That stole my breath, and I stared at him as he turned, his face broken open and wide, like a hurt little boy instead of the evil warrior of a man I knew. He came closer to me and knelt before my chair, pulling me closer to the edge of it. “What are you—” I started.
“Hush,” he said, and he leaned forward and kissed me. Even if I saw a hurt soul, it weren’t in his kiss; it were forceful and hard and strong, overpowering. I tried to pull away and he held me still.
My breath started rushing faster and my heart fluttered with fear. I curled my nails into his face, digging at the flesh as I tried to cry out.
With more speed than I thought he had in him, he grabbed my arms and hauled me up before him. He let my mouth go but held me still. “Get on the bed,” he told me.
“Are you daft?” I wailed. “No!”
His fingers pinched my arms, squeezing overtight. His face turned into a sneer. “Tell me, my dear, what did you think my reaction would be to losing this competition? Just hand you over to your hero with a smile on my face? Let you live as lord and lady of the manor?”
“The annulment—”
“Getting rid of you seems quite thrilling provided I have something left. But I don’t, and you, Eleanor’s favorite, will buy me something more. So get on the bed, Marian, because I will never annul this marriage, and in a few minutes, it won’t even be possible.”
He let me go, which seemed a fool thing to do. I ran for the door but he were too close, and he slammed against my back, trapping my hand between me and the door.
I wailed in pain.
His hands caught my waist, running up to squeeze my bits. “Since when did I ever mind chasing you, love?” he growled in my ear.
I smashed my head back against his and got an inch of space, running to the window, trying to get my knife on the shutter. He caught up and pinned me to the ledge so I bent forward, straining for the knife.
“I’m not Eleanor’s favorite,” I grunted through my teeth. “What would she ever give you for me?”
His hands ran up my back and caught the back of my gown. He jerked hard and the thing tore. I pulled back from the shutter to try and hit him, but his giant paw on my neck heaved me forward. “Stay,” he snapped. “Foolish little thief. You know nothing of who you really are. Why, Eleanor and Richard will do anything to keep you safe.”
His hands were on my naked back, and he pressed a kiss to the long scar that ran from my shoulder to my spine that his sword had given me months ago.
“Lovely,” he murmured as my skin crawled over my bones.
The extra weight had pushed me forward, and my hand closed on the hilt of the knife. I couldn’t push up—he were too heavy on my back and my good hand had the knife in it. I pulled it under me. “Eleanor wouldn’t give you anything for me. And what the hell does Richard have to do with it?”
“You don’t think?” he mused. “You haven’t figured this out, clever thief?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Your father, Marian.”
“My father?” I asked.
He were pulling at my skirts and trying to drag them up while he were still pushing me down. I kicked out vicious, trying to hit him. Gisbourne laughed. “You know. Don’t you? Coeur de Leon,” he said to me.
Lionheart.
My blood started to drain from my skin. “What?” I asked.
“I know your parents said something about it. Didn’t they?” His voice were taunting me now.
“N-no.”
“I heard them say you’re not their daughter. Whose daughter are you, Marian?” he asked, chuckling. “Who do you think could place you in a noble household? Who would?”
My good hand curled into a fist around the knife, shaking and waiting for the right moment even as I felt his hands on my legs. “What do you know, Guy?”
“I know who you are.” I were still and he leaned close to whisper in my ear. “I know who you’ve always been. Whose blood is really in your veins. I know why it would be the most mortal of sins to spill your blood. Why Eleanor won’t allow her son to harm you.”
“Say it,” I snapped.
He laughed. “Who hid you, Marian?”
“Eleanor,” I guessed.
He nodded. “Why?”
“Do you think I know that! Tell me, Gisbourne!”
“Because you’re a bastard,” he told me, pulling my skirts higher.
“Whose?”
“I already told you that.”
My head swam, and my knees went soft. Coeur de Leon. “That’s not true.”
“Of course it is.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I would have heard of it!” I said. “Everyone would have heard of it!”
“Eleanor’s not that foolish. You would never be allowed to rule, of course, but a bastard princess—that’s still a considerable power. Eleanor knows better than anyone how to wield a child. She uses her own like chess pieces.”
“But he weren’t—he weren’t even king—” I were struggling to breathe right.
Gisbourne chuckled, and he lifted his hips off me to pull my skirt up. It were a tiny bit of space, but it were the moment I needed.