The Robin Hood Trilogy

by Marsha Canham

  For the first time, Eduard made a sound. It was muffled, distorted by the pliant sweetness of her flesh and by the taut edges of camlet that intruded on his senses again. He had not expected to lose his own grasp on reality. He had intended to kiss her just long enough and purposefully enough to frighten her into understanding this was no game they were playing. He had not expected it to go beyond a stern lesson against challenging him to any more tests. He most definitely had not expected to end up on his knees before her, his body fevered with needs.

  But he was on his knees, drowning in the clean, womanly scent of her flesh. There were no more laces to unfasten, but the temptation was there, just below the gentle curve of her belly—another shadow beneath the pale cloth, outlining the triangle of fiery red down that cushioned his lips and teased his senses with images of delicate pink folds and sleek, mother-of-pearl surfaces.

  Eduard pressed another groan into the juncture of her thighs and felt his noble intentions shudder away beneath his lips. He could feel the tension in her limbs and in the trembling tips of her fingers as they pushed into his hair, too shocked to know what he was doing, but telling him she did not want him to stop.

  A curse sent his hands stroking down to the hem of her tunic, lifting it as he dragged his palms up the lithe, supple length of her calves and thighs. He lightly feathered the velvety flesh of her inner thighs, still expecting—hoping?—she would jerk away in alarm or maidenly decency, but he had taught the lesson too well and she had not the strength or the will to defy him.

  Ariel’s hand clutched at his shoulders. Waves of shame, hot and fierce, swept through her only to be chastened by the hotter, wilder urges he had promised, and she moved with the sliding pressure of his fingertips; she strained into their deft, sure explorations and she melted around the slow, deep incursions that brought her shivering, trembling down onto the hearth beside him. She clung to his shoulders, his mouth. She panted against his husky, whispered assurances that in no way prepared her for the rush of brilliant, searing ecstasy that flared through her body.

  Eduard knew, and it was both his torment and his pleasure to watch her, to hold her as her body stiffened and writhed in his arms. He kissed her almost breathless, covering her mouth with his and swallowing her cries. He kept his fingers buried deep inside her, his strokes slowing only when her tremors started to fade and the drenching heat of her threatened to strip him of the last shreds of control. He had no choice then but to withdraw everything—his hands, his lips, his body. Especially his body, for it could not be trusted with any further contact, not unless that contact was full and complete in every way.

  He stood, lifting her with him, but when she would have leaned forward into his embrace, he backed away, steeling himself against the wide, dark incomprehension in her eyes. Dazed by what she had just experienced, Ariel started to take an unsteady step after him, but he held out a hand to stop her —a hand that shook visibly with the effort it was taking to deny her.

  “Eduard—?”

  She had never called him by his Christian name before and the sound of it only made the fist clench tighter in his groin. Making matters worse, her tunic gaped open from throat to waist, revealing flesh as pale as moonlight save for the two pinkened buds of her breasts. Her hair was tumbled and wild, framing the beauty of a face that would probably haunt him now until he drew his last breath.

  “Eduard … what is it? Is it something I have done?”

  “No,” he rasped. “No, it is nothing you have done.”

  “Then what—?”

  “Cover yourself,” he pleaded in a whisper, turning his face into the safety of the shadows. “For the love of God, cover yourself.”

  Ariel’s body still burned, still throbbed with a tense, tight feeling she did not understand. She did not understand his anger either, for had she not reacted just the way he had said she would react? Had he not discovered and unleashed more womanly urges than she had even known she possessed? The slick proof of them was on the hand he still held out to keep her at arm’s length. It was in the wetness that streaked her thighs and in the shifting, slithering ribbons of heat that continued to curl through her flesh as if he was still there, pleasuring her. As if she wanted even more of him there, thick and thrusting and hard.

  Colour flamed in her cheeks as she looked down and saw how brazenly she stood before him. She had wanted to come away with some of her pride intact, but she had shivered it all away in the cradle of his arms.

  “Jesu,” she whispered. “Sweet Jesu, what have I done?”

  “You have done nothing,” he said bluntly. “And will do nothing, by the mercy of that same sweet God, so long as you do not put us to any more tests of willpower. You are still a virgin, still in possession of your groom’s honour.”

  In a flush of mortification, Ariel hastened to lace the front of her tunic. Her fingers were trembling so badly she could not manage the task and at one point she thought she saw Eduard relent and step forward to offer assistance. The look of utter and complete horror on her face stopped him, and he retreated to the far side of the hearth, then into the heavier shadows beyond the glowing circle of firelight.

  “Forgive me, Lady Ariel,” he said hoarsely. “This … should not have happened.”

  She bowed her head over her laces again, twisting them with more prejudice than they deserved. “It was not all your fault,” she said tersely. “I could have stopped you.”

  “No,” he said succinctly. “You could not have stopped me. I was determined to prove as much, was I not?”

  Ariel pressed her lips together, tasting him. “You would not have been so determined to do so if I had not goaded you.”

  “Again,” he muttered.

  “Again,” she admitted.

  After struggling a few more seconds with laces that refused to untangle, she gave them an exasperated tug and flung her arms down by her sides. This time, when Eduard emerged from the shadows, she did not stop him. She did not even look up at him.

  It was just as bad, keeping her eyes cast downward, for she was given no choice but to watch the long, blunt-tipped fingers try to resolve the knotted thongs. It was worse knowing that at least one of those very capable hands was the cause of all the damp stirrings she felt inside, and she blinked too late to stop the single fat tear from escaping her lashes. It splashed squarely on his hand, bringing an abrupt halt to what he was doing, and for a long, suspended moment, neither of them moved. They barely breathed.

  The smallest hint of a tremor took the purpose out of Eduard’s hands and they went limp around the crumpled laces. Ariel felt another tear slide down her cheek and she heard the slow release of the breath he had been holding. Whether it was because he could sense what she was wishing for, or because he just needed the same thing, he opened his arms and wrapped them around her, drawing her gently into his embrace, holding her closer than she had ever been held before.

  “Ariel,” he whispered. “Ariel, you must believe I did not intend any of this to happen.”

  “It w-was not all y-your fault,” she insisted softly, burying her face in the warm curve of his shoulder. Her arms circled his waist and her hands were spread flat on the broad slabs of muscle that armoured his back; she shamelessly drew on his heat and strength, rejoicing in the loud hammering of his heart within the chamber of his chest. She closed her eyes to savour the moment, wondering if one so exquisite would ever come upon her again.

  The moment and the closeness had to end, of course, but it was accomplished with less abruptness than their previous parting … and still with the nuisance of her laces to deal with. This time, however, she was less reluctant to look up into his face while he worked, and it was to her advantage that she could study all the planes and angles from a strangely new perspective.

  The inflexible line of his mouth and jaw was suddenly revealed to be very flexible indeed, his mouth generously shaped, fuller on the bottom than on top, and textured with finely etched lines that flattened when he smiled and
deepened when he scowled. It was a mouth that knew how to give a woman pleasure, knew tenderness and seduction, knew how to offer more than barbs and jests.

  The fire cast a reddish glow on the strong column of his neck and on the straight, almost patrician nose. It was a very noble nose, she decided, augmented by eyebrows that were thick and dark enough to join in a single line when he frowned. Intimidating, she thought, unless those creases and furrows were caused by uncertainty and indecision.

  The scar was still an unavoidable detriment to his laying waste to a score of women’s hearts. She suspected he did not weep for the loss, but used their aversion to his own advantage, keeping everyone at a safe distance who might otherwise want to know too many of the secrets he kept locked inside.

  His eyes were by far his most unnerving feature as well as his most formidable weapon. They could reduce a woman’s pity to ashes on a single glance, or freeze her warmest intentions without ever giving her a reason why. Long-lashed and deep-set, they held more secrets than she would ever know, more loneliness than he would ever reveal. A trait they appeared to share, Ariel concluded, since she had never felt more lonely or abandoned as she did when his hands finished their task and dropped away.

  “Have you not had your fill of questions answered?” he mused, aware of how closely she had been studying him.

  “I only have one more,” she said quietly. “Why did you stop?”

  “You wanted more?” he asked, attempting a wry smile. “Rather greedy of you, I must say.”

  “You assure me I am still a virgin. Did you deny yourself the pleasure of taking my maidenhead because you wished to prove yourself so much more able to resist earthly urges than I … or because you deemed it to be of so little value to anyone other than a Welsh brigand?”

  He stared at her until her knees threatened to buckle beneath her and Ariel thought: definitely ashes. Ashes and ice, because he does not know whether he should hate me … or pity me.

  “Your uncle places a very high value on more than just your virginity,” he said flatly.

  “Ahh yes, the oath he made you swear … to deliver me to my groom unhurt, unblemished, untouched …” She paused and moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. “But it would seem, since I have been hurt—with the result that I do bear a blemish—and I have been somewhat touched … would not all three parts of your oath appear to have already been broken?”

  “They may have been bent slightly, but not broken. Not entirely.”

  “Such a noble distinction.”

  “Nonetheless, a distinction worth maintaining. A man’s sworn oath is the foundation of his honour. How much would you trust me if I paid so little heed to the difference between the bending and the breaking of vows?”

  “No less than I trust you now,” she said simply. “With my life.”

  She had startled him. She could see it in the silvery depths of his eyes and in the absolute stillness of the powerful body. She also thought she could see, as suddenly and as clearly as if someone had blown a film of dust off her eyes, that it was not the vow to her uncle he was intent upon preserving so much as it was the vow he had made to another.

  “It is because of her, isn’t it?” she asked slowly. “Because of the vow you made to her.”

  Eduard frowned and the intensity of his gaze faltered under a wave of genuine confusion. “Who …?”

  “Her. The woman who is luring you back to England! Are her charms so much more desirable than mine, or is it just her jewelry that attracts you?” She did not wait for an answer, but paced to the hearth and stood trembling in front of the bright flames, unaware that in doing so, her tunic became all but transparent. “You did not seem to be a man governed by wealth or greed, but I suppose I must be proven wrong in this aspect of your character too.”

  Eduard’s eyes narrowed. His flesh was still thick and hot and pulsing with hunger for this woman, yet his hands were aching to reach out and shake her. It was not the first time the two desires had overlapped, and not the least of the reasons why he considered the thinking processes of most women to be far beyond his mortal comprehension.

  “Might I know the reason why my character has so suddenly fallen into decline?”

  “You lied to me about not having a lady love. And lest you try to shrug me off again, I will tell you I have seen the ring you wear next to your heart. I saw it the first morning, by the river.”

  A reflexive reaction sent Eduard’s hand toward his breast; the look on Ariel’s face halted it midway there.

  “Is the pearl you are going to steal for her?” she asked quietly, “Or is it just something you planned to pick up along the way?”

  Eduard began to understand—at least he hoped he did— and he might have smiled if Ariel had not been trying to look so hard as if his answers did not matter.

  “So now I am a thief as well?” he asked gently. “God’s truth, I have tumbled from grace, have I not?”

  “Do you deny you have been plotting with my brother and Sedrick to steal a valuable jewel the king now has in his possession? A pearl to be precise. And again, it would not be worth the waste of breath to say nay, for I heard the three of you whispering about it one night. About stealing the pearl out from under the king’s nose. Those were the very words I heard.”

  “Were you never taught the evils of eavesdropping?”

  “Were you not concerned the evils of theft and skullduggery might tend to strain your vaunted code of honour?”

  “My honour would be strained more if I were to stand by and do nothing,” he said evenly.

  “You are speaking in riddles again, sir,” she accused.

  “And you are speaking in ignorance. Ignorance,” he said on a gust, “that has gone on long enough, methinks. If you will bring yourself away from the fire and sit with me a moment, I will tell you everything you should have known before we ever embarked from Amboise.”

  “Including her name?”

  Eduard’s gaze followed Ariel’s to the deep vee of his tunic where a wink of gold peeped through the mat of coarse chest hairs.

  “Her name is Eleanor. As it happens, she is also the selfsame lady who is known to many as the Pearl of Brittany.”

  “The Pearl of—” Ariel’s eyes widened. “Surely you do not mean—”

  “The Princess Eleanor of Brittany, my lady. The only Pearl we would, any of us, be willing to go to such measures to steal from the king’s clutches.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “Princess Eleanor is in England?” Ariel gasped. “But I thought … I mean, we had heard she was being held in the Citadel in Rouen, with her brother Arthur.”

  “Indeed, she was until a few weeks ago.”

  At Eduard’s insistence, they had moved a bench closer to the fire, but even with her cup of mead cradled in her hands and the heat from the roaring flames curling her toes, she felt chilled to the bone as she listened to his explanations of the events that had brought them to St. Malo. He told her everything—her uncle’s involvement; the plans to rescue Eleanor and remove her to a safe haven in Wales; the reasons for their secrecy and their need for stealth.

  “The king knows he is losing his grip on Normandy. You have seen yourself, he has very little support left among the local barons of Touraine, Maine, Poitou, and Brittany. John must also have realized that to leave Eleanor in Normandy would give the rebelling forces a rallying point. If Hugh de Luisgnan overran Rouen and freed her, he would have a legitimate claimant to the throne to lead them in a civil war that could extend across the Channel into England.”

  “Then the rumours about Arthur’s death …?”

  “Can only be true, my lady. He must be dead or the king would have used him to stop Hugh’s campaign long before now.”

  “I see. And is this what you want? Civil war?”

  “No. No, it is not what I want. Nor is it what your uncle wants. Our prime concern is Eleanor’s safety; of secondary, political consideration is her value, once she is beyond reach of the
king’s control, to limit the power he wields from the throne.”

  “Forgive me for asking so bluntly, but … why would the king have had Arthur killed, yet leave Eleanor alive? It would seem to me it accomplished nothing to remove the threat of one heir, knowing full well there was another waiting to challenge him. And why take her to England? What does he plan to do with her there?”

  “It would be my guess he plans to keep her locked away in a prison cell for the rest of her life,” Eduard said bitterly. “He has no other choice.”

  “But one,” she pointed out gently.

  Eduard snatched up the iron rod and thrust it into the bed of embers. He stabbed at them as if it was a sword he held, and as if the hot coals were the bleeding corpse of an enemy.

  “It is your uncle’s feeling—and mine—that Arthur’s death was quite possibly an accident. The marshal was himself present on at least two occasions when the prince was offered his freedom in exchange for permanent exile and a public declaration of his uncle’s right to succession. John threatened execution on more than just those two occasions, going so far at times to have his hangman present. But the public hue and cry were such that he was forced to try to reason with the boy. The last thing he wanted to create was a martyr. What finally happened is only speculation, but knowing the Plantagenet temper and John’s bouts of insane jealousy, it would not surprise me to learn there is heavy truth to the story he ‘arranged’ an ‘accident.’”

  “His own nephew?”

  “The rightful king of England,” Eduard reminded her. “John spent too many years in Richard’s shadow coveting the crown, playing regent, and ruling England as if it was his own by foregone conclusion. Do you honestly think he would hand the crown over to another simply because of blood precedence? Do you not forget, he hated Richard. He offered daily prayers for a Saracen’s sword to cut him in half, and when the Austrian king took Richard prisoner and demanded John pay a ransom to free him, he delayed almost nine months and then paid only a small portion of the amount hoping Leopold would take the Lionheart’s life by way of example. If he were not so inept and if he did not have grave misgivings on how God would look upon regicide, John would undoubtedly have slain Richard himself long before the arrow at Chalus did the business for him.”