having positive proof of your involvement. Gisbourne may not yet know who I am, but he will surely waken with blood in his eye and the name De Clare screaming from his lips.”
“Whatever did you do to him? Furthermore, what did he want with Robin?”
Eduard glanced up from refastening his points. She still stood against the moss, her cloak skewed to one side, her tunic raised in a crush above her thighs. The stone walls of the tunnel were damp from the mist and the tiny, glistening bits of minerals in the rock reflected the opalescent wash of light that came through the falls, seeming to form a glowing nimbus around her. Despite her obvious and magnificent look of debauchery, Eduard thought it best to guard a small part of her innocence, for a while longer at any rate.
“Suffice it to say he wanted Robin for no good reason and that Robin himself offered his refusal in a way Gisbourne will not likely soon forget—or forgive.”
“Meaning he wanted Robin in the same way you wanted me … and Robin responded in a similar fashion as Alan of the Dale.”
“Alan of the … who?”
“The outlaw who ambushed us on the road to Rennes. He said the guards wanted to use him as a whore, and he butted them, all right, but—”
Eduard’s mouth came down swiftly, perfunctorily, over hers, muffling her recollection along with the small laugh she accorded the look of surprise on his face.
“I have an excellent memory,” she said when she was able.
“Aye, and a knack of drawing on it at most inopportune moments.”
Ariel’s expression sobered. “Is Robin … that is, he was not hurt in any way, was he?”
“Only in the way he views the meaning of being in the ‘flower’ of knighthood. He, my lovely, is not quite so worldly-wise as you. Or me, alas. He is still convinced there is no true evil in the world, only slightly misguided fools who need a strong hand to show them the way to gaining purity of soul and goodness of heart.”
“But you do believe it? You believe true evil exists?”
“I am a product of it,” he said quietly. “And because of it, or perhaps in spite of it, I have tried too hard to protect Robin from the blacker side of humankind.”
“Because of it … because of you, my lord,” she insisted, “and the man you have become in spite of everything, he will make for a braver and bolder knight one day, for he will want to be just like you.”
Eduard lost himself in the drowning green of her eyes for a long moment and saw the pride and love shining there. It was pride for him, love for him, intense enough and honest enough to make him bow his head slightly, overwhelmed by the smothering tightness that took hold of his chest.
The same tightness was etched on his face and Ariel recognized it for what it was. She had been suffering it herself, the whole blessed day long, each and every time she glanced his way. The worst of it had been eased and was still wet and slick between her thighs, but she knew it would happen upon her again and again until they were out of England and could shout their love for each other to the world.
Until then, however, they would have to be content to shout it to themselves, in quiet ways. On darkened rooftops and in watery caves. With a look or a touch, or a few fleeting moments of intimacy that were over too soon. Too soon.
“Did you really mean what you said?” she asked softly. “If God Himself were waiting at Gloucester, you would not relinquish me?”
He did not meet her gaze, but the muscles in his arms bunched beneath her hands as he pulled her close again.
“I meant it,” he whispered, burying his lips in her hair. Ariel pressed herself into his heat and her hands climbed up to his shoulders, then slid around, lacing together at the back of his neck. She was aware of his heartbeat hammering in his chest and of the tension coursing through his body. The tumbled waves of her hair framed the expectant face she raised to him; her lips, soft and moist, traced a warm, seductive path up his throat.
“Absolutely shameless,” he murmured.
Ariel sighed. And agreed.
Henry de Clare heard a woman’s muffled cry and opened his eyes. It took a minute to register the scene: the cavern, the wool blankets hung