A lovely lady Marian had become. So much that it had taken him by surprise when he accosted her wagon earlier today. Of course, he’d known it was hers, but he hadn’t expected to find such a pleasant surprise within. A gangly girl with pale skin and an overload of freckles, Marian had always had the beacon-bright hair, as well as the stubborn chin . . . but now all that had melded into a very lovely woman.

By all rights, Robin should have been down below, on the rush-covered floor, with all the other vassals of King Richard, sitting at the trestle tables and slamming fair maidens up against the wall for a kiss-or more.

When he was Lord Robin of Locksley, he had been a favorite with the ladies for his charm, wit, and skill on the lute. He had been counted one of the favorites of the ladies of the royal court, who’d enjoyed the tradition begun in Queen Eleanor’s Court of Love, wherein the knights and lords worshipped them from afar (and sometimes from very intimate proximity). In the old days, Robin had little difficulty moving from that pose of distant worship to a closer hold beneath the laces of those tight-fitting undertunics . . . to the mutual pleasure of all parties.

And then the old king had died, and his son decided to go on Crusade, and everything had changed.

Now Robin of Locksley had become Robin of the Hood, an outlaw who ranged throughout Sherwood Forest, terrorizing those who passed through. And who must remain on the periphery of the court, no longer lord of his own fief. There were benefits to his situation, but at this moment, Robin found them little compensation.

He watched as William de Wendeval seized Marian’s hand when she raised it to strike him, and held it steady as he leaned down into her face. The man appeared unruffled as he spoke with obvious intensity.

Robin gritted his teeth as he watched. His father had thought years ago of betrothing his son to Marian, and had even gone so far as to speak to her father about it. At the time, Robin had little interest in the pale, skinny girl who always wanted to follow him around and who beat him at archery contests more often than he liked to admit. But now he realized he didn’t like watching Nottingham pushing himself upon her, not one whit. And he wasn’t going to allow it to happen.