Free Bound By Honor: An Erotic Novel of Maid Marian by Colette Gale Page A

should be prudent enough to stay far from the lords and ladies who would roam the woods. Yet, for some reason, she didn’t think he would.
    In fact, knowing Robin . . . she suspected he’d be in the thick of it, simply for the thrill of doing so.

CHAPTER 5
    The ferocious black horse belonging to the Sheriff of Nottinghamshire caused the villeins and serfs of Ludlow Village to scuttle from its path. Eyes peered from behind shutters as Will navigated the beast through the narrow streets of the town, his expression as black as his mount’s.
    As Cauchemar clip-clopped along, Will’s sharp eyes missed nothing: the sagging roof of the smithy, an abysmally small pile of wooden bands outside the cooper’s, the scrawny chickens that scattered into the road ahead of him.
    A small boy dressed in thin clothing dashed out after the chickens to chase them from beneath the destrier’s hooves, nearly getting himself trampled in the process. A scream from his mother, restrained from rushing out after her son by an older boy, broke the silence, swallowing Will’s own curse as he hauled back on the reins. His beast reared high, wheeled to the side by his rider’s demands, then slammed back to the ground in a loud, forceful jolt that shook the shutters of the nearby leatherworker.
    The boy escaped unscathed, but Will dared not stop to ascertain whether any of the chickens had had their brains smashed by a hoof. The Sheriff of Nottinghamshire’s presence was not appreciated in this town, nor in any of the other twenty-some villages of the county for which he was responsible.
    His reputation was as black as the clothing he favored, the warhorse he rode, the expression on his face. When he approached, the villagers stayed away from him, cowering behind their shuttered doors in fear of being dragged away for some criminal offense—real or invented.
    Will knew this and did nothing to lessen those fears. He was an agent of the king and, through him, of the prince. The king had a holy war to finance, and it was the sheriff ’s charge to oversee the collection of taxes—regardless of whether the people claimed they could afford them—and the imposition of justice where necessary. If some of his peers thought it odd that a landless knight had been named sheriff of this lush green shire that was home to one of the king’s most fertile hunting forests, few dared to comment on it.
    Those did were told the truth: the king had chosen to reward William de Wendeval for his father’s, and his own, years of unwavering service—the specifics of which remained unspoken.
    But today, on this bright and sunny morning in late September, William de Wendeval was particularly aware of the fear and dislike emanating from behind doors and stable walls, for he saw it through the eyes of those who rode with him.
    Most of the ladies of the court were intimidated and avoided him. Some of the men respected his father and had known Will himself before he became sheriff, but since his association with John they’d become cool and reserved. Will felt their defection more acutely than the coolness of the women, for some of the noblemen that had withdrawn their friendship were men that he’d particularly liked. And as for women . . . well, there were plenty of maidservants willing to part their legs for a bauble or coin, and they were far less likely to have possessive husbands or a need to be wooed.
    The hunting party had ridden from the keep’s stables through the bailey area, which was enclosed by massive, high walls topped by crenellations, and then over its surrounding moat. That had brought them to the narrow streets of the little town that sprawled beyond, protected by its own walls.
    Now, as they neared the raised portcullis of the village’s gate, the sound of hunting horns filled the air. The horses pricked up their ears and increased their gait as the dogs began to bay in enthusiasm.
    Although he’d arranged the activity, John had declined to join them