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But strong hands held her hips, her knees wide . . . elegant hands, and she could see the top of a blond head bending between her legs . . . the swipe of a tongue that sent her twisting and careening under the large dark hands that held her shoulders, pinning her to the bed. She couldn’t see. . . . She could only feel the delicious assault on her body . . . sleek, slick strokes at her mouth, at her quim. . . .

She cried out, restless; she lifted and twitched and begged . . . and suddenly there was John, his dark face rapt and intent . . . and she felt the stone wall behind her, scraping rough over her back and buttocks as she struggled to free herself from the manacles.

Her wrists and hands were fixed and John moved closer, kneeling at her feet, his fingers sliding in and around her swollen quim, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh of her thighs . . . his lips thick and moist and red, moving forward to cover her mound, his tongue sliding strong and delving deep as she looked around and saw Robin, and Will . . . watching.

… Watching with avid eyes, full lips, as John licked and sucked on her, forcing her into the rough masonry, scraping her skin as she struggled to get free . . . to find release as the prince teased her, pushing her to the edge and then stepping away to leer and laugh at her as she writhed and moaned, pleading for more.

And then he fell on her again, driving his tongue deep into her until she cried out, begged . . . and then he stood to cup her breasts and torture them, with long dragging pulls, sucking her nipples hard and sending painful whorls of pleasure as his fingers slipped inside her.

And then they were gone . . . all of them. ’Twas only darkness and a cold room, and she hung helplessly from the wall, the manacles heavy and tight on her wrists, her ankles . . . her pip swollen and needy, her body humming and desperate, her breasts sore and tight and heavy. . . .

The insistent knocking on her chamber door drew Marian from the depths of her dream.

“My lady, can you be awake?”

Groggy. Heart pounding.

Marian forced her eyes open, banishing the images. She rolled to the side, aware that though the dream had gone, she still throbbed between her legs as if John and Robin and Will truly had been there, their lips and hands on her.

“Ethelberga!” she said crossly. “Enter.”

The maid came in and Marian blinked, trying to dispel the remnants of the arousing, disturbing dream.

“Where did you go last night?” She sat up, becoming aware that the sun was high enough to indicate that she’d missed Mass. And she smelled a tinge of smoke in the air.

“I am very sorry, my lady,” Ethelberga said, and at that moment, Marian saw through the doorway that Lady Joanna waited in the antechamber. “I received your message to await you in the hall, but you did not come, and it became very late and at last I returned to here. When I did, I found you already returned and well asleep.”

Marian had opened her mouth to flay her maid for her irresponsibility, but now she closed it. Robin. It had to have been Robin who had sent Ethelberga away so that he could wait for her within. Clever, but he was still a fool . . . he who had not expected Nottingham to be with her upon her return.

What had he thought would transpire, meeting her privately in her chamber?

The insistent throbbing between her legs, the memory of his hand sliding expertly there as he pressed her against the tree . . . she had no reason to wonder what he had hoped.

When her mistress didn’t speak, Ethelberga took that as permission to continue. “My lady, I only woke you because Lady Joanna be without.”

“I can see that,” Marian replied a bit tartly. Still shaky and trembling from a dream that had felt much too real, she knew nevertheless that now was the time to rise. Glancing out the window slit, she saw that something seemed to be burning beyond the keep’s walls, which explained the strong smell of smoke. “Joanna, I shall be only a moment.”

“Hurry, Marian,” Joanna said, her voice urgent. “Do you make haste-we must go see. They say he is burning the village!”

“Who?” Marian gestured sharply to Ethelberga, who closed the door a bit and hurried into the room to dig through her trunks for a bliaud and an overgown-a task that should already have been done. Pressing her lips together in annoyance, Marian slid from the bed, acutely aware of the pressure of her legs over her swollen quim.

“The sheriff! They say he is burning the village. I cannot believe it!”

Marian stilled, absorbing her words. Will was burning the village? No. He couldn’t. Why?

A blast of disappointment and then anger washed over her-and then she wondered why she should be so shocked and appalled. She knew what he was, whom he was loyal to. Why would she expect anything different?