed her exposed legs as his hands busily moved her hems higher.
“I did not think you would be such a viper,” he muttered, his mouth sliding along her jaw.
Fully aware that the last two times she and Robin had embraced in the woods, Will had come upon them, she pushed him back when he would have buried his face in her neck again. “I . . . Robin,” she murmured, wishing they were somewhere she wouldn’t feel so exposed. After all, Bruse and his men were nearby. “I do wish to speak with you.”
He stepped back and looked down at her, a strangely intense gleam in his eyes. “Ah,” he said, a full-blown grin spreading beneath his beard. “Of course you do. Out of earshot . . . and sight,” he said, his eyes dancing again, “of your trusty men. I should be happy to oblige, my lady.”
“ ’Tis not my men who worry me,” Marian said, stepping away from his grip. “ ’Tis the sheriff.” She glanced beyond his shoulder, half-expecting her words to cause the large dark horse and its rider to materialize. What would he think if he found her with her skirts up around her hips here in the forest, after moaning and gasping beneath his hands last evening?
But that was different. She hadn’t wanted to be in John’s chambers . . . and she had purposely sought Robin here in the forest.
Although she had wanted Will’s hands on her.
Marian pushed that thought away. She’d not been thinking clearly.
“Ah, aye, the sheriff. That bastion of justice, a man of ice whose demeanor must be melted by the soft hand of a woman.”
The steely glint in his eyes didn’t match the light, airy words, and caused Marian to wonder if he was jealous of Will.
The idea pleased her more than a little-after all, she was a woman, and she found Robin Hood so charming and handsome-but she replied, “Nay, Robin, do you not fear that I am setting about to soften the heart of that blackguard! For that is the reason I came to look for you. Have you not heard what he’s done in Ludlow Village?”
“Nay, I have not. What is it today? The hanging of a poacher? The stripping and whipping of a cooper who makes leaky barrels?”
“Robin, he is burning half the village! He stands and orders the buildings to be set afire as the villagers watch. They are the meanest of hovels, but all they have, and he has destroyed their homes.”
“Ah, aye, the fire. Aye, ’tis a brutal thing for the sheriff to do,” he added, glancing off toward the spiral of smoke. “But the villeins will soon rebuild, I trow.”
Was this sort of destruction so common that he was hardened against it? “A man such as that,” Marian said, all those odd liquid thoughts of Will disintegrating, “cannot be softened. And does not wish to be.”
“Aye, and I am sure that the tale will be good gossip for you and your lady friends,” Robin said. “Joanna and Pauletta and Catherine, along with the lovely Marian . . . and who is the child? The blond girl with the blue eyes? The very young one?”
“Alys,” Marian replied, looking at him, struck by the brittleness in his voice.
How difficult it must be to be thought a villain when one was really a hero. Her heart swelled with pride and sympathy for him. Dear Robin . . . she must find a way to help him.
“Ah, aye . . . Alys. And so all of you ladies will wag your tongues and discuss how cruel and blackhearted the sheriff is, aye? For, of course, he is. And he will keep you busy with your gossip.”
