“Lady Marian’s presence is required elsewhere,” Will said. Though his countenance was unemotional as usual, she recognized a deep weariness in his demeanor. He held himself stiffly, as though unwilling to trust himself to unbend for fear he’d show a trace of weakness. His cheeks were hollow, his mouth was tight and controlled, and the lines radiating from the corners of his eyes were deeper than she recalled.
Sir Roderick looked down at her, and Marian hesitated. He must have felt her fingers tense around his, and from the expression on his face, she knew he would intervene if she indicated unwillingness. But before she could speak, Will reached forward and took her arm, smoothly and quickly, and the next thing she knew, she stood next to Will instead of Roderick.
“Do not make trouble for the lady,” he said to Roderick . . . but it was Marian on whom his glare settled. She read the meaning there: he was warning her not to put Roderick in a position that would cause problems for the knight.
“Nay, sir,” she said lightly, looking at her would-be escort. “I am simply a bubblehead and had forgotten my other responsibilities.” She couldn’t help a bit of bitterness in that last word.
Before Roderick could speak or even excuse her from leaving, Will turned and maneuvered Marian along with him. She had no choice but to follow, for any scene she might make would simply end poorly for anyone who intervened.
And her fate would still be the same.
Yet, fury boiled up inside her as the sheriff directed her with sharp, rough movements through the hall. Could she not have one night of peace? Could she not have one night away from the pawing hands of the prince?
And her loathing of Will himself bubbled to the surface. She yanked her arm away from the fingers that gripped it and paused near the back of the hall. “What a glorious day you’ve had, sirrah. Burning the village, hanging a poor woman . . . and now on to the carnal pleasures that await you abovestairs. How amusing it must be for you to take such advantage of those weaker than yourself.”
Then she pressed a finger to her chin in a pretense of sudden comprehension. “Ah, but not everything went as planned, did it? Robin Hood, hero of the poor, saved that unfortunate woman while you could do naught but grind your teeth. And now you intend to drag me abovestairs to take your fury out on an unwilling woman of your own.”
His face grew even stonier. Blanker. Except for his eyes. They pierced her with silent rage, so dark they appeared completely black. She felt him shift, and knew he balled his fist, ready to silence her with the same violence he used against his underlings.
But she did not cease. Her emotions-exhaustion, loathing, fear-boiled over, spilling forth in words as sharp and cutting as his stare. She did not care if he struck her. Mayhap then she would be too damaged to attend the prince.
“And if I were to raise a hand to defend myself, you’d black hood me and raise me on the dais with a rope necklet about my throat as well, would you not? An evil, vile creature you’ve become, William de Wendeval. My father would suffer greatly if he knew how repugnant his ward had become.”
His hand flashed out and she nearly recoiled, but the wall was behind her, and instead of raising a fist to her face, he merely snatched up her arm once again. She felt the vibration of his rage in the fingers that closed over her, but he said nothing, merely directed her forcefully from the hall.
Her heart beating harder, she tried to pull free, suddenly sure he would kill her. She struggled and kicked, trying to wrench her arm away.
“Cease,” he spit, “or, by God, Marian, I’ll wrap my hands around your neck and stop you myself.”
She realized then that he was directing her not to the stairs leading to John’s chambers but to the ones that led to her own. Now her palms grew damp and her heart raced, but for a different fear.
Up the stairs he propelled her none too gently, and every glimpse of his face sent a new frisson of fear down her spine. She’d pushed him too far. She’d seen how tense and taut he was in the hall. He had plenty of cause to retaliate, and no reason to hold back.
At her chamber, he shoved the door open, sending Ethelberga scuttling from the anteroom without a command from him. He released Marian with a little shove and stalked into the rear chamber, leaving her to look after him with shaking and weak knees. Moments later he reemerged and walked past her in an angry swish.
At the door to the hallway, he turned, his mouth pressed tightly and his eyes angry. “You won’t be bothered any further this evening-at the least, not by me. The prince has declined your presence this evening. Rest well this night, my lady, for you will need your strength on the morrow.”
He closed the door behind him and she heard his heavy footfalls fade into silence.
Moments later, she heard the door open again and Ethelberga walked in. “He has placed a watch outside the door, my lady,” she said, her eyes wide.
