A Wanton's Thief Page 9

  Falcon heard Salena’s sharp gasp, but there wasn’t time to address her protest. The second and third riders were upon him, one on each side. It soon became clear that the meager swords were no match for Falcon’s heavy, war-wielding weapon. With a quick slice to the dull blades, first left then right, their swords bent and became dislodged from their weak grips. The impact unseated them in almost perfect unison. Eyes wide with stunned disbelief at their sudden positions upon the damp forest floor, they both scrambled up and took off into the woods.

  “Cowards!” Sheldon roared. To the remaining two, he growled, “After them or you both die.”

  At that, Salena gasped again. But Falcon wasn’t sure if the surprise was a result of Sheldon’s coldhearted words or the fact that the two riders had shot into quick action. More equipped than the others had been, they both drew their bows into position and plucked arrows from their packs. As they drew back, Falcon wrapped his arms behind him, attempting to shield Salena from any stray arrows.

  “They hit her, Tremayne, and you die,” he said tightly. “That is a promise.”

  Sheldon made a gesture to halt his men. They paused, the arrows drawn back and aimed square at Falcon’s chest.

  Sheldon chuckled, an evil, deep rumble. “Well then, hand her over, Robin Hood, and you live.”

  “Nay.”

  Sheldon crossed his wrists over the horn of his saddle. He leaned forward nonchalantly, his hellfire-red hair whipping about his bony, pale face. The dark eyes glowed deep and fathomless like a viper’s pit. “Nay, he says?” His nostrils flared. “Kill him.”

  The riders repositioned their longbows and aimed the sharpened arrows at Falcon. It was then he noticed the tall, giant-like figure peeping around the trunk of a massive oak tree. Ah, Little John. Falcon’s gaze riveted to the opposite side of the tree to see yet another of his cohorts. Beauregard Fitzhugh, his familiar lithe frame leaning against the trunk, drew back on his longbow. The sound of Beau’s arrow whistling across the clearing distracted one of the attackers. He glanced up just in time to watch the iron tip slam into his shoulder, dislodging his own weapon. Before he could even clutch himself or scream in response, Little John’s arrow pierced the other man’s upper arm. The bow went clamoring to the ground while both men cried out in agony.

  Sheldon glanced about, struggling to see where the stray arrows had come from. “Get down from your mounts, you fools, and retrieve your weapons!”

  “Fuck you,” the one with the bleeding shoulder hissed out. “Get it yourself.”

  “You dare to defy me?” he said through clenched teeth. Sheldon sidled his horse up to the man and raised his hand. “Why, I’ll—”

  The next arrow hit dead center through Sheldon’s raised hand. His screech of pain carried over the moan of the wind. Falcon heard Salena’s wince and knew without looking that tears poured over her high cheekbones.

  “Take what’s left of your men and be gone, Tremayne,” Falcon warned. “And take with you the comforting thought that my Merry Men are always accurate with their intended targets.”

  Sweat beaded over Sheldon’s high forehead. He broke off the arrow and yanked the wooden length from his hand with a grunt. Blood spewed forth, dribbling over the white hide of his horse.

  “You’ll pay for this, Robin Hood. With your life.”

  “If only my immortal life were that fragile…” Falcon mumbled to himself.

  “Speak up, thief!” Sheldon roared, his horse prancing beneath his trembling body.

  “I said, be gone with you—you and all your casualties. And I suggest you all tend to those wounds before fever sets in.”

  Little John and Beau sauntered forward, fresh arrows aimed square at Sheldon.

  Sheldon eyed them, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he held his bleeding hand. His gaze moved to scan his injured excuse for an army. “So,” he said to his men, “we ride now…but we’ll soon be bringing reinforcements. And the lowly bandit will pay for his mistakes, for kidnapping Lady Salena and harming us all. That I promise with my life.”

  The unconscious one on the ground began to stir. He looked about, wincing when he touched the knot on his head and drew his hand back to find sticky blood upon his fingertips. “Master?”

  “Get up! We ride. Locate your mount and return to the inn.” With that, he spun his horse around and sailed through the woods. The two who still remained seated, followed leaving the small man alone on the ground. When they disappeared into the thick foliage, the serf dragged himself up from the wet earth.

  “Y-you’re…Robin Hood?” the man squeaked. His mousy-brown hair matched his dull brown eyes. The sallow face was one riddled with either illness or fear—Falcon wasn’t sure which. He was dressed in the rags of a less-than-valued servant. And his bony frame spoke of one too many missed meals.

  “Aye, the Prince of Thieves.” Little John spoke before Falcon could reply. As he walked across the clearing, his massive, muscle-packed body moved with all the grace and agility of a man of Beau’s thinner stature. John’s midnight-black hair swung in long strands around his wide shoulders. “And you’re mighty lucky his good, kind heart chose to spare your life and leave you with naught but an annoying lump upon your head.”

  At the compliment, Salena stiffened behind him, a squeal attempting to erupt from her throat.

  Little John turned toward Falcon and stalked to Warrior’s side. He looked up, his misty-blue eyes trained upon Salena. “It seems the beautiful lady disagrees with my description of you, Robin, eh?”

  Falcon smiled tightly. “Why, I suppose I will let the lady tell you herself.” He turned and snared her damning eyes with his own. “You may speak now, Lady Salena. And, as usual, you’ve permission to move your body as long as you don’t attempt escape.”

  “Good?” she screeched, her gaze snapping down to lash out at John. “Kindhearted?” Her unladylike snort accompanied tears. “Well, Mr. Whoever-the-hell-you-are-giant, I beg to differ. Try brute. Try thief of the king’s coffers. Try amorous, conceited rogue, for the love of almighty God!”

  “And for the lady,” Falcon mumbled, “try thorny rosebud.”

  Beau and John both roared their agreement.

  “Who are these men?” Her voice held an edge of fear with that of haughtiness.

  “Ah, forgive my terrible manners. Beau, Little John, meet Lady Salena Tremayne, future Duchess of Oxford. Lady Salena, may I present Beauregard Fitzhugh, my highly trusted scout, and John Lawton—or Little John as he’s known in these parts—my occasional bodyguard and…brother.”

  Her stare moved with contempt from Beau’s boyish, pretty face to John’s manly, handsome features that never failed to stop a lady’s heart—and now was no exception, it seemed.

  “Brother?” she hissed out, her lip curled in derision. “Ha! You’re as different as night and day…with the exception of your thieving talents, apparently.”

  Little John removed his woodsman’s hat and bowed graciously. “Madam. Pleased to make your breathtaking acquaintance.” He straightened and set his hat back upon his head, taming the fluttering of his long, billowing hair. Already, Falcon knew what was going through his friend’s mind. And though it sent a stab of jealousy raging through his system, he could feel his cock harden at the thought of what would come, as it always did with the two of them.

  Salena made no indication of his overt charms affecting her. She narrowed her eyes and speared Falcon with the sharp emotion within them. “Please tell me these men will not be riding with us, Montague.”

  “Hmm.” Falcon stroked his whiskered jaw. “I’m not too sure. Beau? John? Are you returning to camp or are you riding out on another skirmish?”

  “I’d planned to venture into London to visit my ma,” Beau said as he secured the bow across his back. “John and I just happened upon one another shortly before we heard the shouts.”

  John slung his longbow over his shoulder and crossed his thick arms over his chest. “And I was in pursuit of you, Robin—er, um, Fal
con. It seems you’ve been delayed by a good night or so.”

  Falcon flicked a look at Salena. The tears were now dried on her cheeks. She sent him a scathing look, but did not reply.

  “Well, the wench is the reason for my delay.” As Falcon spoke, Warrior bent his head and began to chew on a lone patch of soggy, dead grass. A chilly breeze rustled his mane, carrying with it the aroma of the early morning rain mixed with soil…and her enticing scent.

  “During the planned raid of her manor, I became witness to a murder plot…which included the lady here as the target.”

  John chuckled. “So you thought to rescue her from her dire demise.”

  “Precisely.”

  “You’re all fools if you believe such bloody lies from this thief!” Salena snarled.

  Beau merely drew out a hunk of dried venison from his codpiece, tore off a strip for himself and offered the remainder to Falcon. He accepted, passing a portion to Salena. She stared at the food in her palm, seeming as dumfounded as if the spell remained upon her voice. But her eyes rose when John stepped up to Warrior so that his chest pressed against her right leg. He spoke with a calm note, though anger simmered in the depths of his sparkling eyes.

  “My brother does not lie, nor is he a common thief, milady. I’d advise you to heed my words and remember them well.”

  “Brother, ha! I see you lie as well, giant. You’re no more brothers than myself and this unfortunate serf here.”

  John’s gaze never left her. “Kinship goes beyond blood, Lady Salena.”

  “Oh? How so?”

  “You see, as brothers, we share everything. From the food offered now within your palm, to the fruits of our labors…to our women.”

  Chapter Six

  We share everything…

  John’s words echoed in her head. Though Salena knew herself to be relatively innocent, that ominous meaning did not pass without comprehension. Her heart leaped into a gallop. She could feel Falcon’s warmth against her breasts, but John’s pale blue gaze now raked her from head to toe, making her blood boil with sudden lust.

  What was wrong with her? Had Falcon cast a spell of carnality upon her, turning her from pure maiden to wanton harlot? The thought of it both angered and thrilled her. How it could be so, she did not know.

  But she would not give into this madness!

  “I am no one’s woman,” she ground out, raising her chin to emphasize her words.

  John trailed a hand down her leg. Its size made her think of a bear’s paw, so very large and lethal. Sparks of reluctant heat ignited wherever he touched. With an inward groan, she tightened her groin muscles as a gush of hot wetness escaped her passage.

  “You are Falcon Montague’s woman, that I concede.”

  “Enough, John,” Falcon growled. And he reined Warrior out of John’s reach.

  One of John’s inky eyebrows shot up like the tip of an arrow. “Hmm, Falcon, this is quite out of the norm and very…interesting.”

  “We do not have time to play games. We must ride for camp. Are you or aren’t you returning with us?”

  “Aye, I’ll be returning, though I’ve no mount—as usual. I came by foot and will meet up with you later.”

  “Take the serf with you.” His voice came out in a half-bark. “His roan has wondered deep within the forest. Retrieve it as you make your way back to our encampment. Once you settle in, see that he is fed and clothed well. And please, if we should be…delayed, brief Lorcan and forewarn him that I ride with the lady.”

  Not seeming the least bit put out or rejected, John smiled his agreement and pulled the now befuddled serf along behind him. “I understand those types of…delays, my friend. Go forth and have a safe journey.”

  “That we will. And once you’ve accomplished settling the serf in and meeting with Lorcan, we shall see you at our…secret locale.”

  “Secret locale?” Salena couldn’t help but question such a cryptic phrase.

  “You shall see…” Falcon mumbled. To John, he added, “Farewell, brother.”

  And John simply nodded to that, shooting Salena one last smoldering gaze before slipping into the foliage. He and the serf disappeared as a spirit might into thin air. With his departure Salena had been left with the memory of his heated touch upon her thigh. And a host of confusion and conflicting emotions.

  * * * * *

  Salena’s conflicting, swirling thoughts of John came to Falcon in a rush among his own curiously territorial emotions. With great self-discipline and a measure of self-disgust, he got on with the matters at hand.

  “Beau, please give my regards to your sweet ma.” Falcon reached into his codpiece and withdrew a silver coin. “And give her this token of my appreciation for her son’s loyalty.”

  Beau grinned, still chomping on the meat as he caught the coin in his free hand. “Many thanks, my noble man. I will see you in a day or two.”

  “Godspeed.” Falcon waved as Beau gave a lighthearted skip and disappeared into the woods.

  “Noble?” Salena neither offered nor needed further words to express her meaning.

  Falcon urged Warrior into a trot. “Apparently, ‘tis in the eye of the beholder.”

  “Apparently.” She remained behind him and he felt the tightening of her grip as they traveled on. Some sort of odd, fuzzy warmth embraced his heart. He could sense her exciting aura in all manners, sweet scent, soft raspy voice and a sort of unusually thrumming energy surrounding her.

  “And what of this Little John character? He seems to think you to be noble, as well, yet I detect a trace of disrespect.”

  “Disrespect?”

  “Aye, in that he seemed to attempt to seduce me—before your very eyes, no less—and offered that ridiculous excuse about sharing.”

  “‘Tis no excuse.” He rounded a bend on the path and saw the edge of the large meadow ahead, which edged their destination at its nearest point.

  “I beg your pardon.”

  “John and I go way back…centuries.”

  “Centuries?”

  “Aye, princess. I’m sure you now accept my…powers as fact.”

  He slowed Warrior’s gait when the forest opened up into an enormous field. The rolling meadow stretched for miles, the grass and wild weeds still clinging to their green coloring of the season past. Above, the sky remained gray, foreshadowing of weather to come. The scent of winter hovered about, and Falcon wondered what sort of precipitation was in the near forecast. He inhaled the sharp cold air, suddenly eager for snow.

  “You ride with a man trapped in immortality—as is Little John. Thus the reason our legend is surrounded by such contradictions as to when and if we ever existed.”

  “So he is truly your brother?”

  “Nay, not by your understanding of brother, as Sheldon is yours. John is my soul-brother, so to speak. We’ve been through much together…shared much.”

  “Yes, shared your women, as he insisted. Well, hear this, my hoodlum prince. I am not your woman to share, and I do not wish to bed down with more than one man at a time. Make that any man. In fact, until you burst into my life, I’d bedded no one but that one unfortunate mistake with a former betrothed, who is now deceased.”

  “That I am perfectly aware of.” Her little used barrier had been undeniably tight. The thought of it sent a charge of aching need to his loins. Warrior tossed his head, and Falcon was grateful for the distraction. A white puff of condensation billowed from the beast’s nostrils. Falcon’s gaze spied a flake of snow ahead, then another, and it pleased him to see the birth of the season he so loved.

  “Damn you, I do not wish to be taken advantage of anymore, either by you or your supposed brother.”

  He pulled on the reins and brought the horse to a halt. Turning, he looked into the depths of her eyes, the blue of them startling above the rosy cheeks. Snowflakes fell, coming to rest on the spiked dark lashes. As he studied her, her chest rose and fell beneath the cloak and her exhalations came out in white puffs of excitement. The pictur
e she made took the very life from his immortal soul. His heart pounded, his palms dampened. And his cock reared up with the need to burrow into her hot pussy and never withdraw.

  “Do not wish it? Have you forgotten I can read your mind, Salena? I heard your thoughts, felt the primal lust that coursed through your system when John touched you. Deny it all you want in verbal words, but the truth cannot get past me.”

  She gasped. “You bastard.”

  “Nay, just an honest thief.” He hadn’t meant for that last word to come out with a twist of sarcasm. But damn it, would she ever see him as the man he truly was?

  “Please,” she said softly, swallowing audibly. “Return me to my brother. You’ve gotten what you came for, my family’s coffers and…my—you’ve finally bedded me. Have you no decency left?”

  “I will not return you to your home until I’m assured your life is no longer in danger.”

  Salena scoffed, one lone tear glistening in the corner of her eye. “And my life is not in danger in your company?”

  “Whether you’ll admit it to yourself or not, you know you are safe with me.”

  “Not from your advances—nor will I be from your friend. I’d rather die than bear the shame of this…this situation!”

  “Do not fret over John. You are mine. It is our way in that I found you first. But by our soul’s affinity, we must share with one another at least once for energy—if the other wishes. And John, no doubt, wishes to have you. And you desire to have him, as well. It is fact. It burns in your very soul. Even now,” he rasped, reaching a hand down to cup her apex, “you throb with the thought of being made love to by John and me at the same time.”

  Her eyelids fluttered shut then open. She stifled a moan. “At the same time?”

  “Aye, a common practice, though as an innocent, you would not know of this yet.”

  “I’ve…” She drew in a sharp breath when he slid a hand up her skirt and found her wetness. Ah, she was so very ripe and ready!

  Her eyebrows furrowed as she fought the lust that he knew slammed through her veins. “N-no. It cannot be. Yes, I concede I’ve heard it whispered among the ladies at court. B-but I always thought it to be a tale. It must be a lie!”