Wild, wild is the wind
That takes me away from you
Cold is the night without your love
To see me through
Wild, wild is the wind
That blows through my heart
(Wild is the Wind by Bon Jovi)
There would be a time, later in Lord Robin Locksley's life, when he would remember his first encounter with the stunning Regina Mills, the untitled but extremely wealthy daughter of the late colonial merchant Henry Mills and his widow Cora Mills, and realize that sometime on that day, they had all been there.
All of them. He and Marian, and all those who were to betray him.
It all began with Regina …
He had been aware, through the intelligence of numerous friends, that Cora Mills considered him to be the most worthy suitor for her daughter. But then, at the moment, almost every matron and proud father in London considered him to be one of the finest catches of the decade. He didn't dwell on that fact or let it inflate his ego. Rather it caused him a good deal of wry amusement, for it had not been all that long ago when the ancient Irish name of Locksley might as well have been mud—not just in London, but in all of England.
Indeed, it had not been that long ago that the current king's father had—with an amazing nobility, not to be forgotten—walked to the scaffold, and there lost his head. In the midst of it all, no matter how dangerous the times had been, the Locksleys had remained completely, almost blindly, loyal to the House of Stuart. At the age of fifteen Robin had first learned to test his sword in battle, fighting side by side with his good friend, the young Prince William. Even when Robin's own father had given his life in his steadfast loyalty to those he had served, Robin had determined never to waver. Consequently he had followed his young friend to Scotland, defending him all the way. He had seen him crowned there on the Stone of Scone and then fled with him, going into exile with the landless monarch while Oliver Cromwell held his iron hand over England.
He had risked everything, not just lands and titles, but life and limb as well. Perhaps he had done so because he had been young, brash, and foolish. Perhaps he had done so simply because William had been his friend. Perhaps it had even been the adventures they had shared, the good times and bad, the struggle to maintain pride and position abroad. Whatever the reason, he had set his course, and now he was reaping the rewards. William had been asked back to England, and he was not a man to forget those who had defended him. He was the king, he ruled a somewhat—no, a very—promiscuous court, but he did so with a certain wisdom and shrewdness, with a wry and bitter humor gained from years in exile. He loved theater, music, art—and beautiful women. And beautiful women loved the king. They flocked to the court. Fluttering mamas and stern papas worried about their daughters, but after the puritanical rule of Cromwell, people were willing to doff the cloaks of respectability and join the handsome young king in enjoying life. Still, William was ever careful. The years of deprivation had aged him, given him a reserve that few men ever truly got beyond. Whatever vindictive thoughts he had, he most often kept to himself. He showed bitterness to almost no one and toleration to almost everyone. He was, from almost the first moment he set foot upon English soil once again, a beloved monarch.
Naturally, as one of the king's best and most loyal friends, Robin found himself the recipient of some of the adoration that fell the king's way. He was tall, well enough muscled, he supposed, and a swordsman of some repute. He was also quite nimble with a bow and arrow.
Not only that, he was younger than the king, and very rich, since William had not only restored his own lands to him, but granted him new properties as well.
And, he thought, grinning, he had all of his teeth, and a full head of hair. He had managed to retain his limbs through the years of fighting. All in all, he determined, he must be a fairly decent bargain.
And Cora Mills was a social climber. That fact in itself didn't bother Robin. She had managed to make her daughter acceptable to the gentry of England. Of course, reaching for a lord of Robin's status was quite a stretch, but …
Well, he wryly admired her for the reach! And he would have been intrigued—at the very least curious—about Mistress Regina, except that he had finally decided, after all his years of wandering, upon a bride.
She was the Lady Belle French, and they were very well suited, he thought. Marian was beautiful, wealthy, vibrant, and worldly—indeed they had been enjoying an intimate relationship for quite some time now. He probably should have asked her to marry him by now. He wasn't quite sure why he'd delayed.
Maybe all the years of wandering had caused it. He didn't know. But over the last several weeks, he had spent a great deal of time thinking, and he always came back to Marian. He cared for her deeply. Loved her, surely. And they were so very well suited.
With his mind thus made up, there was really no point in meeting the Mills girl.
But he did meet her. The court was at Hampton, and William had arranged for a hunt. Robin was mounted upon Beowulf, an Arabian stallion nearly fifteen years old now but an exceptional horse, one who had carried him through many a misadventure. He was arriving late because he had been waylaid on shipping business, as he had acquired a fleet of six ships since his return to England. A barge had brought him down the Thames from the docks in London, and he had hurried to the stables to see that Beowulf was saddled and ready. He had found the hunt master, and inquired where he might catch up with the king. Riding hard, but certainly not recklessly, he bounded over one of the forest trails. It was an extraordinary day. The sky was beautifully, endlessly clear. The forest was richly adorned in brown, the tree branches high overhead weaving and waving. The air was cool; it felt good against his cheeks as he rode.
Then, quite suddenly, a burst of different color appeared before him. He jerked on the horse's reins, doing his best to avoid the collision, trying to veer Beowulf to the side. His actions were good and honorable—they risked his own neck far more than that of the other rider. But the reckless rider had plunged too swiftly and carelessly onto the trail. No matter how quickly he acted, they would still collide. He managed to avoid the main body of the other horse—and its rider—but still hit the tail end of the other mount.
Beowulf reared and shrieked, skidding several feet with the impact. The girth broke, and Robin found himself slipped beneath the animal. He held on so as not to be trampled, then threw himself to the side the best he could, rolling quickly. Sticks, leaves, and twigs entangled in his hair and clothing—then a sudden cold seemed to seep into him. He didn't just lie upon the forest floor. No. He had fallen by a stream. If he rolled an inch more, he would find himself in two feet of cool, bubbling water.
He gasped quickly for breath, deeply irritated. He'd maintained his saddle in every battle he'd ever fought, and here, in the middle of the king's own forest, he had been unhorsed by some reckless horseman.
Lying upon the ground, panting, feeling the prick of sticks and stones against his flesh and clothing, he looked up to see that the other rider was still horsed, and edging close to him. Then the rider spoke with a very soft and feminine voice, one that held just a hint of superiority. "Can you move, sir? Shall I call for the king's physician?"
Horseman! Horsewoman! It was all the worse.
Yes, he could move! Just what did he look like, some elderly dolt? He pushed up. He was seated in the water, his knees above it, his hindquarters and his feet planted several inches within it. He gritted his teeth, emptying his hat of water, and met his nemesis.
She was not in the least ruffled—he noted that right away. She had very dark hair, but found it to be gleaming here beneath the forest canopy, it was neatly pinned in a heavy braid at her nape, while tendrils and curls escaped to frame her face. An exquisite face, he admitted, startled to find himself mesmerized momentarily by its perfect beauty. It was a face totally unblemished, ivory and rouge, with a small, very straight nose, beautiful full red lips, and eyes that seemed like dark gemstones, even against the green of the forest. Clad in deep burgandy velvet and sitting atop a dark brown mare, she seemed like some forest sprite, unearthly, stunning—and completely unaware that she was the one at fault.
Regina Mills was not quite so unaffected as she was trying her best to appear. She had been in such a hurry …
She was late for the hunt, because she had been tarrying in the ladies' solar, dreaming of home while a number of the queen's women had been gossiping about the king's exploits.
She liked the king and the queen, and enjoyed the court for the most part. But she wanted to go back to Virginia. Back home. She'd been away far too long. She wanted to ride over the hills, lie in the grass along the river, feel the sultry Virginia breeze on a warm summer night. In the very worst way, she wanted to be back home. Not here!
And she had been expecting to do so soon!
But then last week a message from her mother had arrived at her school just outside of London directing her to join the king and his court immediately. The message had instantly sent her heart sinking, for she knew exactly what her mother wanted from her. "I came from nothing!" she had once told her as she paced their beautiful Virginia ballroom. "And what we do have, I will not loose!"
Regina had kept quiet, of course, because whenever Cora was in one of her fits, it was best to remain silent. And though her memories of her father were dim, they were tender. Her father had always been gentle and kind with her. He had truly loved her for just being her. It had seemed a endless nightmare when he had passed away. Regina had just turned twelve, and no matter the years that had passed since then, she knew she would always miss her beloved daddy.
Her mother had big plans for Regina.
She fully intended for Regina to marry some pompous nobleman, and Regina had absolutely no intention of following through with it.. She was going to play the court game, and then she was going to go home! In her favor was the fact that the particular lord her mother seemed to have in mind was nearly engaged to Lady Marian Maiden—lovely, witty, rich, and sophisticated. He was hardly likely to change his mind. So despite her mother's demands, things could go well. She could be charming at court, Lord Locksley could marry, and she could go back home. On a Mills ship. Her father had owned several. And when she returned home, she'd prove she was every bit as able to run their shipping business as any man.
There seemed to be one tiny flaw in her plans, however. Her mother had written to an old friend asking him to act as her guardian while she was at court. The friend was Lord Charles Bryan, he had a son named Keith, a man Regina considered somewhat unsavory.
It was a chilling thought! And her thoughts had made her so late that when her beautiful mare, Roccainte, had been brought to her, she had leapt atop her and raced like the wind.
Perhaps she had been racing just a bit recklessly, but so had this awful, arrogant man!
Defensively, she stared down upon him.
"Sir, if you're not all right—"
"I am quite all right, dammit!" Robin Locksley lashed out. He'd been sitting in the wretched cold water, just staring at her. His temper flared. "And no thanks to you, girl!"
She bristled visibly. "As I've said, sir, I shall be most happy to go for the king's physician—"
"I do not need a physician damnit!"
With grace and agility, she slipped down from her mare's back, grimacing as her feet touched the muddy earth. She picked up her skirts and approached him, standing just beyond the water. "If you cannot rise—"
"You're going to assist me from there?" he inquired politely, his tone just barely touched with sarcasm.
"I can send—"
"Girl, you can learn some common good sense and courtesy—and how to ride!" he exclaimed angrily.
"Sir, I do not wish to boast, but I ride with exceptional skill," she informed him.
"You don't wish to boast, eh, yet your skill is—exceptional?"
"It is, sir. I have ridden since I was a very small child. And if you have had the misfortune to discover that you cannot control your mount—"
"My dear child! I was doing my very best to avoid injury to another!"
She sighed, with a great deal of exasperation. "I am not a child! And if you will note, sir, I maintained my position upon my horse while you did not!"
Robin gritted his teeth. "I just told you—"
"Yes, quite a good excuse, I think," she said sweetly.
"You rode as carelessly as a two-year-old!" he exclaimed angrily, wincing as he shifted and a rock grated against his backside. She stepped closer, still trying to keep her dainty boots and the hem of her skirts from coming into contact with the water.
"Look!" she said impatiently. "I didn't mean to injure you, even if you are an arrogant fool."
"Oh, girl! You do press your luck!" he hissed.
"If I can assist you—" she began.
He smiled, his teeth gleaming beneath the curl of his lips. "Perhaps you can." He stretched out a hand to her. "Perhaps you could reach me?"
She let out a soft sound of impatience, but stretched out her fingers to him.
Perhaps he shouldn't have done it. William was known for his chivalry—and he expected it of those around him as well.
But today …
Something about this elegant and brash little chit simply rubbed him wrong. And she could certainly use some manners and learn a quick lesson.
He met her startling eyes, and his smile deepened as her gloved fingers touched his. He curled his hand around hers. Very strongly. And he pulled.
Hard!
A startled screech escaped her. His grin broadened as she came near flying over him, landing half atop him, half in the chilly water.
"Dear me, what a dolt I am!" he murmured, suppressing his laughter as she struggled amidst the wealth of velvet and lace of her costume to right herself. She squirmed against him in the effort, and to his surprise he found himself acutely aware of her in a physical manner—not just as a girl, but as a woman. She lay flush against him, and through the barriers of clothing between them, he could feel the length of her legs, the curve of her hip. He could feel the bone of her corset, and above its hard constraint, the soft fullness of her breasts. He was aware of the sweet scent of her, like the petals of a flower, yet with the weight of the woman against him, it seemed to combine with something that was all natural, and very feminine, and completely sensual. She made him think of darkness, of hot fires that blazed in the flesh. For several long seconds he was still, caught up in some trap of the senses, quite simply mesmerized by something lush and compelling within the girl. Perhaps there was innocence in her eyes, perhaps there was not. He was amazed by his reaction to her, annoyed, even furious with himself.
Fool! You've a near perfect woman you're about to wed! he reminded himself. A woman who loved him, who came to him, who filled his nights.
And yet he could feel this dark, fierce desire for a girl he had barely touched. A desire unlike anything he had known in all his life. A desire created by the copper flame of her hair, by the dark blaze of her eyes. By the weight of her within his arms, her breasts heaving with the fever of her fury.
He set his jaw hard, determined he didn't feel a thing for her.
The hell you say!
"Oh, you overgrown oaf!" she cried, trying very hard to regain her balance, and snapping him out of the curious lethargy that had seized him.
His fingers tightened around her arms. His eyes sizzled. "Oh, dear Lord, yes, girl, I am so very sorry! Of course, it's not really my fault if you're incapable of standing. But let me help you now!" And with an apparent attempt to right her himself, he flipped her over, so that she then lay backside down in the water, drenched, her plumed hat drifting off in the water, her dark hair coming loose and sodden all around her.
"How dare you!" she raged, striking out at him. But he was quick and avoided her blow, catching her wrists and offering her a wicked, warning smile.
"Alas! I slipped! But you must be very wary of men who cannot sit their horses. You never know where else they may falter. I am so sorry—"
Her eyes could surely burn like a blazing fire. She was undaunted, unbeaten, the type who would fight to the bitter end. "You most certainly are not sorry, you wretched knave! You did that on purpose!"
"I most certainly did not! We oafs have a terribly difficult time with grace of movement, that is all. But if you'll let me try again—"
"No!" Her eyes rippled with a luster that seemed to reflect from the water. She gritted her teeth then, staring up at him. "Get off me! I can see that you are quite fine—other than that you suffer from some mental lack that surely has been with you since birth! If you'll just remove your oafish, graceless weight from me—"
He still held her wrists. Her fingers were wound into fists right about them.
"Certainly," he said politely. He stood, dragging her along with him. For a moment again, he was startled to realize that he was holding her very close. Then he released her, determined that perhaps he had taken things just a bit too far, and that he would retrieve her hat in amends.
But the second that he released her, she seemed to turn into a tigress. Her fists pounded against his chest with remarkable strength. He was so taken off guard and so unbalanced in the mud of the stream bed that he started to go toppling over backward again—which was, of course, exactly what she had intended.
"Why, you little vixen!" he cried, and before he lost his footing completely, he reached for her again. She shrieked, trying to escape him, but his fingers wound around her wrists and they plummeted down into the water, this time into the deeper section of the stream, where they both went spiraling down. Pierce came up quickly, finding a boot hold against a rock on the bottom, and for a moment he felt a tremor in his heart, for he had lost his hold upon her, and it occurred to him that perhaps she couldn't swim. He plunged under the water again, catching hold of her skirts. For all his pains, he felt the fevered slam of her fists against him. They staggered to the surface together once again.
"My God, what are you trying to do, drown me this time? And all because you cannot control your horse!" she cried.
"Drown you! I was trying to save your fool neck!"
"Save me! Sir, I ride better, and I'm damned certain I must swim better—"
"And swear better?" he inquired.
She was furious, her cheeks flushed brilliantly with her anger, her eyes even darkerer because of it. "Oh," she cried out again, then disappeared beneath the surface. She rose, and the next thing he knew, she was flinging mud from the stream bottom at him.
"Why, I'll be damned!" he cried, amazed and absurdly determined that he was not going to lose a fight—no matter how infantile—with this girl. "You wretched little brat!" He wasn't sure what he intended to do, but he ducked back beneath the surface himself, quickly washing away the mud, then took a step toward her. She let out a startled scream and swirled the best and most swiftly she could within the confines of her waterlogged clothing to head for the bank and dry land. His arm came sweeping around her waist, detaining her. Her fingers worked furiously upon his. "You let me go, instantly!" she warned.
"Oh! Throw mud at me, and demand your freedom as if you had behaved with the least bit of dignity? Alas! Mud throwing is quite childish, and you, little girl, are going to pay as a child would—"
"Touch me, and you'll be sorry!"
"I'm touching you this minute, and I'll pay no price at all, I'll warrant!"
But he had paid a price. A huge price. The second her eyes had touched his, the minute his fingers had found her flesh.
"You wait, you idiot knave!" she cried. "You wait until the king hears of this! You'll be boiled in oil, hanged from a gibbet—"
"Me! Vixen, someone should wash your sweet mouth out with lye!" he assured her, moving swiftly through the water and dragging her right along. "You wait, my little witch, until the king hears of this—"
He broke off, startled by the deep, rich tones of masculine laughter. He stood still, the exquisite, muddied urchin still held beneath the grip of his arm.
The king didn't need to hear about anything. He had come upon them, accompanied by the Lady Marian.
"The king, my friends, is with you!" William announced. "And we are ever so eager to hear all that has happened, aren't we, Lady Marian?"
William, dressed in breeches with an even more deeply shaded brocade waistcoat over a ruffled white linen shirt, was indeed with them. Mounted on one of his royal horses, he stared down at them with high-arched, dark brows. There was a great deal of laughter about his flashing brown eyes, and had it only been the king to stumble upon him, Robin might have been richly amused himself.
However, the Lady Marian was by the king's side, elegant and lovely, her beauty enhanced by the very light purple of her velvet riding gown. She was staring from him to the creature in his arms with a great deal of shock and reproach. He opened his mouth, wondering how he could explain to Marian that the girl was an irascible schoolchild who deserved such treatment.
"This is intriguing indeed," William said to Marian, almost as if the two of them were still alone. "I do wonder if they've ever been properly introduced. Let's see, where do I start? My dear little flower, Regina! You must be just a shade kinder and cease referring to this fellow as an oaf. He is one of my oldest and dearest friends, a peer of the realm, Lord Robin Locksley, His Grace, Duke of Sherwood. I'm quite sorry. I'm afraid that I cannot boil him in oil and hang him from a gibbet as I might still have need of his sword arm. And, Robin, my good fellow, this lovely creature is Mistress Regina Mills, my guest at court. Though she has a guardian in England, I do feel quite responsible for her welfare, and my wife, most certainly, is equally concerned." He smiled. "Her father, you see, was also a friend …"
Mills! So this was Regina Mills! He might have guessed; he should have known.
He smiled, his teeth grating, then bowed deeply. "Miss Mills."
"My Lord Locksley!" It sounded as if she were choking on the name as she said it.
William cleared his throat. "Robin, you might consider setting the girl down!"
She gazed up at him with wicked satisfaction. He smiled in return, unmindful of Marian for a moment. "Certainly!" he assured William. He released Regina. Naturally she went sinking toward the bottom once again.
"Robin!" Marian cried. He strode from the water, looking innocently at her. He could hear Regina sputtering behind him. He smiled at Marian.
"Robin, perhaps she can't swim, perhaps—"
"Oh, she can swim," Robin assured Marian. He had reached Marian's mount and leaned against the horse's high flanks, staring up at her.
He could just hear the girl hiss as her head broke the surface of the water. "Nobleman, indeed! Noble bastard!"
He raised his voice. "She can both ride and swim much better than I, and I do assure you, m'lady, William's darling little colonial desires no help from me."
"Miss Mills!" Marian called out. "Perhaps he struck his head. His manners are not usually so lacking!"
He was certain that Miss Mills was not concerned about his manners. The king had dismounted from his horse, and most solicitously gone to help the girl from the water.
The scheming little social climber was assuredly much more interested in such attention from a king than a duke, he was certain. The fact that she was staring at him with those eyes of hers that seemed to cut pleased him deeply at the moment.
"His manners, m'lady," Regina replied, "seem not lacking, but completely nonexistent!"
"'Tis the association with colonials, I am afraid," Robin said regretfully to Marian. Her eyes widened. She'd never seen him be purposely cruel, yet then again, Mistress Regina Mills didn't seem to mind in the least being a colonial.
"Robin!" Anne exclaimed, her huge eyes upon him. "What is this? Battle with a pretty little girl! Will you please behave? You'll have everyone talking!"
He gritted his teeth, somewhat ashamed. She was right. But she just didn't realize how irritating this particular pretty child could be.
He looked back to Regina. Her hair was free and wet now, streaming down her back in rich cascades. It fell far below her waist. Marian was wrong, he thought. She was not a pretty child. She was an elegant and exceptionally beautiful woman, very wild and arrogant and headstrong, and she might well be the type to cause an unimaginable amount of trouble. Even soaking wet and totally disheveled, she remained strikingly lovely.
She'd certainly caught the king in her spell.
Robin thought she probably did that upon meeting anyone.
Robin smiled suddenly, watching Marian. She was quite right. He had sunk to an absurd level, exchanging insults with this pretty child. "Well, my love," he said huskily to Marian, "I do believe I shall have to forgo the hunt. Your Grace!" he called to William. "If you'll forgive me, I shall repair to the castle for a bath."
"He probably bathes in the river," Regina mumbled, as she then looked at the king. William only smiled down at her.
"Perhaps we should all travel back," the king said, "since I surmise my lovely Regina must also bathe and change."
"How lovely," Robin said flatly, still staring up at Marian with a half smile. "Let's do all ride back together!"
Marian offered him a stern frown. She was fond of amusement, but she also demanded good manners.
Regina smiled to the king, then left his side to reach her mare. With no assist, she leapt atop the horse. "I shall see myself back to court, thank you, Your Majesty, Lady Marian."
"Oh, no, no, no! We must show this dear little colonial every courtesy!" Robin insisted. A whistle brought Beowulf trotting over to him. He leapt up quickly on his horse, wondering what demons she had stirred within him. "Let's ride together."
Regina's mare pranced as if she knew her mistress's wild mood. "My dear Lord Locksley! Any more courtesy on your part and I might well freeze to death! I am quite capable on my own, you need not worry—"
"Perhaps I was not quite so worried about you, Mistress Mills, as I was about other unwary travelers who might stray upon your path!"
He kneed Beowulf, and the stallion started off at a brisk trot. Regina's mare leapt forward, following. The king and Marian came behind.
They left the shade of the trees and rode into open fields. Regina gave her mare free rein. In seconds she was racing along.
Robin was not to be outdone. Not at this. Beowulf deserved the chance to redeem them both. He gave the stallion free rein then, and in seconds he and Regina were engaged in a wild race over emerald green hills.
The king, trotting along in their wake, arched a brow to Lady Marian. She shrugged in return, shaking her head.
"What is he doing?" William demanded.
Watching them, Marian shook her head. This was very unlike Robin. She bit her lip suddenly. They should have married already. They enjoyed each other so thoroughly.
But they were both equally fond of their freedom. He hadn't been her first lover, and she most certainly hadn't been his. They were both rich, powerful, and experienced—and so they had taken their time. Maybe too much time. A shiver suddenly seized her. She was anxious for the night.
Anxious to hold him again.
"You two need to marry," the king commented, as if reading her mind. They were both his loyal supporters. The marriage would be good for him. He meant to be the most tolerant monarch ever—even if, in his heart, he agreed with his father about the divine right of kings. But his father lay long dead, and the pain of all that had been would never die. No matter what his true thoughts were, Charles II would always rule with Parliament, and tolerantly.
It was helpful, however, to have rich and powerful friends. Marian's wealth would make Robin an even more valuable supporter.
"You're right, we should marry!" Marian murmured. She was struck by how abominably he was behaving toward the Mills girl, so why she should feel a little twinge of jealousy, she didn't know.
Yes, she did. They were like a pair of lion cubs, roaring, spitting. But there seemed to be something in the air around them, too. Something that caused the sun to grow warm, the air to shimmer. They might be the most bitter enemies …
But there was something like lightning there, too.
Had William seen it? No, he was busy musing over Robin.
"He is a good man," William said. "One I call friend with tremendous security!" But then he smiled, shaking his head again. "Amazing, isn't it? There rides the man who often charmed safe harbor for us from the heads of Europe! The man who fought would-be assassins at my back, one of the finest swordsmen in all of Europe. He's determined to outrun her!"
"Oh, and he will," Marian assured him.
William's eyes sparkled. He loved racing, and wagering. "A gold piece says she takes him!"
"Oh, I think not!"
"She's an excellent rider."
"Ah, but he is a man, challenged."
"My money is on the girl."
"Your Majesty, you've a bet!" Marian agreed, laughing. She leaned low, nudging her horse with her heel, and started to race herself. Marian, laughing delightedly, followed suit.
When they came into the courtyard at last, where grooms quickly materialized to assist the king, he was smiling still.
Robin had reached the courtyard first. He had already dismounted from Beowulf. Regina was just now slipping down from her mount.
The king slipped a coin into Marian's gloved hand. "Well, m'lady, he is an exceptional man, we do agree on that!"
Marian nodded, still smiling herself. "But that is quite an exceptional young woman, too, Your Majesty." She hesitated, curious. It was certainly none of her business, but despite the king's marriage, his amorous exploits were the talk of all London. He was a charming man. William—and wicked and as determined as the devil when he chose. His eyes were dark and very sensuous, and the way that they followed a woman made her feel special. Perhaps he had cast his eyes upon the American girl, Mistress Regina.
Suddenly Marian found herself wishing that the very beautiful American girl were the king's newest love. It would dim Robin's interest.
William lowered dark lashes over his eyes for a moment, then met her gaze, a secretive smile playing on his lips. "She is not an, umm, intimate friend, Lady Marian, if that is the question that lurks beyond those innocent and beautiful eyes. She's a sweet young thing, really. Totally innocent. And though I may have my failings, m'lady, I'm not a lecher."
"Dear Lord! No, of course! You're the king!" Marian said.
"What is it? What on earth is going on here?" Robin asked, approaching them, still dripping wet. He had been giving a groom very explicit instructions on how Beowulf was to be rubbed down. Marian was certain that he had scared the poor boy speechless with his stern words, but then he'd pressed a heavy coin into his hands to make it all worthwhile. Robin was a very demanding man, but generous to a fault. Like William, he never forgot the lean days, or what a kindness might mean to someone less fortunate than himself.
"Where is Regina?" Marian asked him.
"I assume the young harridan made straight for her chambers," he said. He was about to slip an arm around her shoulders, but hesitated, grimacing. "Alas! I am a mess. I think I must aim straight for my quarters, too. Forgive me, Your Grace?"
William waved a hand at him. "You are a mess, m'lord Locksley! Whatever possessed you to go for a cold swim with Cora Mills' daughter?"
"Sire, I did not choose to go swimming. 'Twas the girl's decision, I swear it!"
The king smiled slowly, shaking his head at Marian, his dark eyes sparkling. "It happens to the best of men upon occasion, Marian. They must all be boys, unwilling to lose a contest."
"There was no contest—" Robin began, but he could see that the king was laughing. He paused, lowering his lashes. "All right, Your Majesty. You are the king; it will be your way. My love," he said to Marian, "you will excuse me, I pray?"
"Indeed," she replied.
"Between you and Mistress Mills, you have quite ended the hunt!" the king exclaimed. "Get away then. I shall go for a walk in my gardens. Join me, Lady Marian? I'll have fair company, and therefore Robin shall pay for his part in the fracas!"
Robin, who'd been looking at her hopefully, frowned at the king's words. Longing for assistance washing his back! Marian assumed. Ah, well, she'd been feeling some fine twinges of jealousy. Let him feel the same!
She smiled, linking her arm with the king's. "I think a short walk is in order. I do live to serve my king!" she told Robin sweetly.
"Umm," he muttered, bending low over her hand. "Take care, my love, how you serve him!"
Later that evening after Robin and Marian had enjoyed their dinner, they took a stroll outside in the gardens, but even as he kissed Marian, his mind was not on her. To Robin's great annoyance, it was Regina Mills' face within his mind's eye. The fantastic wealth of her hair, the color of it! The curve of her lip, the feel of her against him, the blazing dark eyes of her eyes, flashing …
He shuddered suddenly, startled by the hunger, and then the wave of unease that settled over him. She was just a girl. A pretty commoner, no more, no less. All right, she was beautiful. Still …
There was no need for Marian to ever know that he did find something compelling about the girl. Something that haunted the senses, that beckoned, that excited …
A feeling of guilt riddled him. He had been kiss Marian while thinking of the Mills girl. Wanting her. She absolutely infuriated him!
Yet he could not still this feeling of desire.
He almost groaned aloud.
The girl wanted to go home, he had heard. Badly. She wanted nothing to do with any man, she just wanted to return to her precious Virginia.
And pray God! Maybe she'd manage to do so soon!