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And then her arms were loosened, her ankles freed. . . . Someone dragged her off the barrel and she stumbled away, collapsing to her knees. . . . Then Will was gone. . . . He stood across the chamber, still fully clothed, with John and Ralf. . . .

Marian could not stand, and she crawled across the floor, over the rug, moving as quickly as she could, away.

She trembled with relief and chill and shock. Hearing the sounds behind her, she glanced over her shoulder and saw Catherine taking her place over the barrel, John and Ralf standing over her. Louis and Will and others . . .

Marian scuttled out of sight, beyond the large bed, toward the other side of the chamber, searching for something to cover herself with. The necklet had fallen off or been taken, and she wore naught but her long hair, catching under her palms and knees.

Dare she leave? She was near the chamber door now, and they seemed not to notice her absence, for Catherine was providing much distraction as she cried and pleaded in a high-pitched voice that could reach the hall below.

Marian curled into a shadowy corner for a moment to catch her breath and survey the chamber. Louis wielded the whip and was slicing it over Catherine’s buttocks, which rose, white and plump, from over the half barrel, writhing and twisting and bucking. John stood watching, his own hand curled about his cock for once, and Will . . . leaned against the wall, watching. And Pauletta . . . she had her long, white body pressed up against his darkly clothed one. One strong arm wrapped around her waist, and her white hand lay flat against his tunic.

Turning away, Marian tasted something foul deep in the back of her throat. Her fingers still trembled, and she could not forget the feel of him moving against her, inside her . . . nor his flat, expressionless eyes. As if he despised what he was doing.

Yet, he took pleasure from it. She knew it. She’d felt it. . . . She’d matched his rising lust with her own.

She pushed the memories, the uneasiness, from her mind. She did not want John’s hands on her again tonight . . . nor anyone else’s. She must get away before they realized she’d not received her full punishment.

There were bound to be guards outside the door. Dare she try to slip out? Would they allow it? Would an aborted attempt to escape only draw their attention back to Marian?

The fog of lust and need had filtered away, leaving her mind clearer than it had been for some time, and she cast a quick glance around this end of the chamber. This was her opportunity to see if she could find any evidence of John’s perfidy.

Keeping her attention half on the activities behind her, morbidly glad that Catherine made no attempt to keep her voice low, Marian crawled past the table of food and wine, toward the far end of the chamber. It was the only place that might hold messages or documents.

If she was caught, she could claim she was looking for the chamber pot.

Quickly, quickly, she hurried over, found a low table with a quill on it. Foolscap curled atop it, but Marian ignored those parchments. John wouldn’t leave important messages lying out in his chamber, even if he didn’t think his visitors could read.

Glancing behind her, noting that the others were still busy, she slipped beyond the table, staying low to the ground, and found a small chest. Mayhap . . . she tried to open it, but the chest was locked. And then she saw a packet of oiled leather behind it . . . one that might be used to protect important documents. Quickly, with trembling fingers, she untied it and began to unroll the packet.

She scanned the documents, quickly-difficult in the flickering candlelight-keeping one ear and eye trained on the activity at the other end of the chamber . . . and was rewarded by the sight of a royal seal. Not of England, but of France. Of Philip Augustus.

Drawing in a deep breath, she knew she’d found something . . . for John would have no reason to be in contact with Philip unless it was for some treacherous reason. But all she saw in the letter was the odd words, “The wild dog shall be contained. An emperor shall cage him.”

Hearing a change in the mood behind her, Marian quickly stuffed the parchments back into their leather wrap, rolling and tying it back into place. She’d barely shoved it behind the chest, back into its hiding place, when a pair of boots came into her view.

She looked up to find Will staring down at her, an inscrutable expression on his face. Dimly noting that he hadn’t even removed his footwear during the entire evening, Marian pulled to her feet-helped by his imperious hand.

“What are you doing?” he asked in a low, deathly voice. “Are you a fool?”

“I was searching for a chamber pot,” she replied breathlessly, no longer even bothering to attempt to cover herself.

“Liar,” he said, and thrust her away more sharply than necessary. “Do not let John find you sneaking about, or you’ll discover that tonight was a delight compared to what he can do.”