by Marie Hall
His lips twitched when he looked back at her. “Horses? And how exactly would you expect us to keep those hidden this close to the castle walls?”
She shrugged, brushing fingers through her sweat-slickened curls. “Well, you always have horses in the movies.”
Pulling his tent flap up, Robin stood aside so that she might enter first. Nixie bent slightly so that her head would not hit the top of the flap as she stepped through.
“By movies I imagine you speak of something from Earth?”
Giggling, she nodded. “Yeah. Something like that.”
He gave her a crooked side smile, and she could almost hear his thoughts. Could tell he was baffled and amused by her words and antics. It shouldn’t have made her blush, but it did.
The interior of his tent was completely dark and her heart gave a tiny flip when he joined her inside. She could feel his breath waft across the back of her neck, breaking her out in a wash of goosebumps.
Trying hard to ignore the electric connection between them, she stepped to the side, bumping into something hard at hip level.
“Ouch,” she hissed.
“Hold on.” His voice came out a throaty growl. Then there was the strike of a match and suddenly the dark tent was full of a golden wash of light.
Nixie studied his home as he lit several fat candles.
There was a desk beside her. Clearly the thing she’d bumped into. Though it wasn’t big or as sturdy-looking as she’d expected. It was mostly just scraps of wood that’d been nailed together to give him a flat surface to write on.
On the floor lay several animal skins. More than likely his bed, and in the corner was a small silver bowl full of water.
“My humble abode.” He spread his arms. “You’ll be staying with me these next few nights. I hope you don’t mind.”
She wrapped her arms around her waist, suddenly shy and nervous in a way she’d not been when they’d slept under the stars. “I don’t think they bought the damsel in distress act, do you?”
It was the first thought that popped into her head, well, not really. It was the second. The first had been just where in the world he planned to make her sleep? In the tent, or in her lamp? And if in his tent, would she be forced to lie beside him?
That thought make her body tingle.
Swiping off his shirt, Robin laid it carefully over his desk and walked to his water basin. Reaching into his pants pocket he pulled out a rag and dipped into the water, bathing his arms and face and filling the air with the scent of herbal soap.
“It’s not their place to wonder. Though I’m sure they will, they also understand I would never bring anyone into our camp that sought to do them harm.”
“Yeah, just like they understood that when you first found me. I don’t trust John.”
His voice was curt as he said, “He’ll never touch you again. I love John as a brother, but I will maim any man who attempts to take you away from me.”
She swallowed hard, lost for words. The tent grew fraught with unspoken words, unspoken desires they both felt. His movements were jerky and angry as he once again rubbed his body down.
Nixie was entranced by the flex and sway of his body as he washed himself. The way his lean muscles stretched and pulled like tight bands of rope. Pulse hammering violently in her ears, she didn’t hear him when he asked her a question.
In fact, she had no idea he’d even done so until he turned around and frowned at her. “Did you hear me, pet?”
She wetted her lips, because catching sight of his chest was even more distracting than his back had been. Feeling like her lips had suddenly gone numb, she shook her head. “Wha-what?”
The confusion lifted in his gaze and with a Cheshire-like grin, he beckoned her to him. “I said”—he thrust out his wet rag—“that my back needs cleaning too.”
She should totally tell him no. To do it himself. She wasn’t his maid. But damn if she didn’t want to touch him.
Mind reeling with conflicting thoughts, her body had no such qualms. Three footsteps took her to his side. She snatched the rag out of his hand and hesitated only a fraction of a second before dipping it into the still-pristine and clear bowl of water.
“How is that water still so clean?” she asked, not out of any real sense of curiosity, more to just keep her mind focused on something other than the fact that she was so close to him she could smell the crisp scent of soap and pine and mint that she found oddly appealing.
He tilted his head forward so that his chin rested on his chest. “The bowl belonged to a water sprite.”
There were five freckles on his left shoulder, and a scattered trail of them on his right. Robin had the type of musculature that could usually only be achieved from staying super active on a daily basis. It wasn’t Arnold Schwarzenegger-buff, but it was lean and ripped and she cleared her throat, trying mightily to ignore the fact that wherever she touched him his skin prickled.
“So you stole it, then?” she said in a husky voice. “Good to know certain parts of your tale are still accurate.”
His deep, full-bodied laugh moved through her chest like a spear. Nixie was about to drop the rag and scoot back when he grabbed her wrist, squeezing it in a vise-like hold and cocking his head. “And where are you going?”
Her nostrils flared. But when she opened her mouth, no sound came out.
“No, now it’s time to bathe you.”
Chapter 12
She crossed her arms over her chest, but because he’d not released his hold, his hand was now lingering dangerously close to her left breast. All Robin would have to do would be to twitch his fingers and he’d feel her molded to his palm.
He swallowed hard at the maddening temptation.
“I vowed to be a gentleman,” he whispered, and he wasn’t sure if he was saying it to ease her wide, terrified stare, or to remind himself that underneath it all, there was still something of an honorable man inside him.
Slowly, when he made no move to touch her further, she began to relax. Dropping her arms and giving him a minute, shuddery breath.
Goddess, she grew more lovely every moment he was around her. “Turn around,” he ordered, “slip your gown off the front, I shall only bathe your back and nothing more.”
Her brows lowered and he could sense her internal battle. At least it was a comfort to know he wasn’t the only one grappling with his awareness of her.
Then, as if she’d suddenly decided something, she turned, and with quick, jerky movements shoved the sleeves off her arms and, freed, pushed her top down.
For a moment Robin felt dumb, unable to process a coherent thought as he hungrily devoured the graceful and smooth lines of her body. Her midnight hair spilled like ink down her tanned back.
There was dust from the road on her, but in truth, she’d not been as dirty as he. She’d not needed a bath; the fact was he’d wanted to see her again. To see if the memories of her naked form was as exquisite as he remembered it being, or if he’d merely been in such a heady state of lust that he’d imagined the swan-like slope of her shoulders and neck, her heart-shaped waist, her perky breasts.
Nixie had her back to him, but he could make out the hint of swells, knew the dusky tipped nipples were mere inches away, so close his mouth suddenly watered for a taste of their honeyed sweetness.
Her fingers curled around her hair, gathering it into a knot that she held pinned to the base of her skull. “Well, Robin?”
It was a challenge and well he knew it. Unable to suppress his grin, he dipped the rag back into the water and expelled a hot rush of breath as the skin he desperately wanted to lick and fondle glistened beneath his ministrations.
Glowing like sun-warmed honey.
He moved into her just a little, just enough that her heat merged with his own. Her scent of honeysuckle and myrrh filled his senses. He grew hypnotized by the rivulets of water racing down her back and under the hem of her gown, disappearing into crevices he desperately wanted to touch.
; “The water still smells of soap. It smells wonderful,” she said softly, breathily, and obviously reaching for a safe subject to take their minds off their current situation.
“Aye.” He dug his free hand into his thigh, the pain grounding him and helping him to focus on the task at hand. “That is the magic of the bowl. As long as I wish it, the water shall remain. But what do you smell when I soap you down?”
“Mint and clean, fresh soap.”
He smiled, for she was clearly still scenting him. The waters of this bowl were also a bit in the way of an aphrodisiac. Not in the sense that it could be consumed, but that the scents within were what your lover might wish to smell on you.
“That is not what I smell.”
She turned her neck, gazing at him with wide, innocent eyes. “What do you smell?”
“I smell the perfumes of your people. Your lands. Wild honeysuckle and rich myrrh.”
Nixie’s nails dug into his forearm. The air quivered with the rising awareness of each other.
“This madness—”
Robin wasn’t sure what he meant to say, for suddenly a man’s voice exclaimed in startled wonder, “Milord!”
Jerking to his feet, Robin twirled on the intruder, reaching for his dagger, ready to slice the man in two until common sense and propriety took hold of him. Dropping his hand from his belt, he stared at the flaxen-haired Cuthbert, the cook of his camp.
A gangly beanpole of a buck, Cuthbert was barely nine and ten years and his crimson stained cheeks attested to the fact that he was, in all likelihood, virginal in the ways of a woman.
In his hand quivered the tray of tea and biscuits.
“I apologize, milord, I did not mean to—”
Robin shook his head, and flicked his wrist toward the desk. “Leave the tray there and go, young pup. There was no harm done.”
Green eyes flicked down toward where Nixie still rested with her back exposed. She was now dabbing the rag along the front of her, but Robin could make out the jitters of nerves dancing down her spine.
“Go, man. And be quick about it.” Robin jerked his head toward the flap.
“Aye, then.” Cuthbert quickly laid the tray down and ran out of there.
The sight made him have to suppress a hearty chuckle.
“Is he gone?” she asked softly.
“Aye, pet, he’s gone. Bloody hell,” he groused. His cock stand, however, was far from gone. Blowing out an anxious breath, Robin retrieved his shirt and slipped it back on. Best not to touch her again; touching her led to places they couldn’t go.
With one final flick of the rag on her face, she tossed it into the bowl, drew her sleeves back up her body, and readjusted her top. Turning to him just a moment later, fully dressed and innocent looking, except for the twin spots of scarlet staining her cheeks.
“Food.” Robin pointed and then backed away.
Having her sleep in his tent was going to test every ounce of self-control he possessed, but there was no alternative. The mere fact that she was so bonny was a problem, but add to that the maiden fair was far from ordinary, no, she must not be allowed to wander unchaperoned among his men.
Finger combing his hair down, he walked toward the flap.
“Where are you going?” She stood with her arms by her side, gazing at him with accusation evident in her eyes.
Knowing that if he looked back at her, he’d be by her side in an instant, he grabbed onto the edge of the tent. “I need to talk with my men. Eat. Bathe. Nap. Only do not leave the tent.”
She laughed pitifully. “You know I couldn’t even if you’d not just ordered me not to. I’m tethered to that stupid lamp. I can’t go beyond the outskirts of your camp without slamming up against a wall of magic.”
With a growl, he stepped on through. “I’ll be back, genie.”
~*~
The moment his men spotted him without Nixie they were upon him.
“Who is she?” whispered one.
“Why have we never heard of a Maid Marian before?” asked another.
“Shove off.” John’s barrel-chested voice boomed as he shoved through the crowd to get to Robin. “And so”—his friend clapped him on the shoulder—“now that I have ye alone, you’ll do well to tell me the truth, old friend. For we both know that woman is not who she claims she is.”
Lifting a brow, Robin turned on his man. “And you’re certain of this how?”
John’s look was droll. There was a smear of grease around his plump lips. His friend had obviously been sampling the night’s supper.
Rolling his eyes, Robin headed toward the armory tent to retrieve a fresh bow and quiver of arrows for target practice.
John was still doggedly on his heels when he came out.
“Well, come on then,” Robin groused, headed toward the target practice area.
John’s preferred weapon was a spear, though he was also an excellent broad swordsman. Hefting a long-handled spear from a barrel, he plopped it over his shoulder and said, “After you, boss.”
The two men set up their targets a few yards off, quickly falling into their familiar roles since boyhood.
They rarely had heartfelt conversations, except when handling weapons. Nixie would have probably told Robin it was such a man thing.
His lips twitched thinking of her. Even a hundred yards away from her, and still his thoughts lingered on that tiny, magical woman in his room.
“So”—John lined up his sights—“who is she?” He released the spear with a powerful thrust, sending it careening through the air so fast that it whistled a split-second before striking the thick target of straw.
Plucking a pheasant feather-tipped arrow from his quiver, Robin waited for John to retrieve his spear before nocking it.
“Well, my perceptive friend,” he said, then drew the string tight to his cheekbone, aiming it square at the center and released it with a steady breath, “you are right in thinking she is not who we claimed she was.”
The arrow found its target true. With a smirk of satisfaction, Robin notched another arrow.
“I figured as much. A woman that lovely, no”—he shook his head—“she’s not from around here; tales and songs would have been told about her.”
Releasing the arrow, Robin turned on John without even looking to see if the arrow had found its target. Though he knew it had. Robin never missed.
“What if I told you that they are? And what if I told you that she is my destined mate?”
It felt surreal saying those words to his friend, but Robin was only just processing what all this meant. The way he felt when he was near her, hell, how he felt now even when he wasn’t.
All sweaty and aching and desperate to be back there with her. Sating his appetite for her one sweet kiss at a time. He swallowed hard, shifting his stance.
John’s eyes widened. “Really? Because the way you were looking at her earlier, mate, I’d have sworn she’d ensorcelled you.”
Robin chuckled; it seemed even without his true memories of her, his friend was destined to think of her as a temptress.
“No, friend. Would that it were so easy. I’d cut off her head and be done with it.”
John nodded understandably. “This could be a problem for our coup. We’ve only five days till the gathering. Are we even—”
If his friend only knew how prepared they now were. With a sigh, Robin sat upon the stump of a dead tree and stared back at the camp. At his men. There was no doubt in his mind now that victory was finally well and truly theirs.
For centuries they’d eked out a hand-to-mouth existence in these woods. Woods he’d once despised with every fiber of his soul, but that he now considered more home than that castle had ever been.
“We are prepared, my friend. More than prepared. We shall succeed.”
Frowning, John stared toward camp, and Robin knew he wondered still about the mystery of the woman. But the truth of his Nixie would forever remain a mystery to his men.
“And you are sure of th
is because of that woman?”
Perceptive man that he was, John had quickly deduced the truth of it. Not the how of it, of course, but the truth nonetheless.
“She will be a distraction for the guards. A true one.”
Blunt fingers scratched at a whiskered jaw. “Are you sure that she’s not a decoy sent to us by Crispin? You must admit, Robin, that the timing couldn’t be more suspect.”
There was no way Robin could convince John of the truth, not without revealing who she actually was, but there were always ways. “Whether she is or isn’t, no longer matters. Marian is my mate. That is an immutable fact.”
“Oh, aye, well is it now?” John’s lips curled into a rapscallion grin. “And did she sing to the heavens when you dipped your—”
Fury that his friend would dare to speak of her like she was little more than a whore had Robin seeing red.
Jumping off the stump, Robin thrust his chest into his man’s and growled, “You mind your tongue or I’ll cut it out, friend or no.”
The air between them was tense for but a moment longer, before John stepped back and bowed deeply. “Forgive me, my friend, I only now see that you spoke truth.” Standing back up, he stared gravely at Robin. “The bond of mates is stronger than any other magic in existence, so if you say she is yours—”
“She is,” Robin quickly asserted. Though he’d not told Nixie that, he’d come to the obvious conclusion a few scant hours after meeting her. And he knew by the way that she looked at him that she knew it too.
But what would his life be if even the most glorious thing weren’t somehow twisted and tainted?
“She has been cursed,” Robin grudgingly admitted, and this was the closest to the truth he’d ever come with anyone. He glanced at John who’d just been about to head back toward the camp.
“How so? If you don’t mind my asking?” John leaned against the spear.
To have any chance of successfully entering that castle, they needed Nixie with them. Which meant his men could not afford to think badly of her. They needed to all be on her side. Crafting up a plausible and very reasonable story, he said, “She’s the woman in the glass.”
