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“The sheriff is coming,” he murmured, slipping his fingers up beneath her gown and chemise, up until he cupped the warmth between her legs. “And I must go, but I shall leave you with something that Joanna of Wardhamshire cannot claim.”

“Robin,” she hissed, and then she heard it-the thrashing through the brush in the distance. Coming closer . . . and yet Robin’s palm pressed down onto her mons as if he had all the time he needed.

“Nay, sweeting,” he said, laughing into her mouth as his fingers slid inside her. “Ah, you are ready for me, aren’t you?” he said, pushing his fingers up inside her slick opening.

Marian gasped, catching her breath as his thumb found the hard little nub that pulsed anew, teasing it back and forth, slowly. . . . The now-familiar tingle gathered there in the recess of her belly, and her nipples knotted, thrusting against the soft linen of her chemise. He rubbed and flickered against her, his fingers moving deep inside, up and hard, as if he were fucking her, as he breathed softly into her neck.

“Ah, yes,” he whispered, “come along, sweeting, come along.”

Caught by the pleasure, lulled by his voice, she ground her head back against the tree, her hair catching on the rough bark, her hands looped above helplessly to the tree by some trick of Robin’s.

Robin leaned into her, kissing her neck, the pads of his fingers spreading up into the folds of her quim, jolting her hard little pearl. The crashing in the bushes became louder as her pleasure built, and Marian bit her lip as the needy ache tightened and she felt her body gather up as it did, ready to slip over.

“Hurry, my sweet, hurry,” Robin coaxed, moving his fingers faster and deeper, using the pad of his finger to tickle her as he drove inside.

The bark pushed into her skull and her uneasy hips, her eyes closed and mouth parted as she gasped in the air, wanting . . . knowing . . . she heard the crash in the bush . . . the sound of her name . . . felt the frantic jiggling of Robin’s fingers, and suddenly it all exploded into a burst of pleasure and noise and great, deep, gasping breaths.

She may have cried out; she definitely heard Will shout, “Locksley!” and was aware of the sudden wuft of her layers of clothing falling back into place. There were vague sounds that melded with her world of pleasure: a solid thud, the rustling of brush, a faint shaking of the tree as if someone climbed or danced past it. The erotic tremors still shuddered through her, and when she opened her eyes, it was not Robin’s dancing blue ones in front of her but the hard, dark ones that had haunted her since yestereve.

Gasping in shock at their intensity, Marian pulled her gaze away, fully aware that she stood tied to a tree, flush with pleasure, sated. She dared not look at Will, hoping that he wouldn’t recognize what had just occurred.

He stood in front of her, and suddenly he was pulling at the ivy Robin had used to affix her wrists to the tree. His face was inscrutable, his cheeks hollow as if he was drawing them in tightly. But he was empty-handed. And Robin was gone.

He’d escaped once again.

Will said nothing as he pulled sharply at the bonds that kept her to the tree, and Marian did not know what to say. As the fog of pleasure slipped away, she began to realize what Robin had done, and how his actions had enabled him to flee yet again.

Leaving her in dishabille and tied to a tree had allowed him to escape at the last moment-just as Will approached-for the sheriff would not pursue him and leave Marian in such a state.

“I would ask if you were hurt,” Will said as the vines fell away, “but ’tis quite clear that is not the case.”

Marian swallowed and felt heat rise in her cheeks. His dark eyes glittered as his large hand rested on the tree next to her head. She could see it from the corner of her eye and realized how close he was standing to her. Her breath felt heavy and she found that she couldn’t find a safe place to look.

“Will,” was all she could say, and she knew it sounded woefully weak and breathy.

He turned away, pulling a horn from his belt. Putting it to his lips, he blew a long, low sound . . . once, then twice . . . then replaced the horn.

“To signal that I’ve found you, and that all is well.” His gaze raked over her again, dark and scornful. “If I’d known ’twas merely a lovers’ quarrel, I would not have pushed Cauchemar into a lather to get here.”

“I was set upon by bandits,” Marian told him coolly. “They would have torn me off my horse and taken me away if Robin had not come upon us.”

“Locksley’s men are indeed fearsome,” Will replied, his voice dry.

“Nay, they were no friends of Robin,” she said. “They were desperate and violent. Robin intervened, along with some of his real men, and they had a battle in which many were injured.”

“ ’ Twould not surprise me if Locksley arranged for such an ambush in order to show his outlaw heart in a new and sympathetic light.”