Freezing, the two women looked at each other. Marian saw the comprehension flare in Alys’s eyes at the same time she realized what she’d said. And what it could mean.
“Is it possible . . . ?” Alys trailed off. She shook her head. “Nay, of course not.”
But Marian was thinking the same thing. And she was remembering the times Will had come upon her and Robin in the woods . . . and in her chamber. The sheriff had made no real move to capture the outlaw.
And Robin had said, with great confidence, that he would not be caught. On more than one occasion.
Of course, the two men had known each other long ago.
Had Will not wanted a witness to their meeting in the wood? Was that why he’d been so angry at Marian’s presence-he’d feared she’d seen something she should not have?
Had it been more than happenstance that they’d come upon each other?
And, most damning of all . . . that Robin Hood had once again miraculously escaped from the sheriff and that a false prisoner had been presented to the prince as the outlaw himself. In truth, how could such a thing be accomplished without Will’s help?
“ ’ Tis absurd,” Marian said, though her voice was filled with wonder, and a smile tickled the corner of her mouth. The possibility was . . . fascinating. She looked at Alys. “If we listen and watch carefully, mayhap we’ll know for certain.” But . . . the prickling of her skin, the lifting of the hair over the backs of her arms, told her that they had to be right. “And the queen will soon arrive as well.”
Alys nodded. “Aye. I received a message this morn confirming it. She is on the move, though the prince doesn’t know to expect her.”
A weight seemed to lift from Alys’s shoulders, and her troubled blue eyes grew lighter. Then they darkened. “But, still, outlaw or no, sanctioned or nay, Robin Hood still cannot be trusted.”
“I am not so certain of that,” Marian said, her mind still working frantically. “Mayhap . . .” But she could not risk putting her suspicions into words quite yet.
And she did know that she now had more need of Alys’s assistance for her plans this night. “I wanted to talk to you because I am in need of your help once again.”
“The sleeping draught did not work?”
Marian’s lips twitched. Suddenly . . . suddenly, she felt so much lighter. “I believe I will need something stronger than a sleeping potion for this night,” she replied. “Something that will bring a man to his knees as he begs for mercy. And not in a pleasant manner.”
Alys looked at her for a moment, and then understanding dawned. Her eyes narrowed in thought and then she nodded, her blue irises sparkling. “I know just the thing.”
“Aye, indeed,” John said, leaning ever closer to Marian.
His thick thigh and warm knee brushed against hers, and his elbow seemed to find the softness of her breast more often than not. She could feel the expectancy, the lust, rolling off him. It made her stomach tight and the backs of her knees damp.
“Your trick was well played this day, Lady Marian. My mother would have been proud of your gentle deceit.”
Marian smiled demurely at the prince and looked down at the platter before them. She’d been given the dubious honor of sitting at the high table on his right side. For whatever reason, John had insisted that Will be seated on the other side of Marian. On the prince’s left side sat Lady Joanna, proudly wearing the necklet she’d apparently won during the festivities the night before. On her left sat Lord Beghely.
Thus, she felt the oily, rich presence of John on one side, and the solid, stoic persona of the sheriff on her other. Mayhap this very seating arrangement was meant to be a reminder of her fate, trapped between the two men.
Regardless, Marian had no intention of submitting to John, at the least this night. That he was intent upon having her to himself had become quite clear in his words and actions, so much so that she could barely force down any of her meal.
John noticed. “Why do you not eat, my lady?” he murmured, his bristling black mustache much too close to her cheek, the heavy wine of his breath hot on her skin. “You will need your strength for this evening.”
“The meat,” she said, gesturing to a platter of boar that John had already begun to sample. “I do not care for the smell, nor does the taste seem right. Mayhap ’tis spoiled.”
“Spoiled?” John leaned forward to sniff the piece he’d speared with his knife. “Nay, ’tis not spoiled.” He shoved the bite into his mouth and began to chew rapidly. “But if you do not wish to eat, then I cannot help it. Mayhap you will drink, then?”
Marian had indeed been sipping the wine offered by the page behind her, but only in small quantities. Even so, her head felt a bit soft and her body felt loose. She was aware of every move Will made next to her, though he never touched her, nor spoke to her.
“The meat has a taint to it, my lord,” she said firmly. “I have tasted such in the past and I’ve never been wrong. There was a time at Morlaix in which the whole of the house became ill.”
