Chapter 12

“Explain what?” Will’s temper flared; his eyes flashed like the storm-tossed sea, and his cheeks flushed the color of his hair. “That you crawl into my tent to lie beside me every night when the others are asleep? That you, Robin of Locksley, youbeg for my touch? That you squeallike a pig when I take you?”

Suddenly the water swirling around Robin’s ankles felt like ice. “I do not squeal.”

Will’s voice raised in an eerie imitation of Robin’s lusty cries during sex. “Oh, William, my Lord, oh please, oh please. Yes, God yes, a thousand times, yes.”

Dredging his tunic from the stream, Robin fisted it into a tight ball and flung it at Will. There was a definite chill to his words when he said, “Thank you for the return of my clothes. You are quite right—I shall not be frequenting your tent again.” As he stepped from the stream, he snagged the hosen stretched between Will’s hands and tugged it free. “You’ll sleep much better without me in your arms, I imagine.”