As he had done at the two rehearsals, Staff made certain that he was the one to abduct the blonde Maid Marian. The king had encouraged it, for the arch villain of the piece should take the love of the hero, so that they might fight in the end.
Mary kept her tongue while in front of the group, for she saw no way out of the situation. But each time he wedged her tightly between his strong body and the inner wooden framework of the castle, as they awaited the final challenge of Robin Hood, she told him to keep his hands to himself and off her waist and hips.
Tonight she had intended to put someone else between her and Staff while they stood, eight of them, packed in the mock castle. But her mask slipped again and, in the shadows of the inner void, he had her tight against him again. She raised her mask above her eyebrows and tried to thrust an elbow into his ribs.
“Loose me,” she whispered.
“Hush, sweet Maid Marian. There is a full audience tonight and we must not ruin the king’s fun—unfortunately.” His voice was low, but his mouth was so close, he rustled her hair and veil when he spoke.
“I am sure this amuses you!”
“No, sweetheart, it pleases me to have you so close and my captive. It is my fondest fantasy.”
She hated him for his mocking ways, but his voice seemed to be in earnest. She pushed out against him to free herself from his near embrace, but he did not budge and she felt his hard, flat stomach and muscular thighs press her back. Her heart began to pound distinctly from the strenuous dancing. He, too, seemed out of breath, breathing raggedly in her ear, standing close to her, touching her everywhere. His hands rested on the rough wood behind her against which her hips leaned. They stood silent while the music played on, and somewhere out there, Robin and his men searched the forest for their ladies. She wanted to threaten him, to say she would tell the king or her husband, but she did not. Her knees grew weak against his legs and she began to tremble from somewhere deep inside.
Then the music changed. The ladies and the sheriff’s men spilled out of the castle for combat, leaving only the sheriff and his prisoner for the outlaw hero to find a few moments later.
Neither of them moved, although the dim empty cavity of the castle now gave them room. Staff bent his head and his lips caressed hers once. “No,” she said. “No.”
He kissed her again, bringing both hands up behind her head to hold her still, and his hot lips slanted sideways across her open mouth. Her head spun crazily. She was dizzy. She could not breathe in here. She would fall in front of the queen. They would all know what he had done. There was no time left, surely. The castle portcullis would swing up, the door would be opened and His Grace would see them!
He pulled his mouth away and said against her flushed cheek, “I have never envied any other man his bed before this long, long week. Now two men will possess you and neither really loves you, Mary Bullen. Think of me when you spread your sweet thighs for them!”
He pulled away from her abruptly, and she almost fell. His words spun in her head, but she could not grasp the meaning. He tugged her by her wrist to the door of the castle just as it swung wide and the king stood there, his golden sword held aloft and his mask obscuring his face. Mary thought to yank down her mask just as she followed the beleaguered sheriff into the pool of light at center stage. She stood with her hands clasped in mock fear as they parried and thrust at each other amid cheers and applause in the ring of dancers. It was sometime then, during their fierce battle, that she caught Staff’s words and grasped their meaning. Undoubtedly, he did not really care for her, but was only amusing himself by chasing the mistress of the king. Surely he must detest His Grace for his handling of him all these years, even as Will Carey resented it.
The sheriff was beaten and his sword was dropped at the feet of the victor. Applause exploded and everyone bowed before Queen Catherine and the tiny clapping princess. Mary took her curtseys between Staff and the king, but none of them looked anywhere but on the smiling Catherine. Finally, she was presented to Her Grace, who said some kind words about her father and her lovely mother, and then the room emptied swiftly. Henry escorted his queen from the table, and carried his smiling, babbling moppet on his great arm.
Mary had not expected that. Perhaps she had misunderstood him. Her husband was gone and, thank the blessed saints, so was Staff. But Francis Weston was at her side taking her elbow gently. “May I escort you, Lady Carey? His Grace said he would be but a moment.”
Her apprehension ebbed, but then embarrassment flooded in to think that they all knew. Weston, her husband, Staff, they all knew. She dreaded what the queen would say when someone told her about why the young Bullen girl was newly come to court.