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As before, the room, which stretched well to her right and not quite so far to her left, was lit by candles and sconces throughout. The number of candles, along with two fires that blazed at either end of the chamber, gave off a sensual golden glow that cast yellow and bronze and brown across the room’s furnishings and occupants.

She smelled the heavy rich scent of good wine and something else . . . a lingering, musky, close smell that hung in the air. It mingled with the ever-present wisps of smoke and settled a sort of lethargy over her.

“My lady.” John’s mellow voice came again, and she looked to the right, seeing him for the first time.

He sat on the side of the room where the bed was, where the two women had rolled and kissed and touched the night before. Marian caught a glimpse through the half-open bed-curtains of a woman’s bare leg, the rise of a hip, and other human-shaped shadows within. Mayhap the girls had already completed this night’s performance and now took their ease.

Her suspicion of this was reinforced when she noticed that, instead of having a woman kneeling in front of him with her face buried between his legs, the prince sat in a low chair. On a table within easy reach was a flagon of wine and several goblets. In front of him was the human chessboard-a nude woman on her hands and knees with an arrangement of low, squat chess pieces on her back.

Marian didn’t know if it was the same woman who’d been there last night. She wouldn’t have recognized her even if it was, for the woman’s rear end faced her, knees apart, the hair of her quim readily visible between her spread legs.

“My lord,” Marian replied, her voice low. Her mouth was dry and her palms were slick. She was torn between looking around the room to see what other surprises might lurk in the shadowy corners-and whether mayhap Will was there-and keeping her attention on the prince, to shield herself in ignorance.

“Would you care to play chess?” John asked, gesturing to the table. Then, as if noticing her cloak for the first time, he said, “Divest yourself of that. I prefer to admire the womanly form in my Court of Pleasure.”

Marian allowed the cloak to slip from her shoulders and reluctantly draped it over a cushioned chair that had only a back but no arms or sides. She dared not consider what sort of activity it might be used for. As she did so, she glanced around the room, hoping to see Will lounging in a chair in the corner. He was not.

Her heart began to pound harder.

When she turned back, John was looking up at her, the weight of his dark eyes heavy. He was a handsome man-not a surprise, being the son of two comely parents. His coloring was nearly as dark as Will’s tanned skin, likely a gift from his French mother. He had walnut-colored hair, thick and straight, and he wore it long over his ears as was the style, but short across his forehead. A neatly trimmed beard and mustache encircled a small but sensual mouth that glistened red and plump as if he’d been chewing his lip . . . or nibbling on something else. His shoulders were broad, and he was a solid man, but he was not as tall as his golden-haired brother, nor even his regal mother. Marian suspected he would be only a bit taller than herself, for his legs were rather short for his torso.

Instead of wearing a jeweled or gold-threaded tunic and belt, he wore a hip-length tunic with a deep vee in the unlaced neckline that showed a large amount of dark hair, and braies that clearly displayed a healthy bulge.

“Now, shall we play chess? You do know how to play, my lady?” he asked, his rings glinting as he beckoned to a chair on the other side of the woman’s narrow back. He reached for one of the goblets next to him and poured bloodred wine into it, then licked the rim with a thick red tongue and offered the cup to her.

Trying to hide her reluctance, Marian took the goblet and sat. Then she realized that there was no chessboard. Someone had . . . drawn . . . the lines of the squares on the woman’s back. The irregular crisscrossing lines looked like . . . Marian swallowed, and involuntarily looked up at John, horrified.

His dark eyes were fastened on her, glittering with delight. “Aye, you are correct. The sting of the whip created our game.” He gave what she supposed he meant to be a heartbroken smile. “Hilde was not behaving as I required and needed to be punished. And I needed a chessboard, and ’twas only after I’d begun her punishment that I realized how she could accommodate me. That is why some of the squares are a bit . . . uneven.”

Marian swallowed. She looked at the woman, who was clearly not one of her class but likely a serf or maidservant-but a woman nevertheless. Her shiny black hair, knotted loosely at the nape of her neck, sagged to one side and her head was bowed. She hadn’t moved, nor made a sound, since Marian had come into the room. God help them both.

“I do know how to play,” Marian replied, her mind working quickly.