“Robin-!” she began, but before she could speak his complete name, he covered her mouth with an impudent kiss.

After not seeing him for so many years, she couldn’t have been more surprised by the kiss. Although she’d always been attracted to him, his charming personality and handsome appearance in the past, he’d done little more than tease her into a fury. He certainly had never tried to kiss her.

By the time Marian had caught her breath and freed herself from the man she’d known as Robin of Locksley-not Robin of the Hood-he had swept her up and run into the woods with her. A moment later, he thrust her up onto the saddle of a horse, and Robin vaulted up behind her before she could untangle her legs from her skirts and slip back to the ground.

The outraged roars from Bruse and the responding threats from the band of thieves faded as Robin kicked his horse into a gallop, crashing through the brush with his captive. Branches slashed across her face and caught at her veil, pulling it half off, as they dashed through the forest.

“Robin! What are you doing? Are you mad? It is you, isn’t it?” Marian hardly knew what to think. The last she had heard from the young man who’d fostered at her childhood home, Mead’s Vale, was that he’d gone on Crusade with the newly coronated King Richard.

“Aye, indeed, Lady Marian,” he said, stressing her title a bit. “I thought it would be a fitting welcome to you as you journeyed to that blackhearted cocklicker’s court.”

“Robin,” she gasped, all the air jolted from her lungs as they galloped through the woods. “What are you talking about?”

Suddenly, he wheeled the horse into a small clearing and slid down from the saddle. Looking up at her, he gave her the slow, easy grin she remembered from their youth, and rested his hands at her hips as though to help her down. But he didn’t; instead, he curled his fingers firmly into her flesh and then slid all along the sides, from thigh to knee. Little bumps rose on her skin, tingling at his intimate touch.