by Lisa Jackson
Passion turned her thoughts around. She would not listen to the doubts swiftly slipping from her mind. Though he was a murdering outlaw, she wanted him. Despite the fact that he could cause her to act like a shameless kitchen wench, she hungered for him. Even though she would be banished for the rest of her life, constantly reminded that she was a wanton harlot, she could not resist him. That she was married was of no consequence; this man, this Wolf, was her one true love.
His kiss was deep and anxious, his moan as fierce as the tide at midnight. Sliding the neckline of her chemise over her shoulder, he pressed warm lips to her bare skin. With a gasp, she quivered inside. In the firelight, his face was composed of deep angles and grooves, dark shadows and golden slopes, and he was anxious as he kicked off his boots.
“I want you,” he admitted, his countenance fierce, as if in the saying of the betraying act he would have to fight. He untied the ribbon of her chemise, letting the soft fabric fall open so that he could view her breasts in the firelight. “But you are Holt’s wife.” He traced the rim of her nipple, that dark ready circle, with the tip of his finger.
“It matters not,” she gasped when he found the hard button and rolled it between his finger and thumb.
“Yes … yes, it matters.” But he pulled her close and clamped his mouth to her breast, kissing, teasing, tasting, laving while she writhed against him. Heat boiled through her blood, and deep in the very depths of her, where she was untouched, she felt a new tingling and warmth, a dark yearning that only he could fill.
She didn’t protest when he yanked down her chemise, baring her torso to the shadowy light, looking down at her with the savage possession of one who was used to taking rather than asking.
“You are sure, m’lady?” he asked, his voice ragged as he skimmed the hated flimsy garment down her legs. She lay naked before him, her skin flushed with desire, the nest of curls at her legs dewy with a craving she’d never before felt. She nodded.
“You want me, little one.”
“As you want me.”
“Aye,” he admitted, taking her hand and placing it on the front of his breeches. Through the fabric, she felt his manhood, stiff and upright.
Her throat went dry and she leaned upward, kissing him and sliding his tunic over his wounded shoulders. “Show me.”
His lips locked over hers and he rolled her onto her back. Pressed into the rugs, she welcomed his weight as he rubbed against her, his breeches rough upon her skin, the dark hairs that swirled over his chest tickling her breasts. Her skin was afire, her senses alive, and he dragged his mouth from her lips, past her chin, along her neck, and lower, pausing at the circle of bones at the base of her throat.
She bucked as he kissed her breasts again and slid ever lower, his tongue rimming her navel as her fingers clenched in his thick hair. She could scarcely breathe, and her heart was pounding in a wild, uneven cadence as he slid his hands down her legs, slowly and lazily, drawing them up as her mind swam in the warm whirlpool of his love. Writhing against the pallet, she caught her breath when his fingers first touched her in that most private of places and then gently probed, moving slowly at first and then faster as the heat within her grew. She cried out in lust and fear, moving with him, letting him take her on a ride she’d never felt before.
“That’s it, little one, give yourself up,” he said against her inner thigh, and something inside of her broke, a dam that was holding the heat at bay. Faster and faster he stroked her, sending her hips into wanton thrusting. With a cry, she lifted up, only to fall back to the fur, her skin drenched, her mind spinning. She had trouble finding her breath and her heart would not be quiet, but he was not done.
As if there was more loving to have, as if the earth hadn’t splintered before her very eyes, he slid beneath her legs, lifted her rump with his hands, and kissed her more intimately than she’d ever expected.
She convulsed, but he held her tight, whispering into her that ’twould be all right, that she would fly like a falcon again, and before she could protest, he was close to her, his breath hot, his mouth wet, his tongue seeking new areas to plunder. Shuddering, she closed her eyes and bucked upward, wanting more, so much more, until it came, that wonderful hot spasm of release, and the world spun again.
As she cried out, he slid up her body, holding her to his rock-hard muscles, cradling her as the first tears—of joy or sadness, she knew not which—slid down her cheeks. She sobbed brokenly and realized that she cared for him far more than she’d ever dared admit to herself, that she was a soul lost and he was her anchor—that, curse and rot his stubborn hide, she loved him.
Nine
e just took off. I don’t know when, but I woke up needin’ to relieve myself and noticed ’e was gone,” Odell said, shaking his head and staring at the ground as if he expected Wolf to flog him for letting Robin slip away. A few men had awakened and gathered around though dawn had yet to send her gray light through the valley.
Megan had awakened from a particularly wanton dream when Wolf, his arms surrounding her, had started. “Something’s amiss,” he’d whispered into her ear, and she knew he was right, for Odell was cursing loudly and angrily. They’d hurried down the crumbling hallway and outside to find him muttering, grumbling, and swearing by the remains of last night’s fire. Odell had admitted then that Robin was missing.
“Why?” Wolf asked as he rubbed his jaw and glared at the older man. “He was injured, for God’s sake.”
“ ’Twas that he felt like a fool. Embarrassed he was about nearly being killed by the boear. He’d hoped to bag that beast and bring it to the camp so that he would look like a man rather than the boy we take him for.”
“He is a boy,” Wolf said.
Odell dug at the coals with a stick as Peter carried over more firewood. “Aye, but he wants to be thought of as a man.” He looked over his shoulder at Megan. “Especially since the lady arrived.”
So ’twas her fault the lad was missing, she thought and read the silent suspicions on the men’s faces. “Where would he go?” she asked, knowing that he had no home.
“After Cormick and Bjorn.” Wolf’s voice was filled with conviction and he stared at the surrounding woods as if he was envisioning Robin’s flight. “He asked to be sent to Dwyrain as a messenger.”
“Aye,” Odell said, as a pitchy log caught fire and flames popped and crackled, lighting the ground surrounding the fire pit.
Wolf, who’d been calm, kicked angrily at a stone near the boar’s hide and flung Megan a dark look.
He blames me. Everyone blames me!
“I’ll go after him. Jagger, come with me; Heath, go to the village, see if there’s word of him. Dominic, you’re in charge, and no one,” he said, eyeing each and every man until his gaze landed with deadly aim upon Megan, “is to leave. As soon as Bjorn and Cormick return, we’ll break camp and move, but until then, we stay here.”
No one dared argue, and as the first light of morning crept across the land, he and Jagger climbed upon their horses and rode through the trees. Megan watched horses and riders disappear through the trees and she shivered, not from the frosty wind that chased down the river and knifed through her bones, but from the horrid thought that she might never see Wolf again.
They caught up with the boy in early afternoon, when they spied the gray hack he’d taken with him tied to the bare branch of an apple tree. Robin, wrapped in his mantle, was lying on the ground and didn’t start when Wolf and Jagger approached, nor did he open his eyes when his name was called. Only when Wolf touched the lad’s shoulder did he awaken, blinking hard as his eyebrows slammed together in confusion.
A second later his situation must’ve dawned upon him and he started. “Wolf! J-Jagger.”
“Aye, lad,” Wolf said, squatting next to the boy and rolling back onto the worn heels of his boots. “ ’Tis time you came home.”
Robin closed his eyes for a second. “I didn’t do a very good job of runnin’ away.”
“Is that w
hat you want? To be rid of the band?”
Robin looked down at his hands, as if fascinated by the dirt beneath his fingernails. “Nay, I—” He struggled to a sitting position. “I just wanted to be a part of the group, not treated like a lad.” His jaw, unblemished by a beard, jutted in silent rage and Wolf remembered himself as a youth, straining to be a man, defying his older brother, thinking battles and killing for a cause were noble and glorious pursuits. How many times had Garrick said the words that echoed through his mind?
“Be patient, Ware,” Garrick had advised. “Study hard, learn your skills, do not hasten off to war.” Every bit of his counsel had fallen on deaf ears, for Ware of Abergwynn had been prideful, mulish, and eager to prove himself a man.
“You will come with me when I meet with Holt,” Wolf said now as he clapped the boy on the back. “He will have men with him and want to kill me. You will guard me against them.”
The boy’s eyes widened expectantly and Jagger coughed, trying to catch Wolf’s eye. “Truly?” Robin asked.
“Truly.”
Again Jagger coughed, and this time he said, “Do you think it’s wise, with one so young—”
“ ’Twill be fine. There will be others as well, but Robin will ride with me.”
A smile split Robin’s stubborn jaw. “When?” he asked. “When do we ride?”
“Upon the return of Bjorn and Cormick,” he said, then repeated Garrick’s oft-spoken but never heard advice, “Be patient, lad; there are many years yet for battle.”
With Wolf in the lead, they made their way to the camp, avoiding any of Holt’s soldiers and seeing only a few carts and travelers upon the road. It was dark by the time they returned, but Megan was waiting, her beautiful face expectant when Wolf rode into the circle of light cast by the fire.
“So you’re safe,” she said to the boy as Robin dismounted.
“Aye.”
“Well, come along. Odell’s made a fine stew with some of the boar meat …” Wolf watched as she helped the boy to a trencher of the thick, greasy soup. Robin’s eyes glowed and he couldn’t keep a grin from his face as she fussed about him. Aye, he was smitten, as were several of the men. Peter’s one-eyed gaze followed her about when he thought no one was watching, and even gruff Jagger managed a grin when she was near. ’Twas a problem. Wasn’t he, too, enchanted by the lilt of her voice or the sparkle in her golden eyes? Didn’t he think much too long about the slope of her shoulders, the sway of her hips as she walked, or the bounce of her breasts? ’Twas enough to distract a man, to cause his member to spring to attention at the most awkward of times. Already, the men, though they knew it not, were vying for her attention.
’Twould be good to be rid of her, or so he tried to convince himself, though he could not shake the memory of their lovemaking.
Cupping her hand near her mouth, she said something into Robin’s ear and he threw back his head and laughed uproariously, as if she were the most clever woman on earth. Jealousy, his old enemy, slithered into Wolf’s veins and caused his jaw to clench so hard it ached.
He could not let himself become too attached to her because she was the cur Holt’s wife and could never be his. That painful thought brought him up short. He’d not considered marriage since Mary’s death, had vowed that he’d never allow a woman close enough for him to ponder wedding her, but with Megan, he’d let his mind run wild.
“Bloody fool,” he muttered low and under his breath. Somehow she’d gotten to him, and if he didn’t keep some distance between them, he’d try to bed her. Hadn’t he nearly done the deed just this past night?
Though he’d love to humiliate Holt further by stealing his wife’s virginity, he could not dishonor her or shame her by claiming her as his own when he had nothing to offer her—no castle, nay, not even a house, no money, and no life except to run from the law.
He had to return her to her husband, or, as he’d decided more often with each passing day, kill the bastard and make her a widow.
Megan slipped from beneath the furs. Holding her breath, she pulled on her clothes and silently prayed that Wolf, wherever he was, wouldn’t return before she’d escaped. He’d stood at the door of the chamber, not crossing the threshold, not allowing himself near the pallet early in the night. Once he appeared convinced that she was asleep, he waited a few more minutes, then left his post. Now was the time to escape.
Heart thudding, she walked to the sack he kept near the door and reached inside. Her fingers scraped a hatchet and a mason’s tool of some kind before brushing against a small dagger with a curved blade. Her fingers curled around the smooth bone handle. Slowly she extracted the knife, then searched further until she came to a length of rope, the same rope he’d used to restrain her. It was fitting somehow that she’d make good her escape with some of the very tools he’d used for her capture.
She had no choice but to leave. Knowing the depth of her feelings for Wolf and that he planned to ransom her to a cruel husband she should never have married, she wasn’t about to stay here and wait like a lamb for the slaughter. Nay, she had to find a way to wrest herself free of the shackles of her marriage. Since nearly making love to Wolf, she’d known she had to come up with a plan to liberate herself.
The first step was to sneak away from the camp. Biting her lip, she crept to the window and, as she had once before, hoisted herself to the ledge and slipped through the opening. She landed without a sound on the frosty ground and silently cursed when she realized her footsteps were visible in the snow. A hunter such as Wolf would track her without much trouble, but there was naught she could do.
Then she saw him. Sitting near the fire, staring into the flames, his expression hard and faraway, as if he, too, were laying plans. Golden shadows played upon his face and a thick black cloak kept him warm. Her heart nearly broke when she realized she was leaving him forever, that this would be her last vision of him, a lonely man staring into the flames.
Just leave! Now! While he’s let down his guard!
Silently she sneaked around a crumbled corner of the chapel, and praying she wouldn’t snap a twig, slunk past the tethered horses. One, a bay mare, nickered before Peter, from his guard’s position near the rear of one of the tents, hushed the horse with his gentle voice.
Megan nearly jumped from her skin. Quick as lightning, she ducked into the woods and watched while Peter stood with his backside to her. Leaning against a tree, he stared with his solitary eye across the river. Eventually, he took a short walk around the animals before striding to the fire. Megan didn’t wait. This was her chance.
Certain he would turn and spy her in the withering moonlight, she untied a small brown horse that wouldn’t easily be missed. She would have loved to steal Wolf’s destrier, but he was a tall horse, a restless animal, and Peter was certain to notice he was gone.
The brown, a swift little jennet, was a calm enough beast, and Megan worked nervously, untying the tether, praying the horses wouldn’t make any noise. Once the tether was unbound, she led the mare into the woods near the river. They walked close to the rushing water so their footsteps were muffled by the noise. Only when they were far enough from camp that the fire no longer glowed through the trees did Megan loop the rope around the jennet’s nose and ears, then climb upon her slick back. The horse snorted and sidestepped, but ’twas no matter. No one would hear.
“Let’s go, girl,” Megan said, planning to reach the road, where the mare’s hoofprints would blend with those of the others that had passed during the day. The snow had fallen much earlier and though a few solitary flakes drifted to the ground, most of the white powder had lain in patches since the afternoon.
As she rode, she trained her ears backward, listening for the barest of whispers or the clop of horses’ hooves, half expecting a band of men to leap from the shadows at any second. Nerves strung tight, hands sweating in her gloves, she felt as if the mare were moving much too slowly, that she had to put distance between her and the camp. But Wolf was not the only enemy sh
e feared, for, if Wolf’s spies were correct, Holt’s soldiers were scouring the hills and woods, searching for her.
“Come on, come on,” she encouraged, though they were traveling as fast as possible through the forest and the overgrown deer trail that curved away from the river and—
“Well, well, well.” Wolf’s voice rang through the forest and her heart flew to her throat. Where was he? “Taking a midnight ride, m’lady?” The sound ricocheted around her and she squinted into the gloom.
“Aye, I’m leaving,” she said boldly. Damn, if only she could see him! “I’ll not let you sell me, Wolf.” He’d have to chase her down if he wanted to catch her. She pulled on the reins, hoping to turn away from the sound. “Hiya!” she yelled at her mare, but as she started to urge the fleet horse forward, he appeared from the shadows, dark, looming, and furious atop his destrier.
“We need to talk,” he said, grabbing the reins and stripping them from her fingers. Hopping from his horse to the ground, he reached upward, caught her hand, and caused her to tumble into the strength of his arms.
“Unhand me,” she commanded, but he only held her tighter. She slapped at his face, tried to kick, but he laughed at her foolish attempts. “I’ll not let you send me to Holt!”
“You were told not to leave camp.”
“By the leader of an outlaw band! A criminal!”
“Is that what you think of me?” he asked, and in the moonlight she saw that his eyes were hooded, his jaw clenched, his lips white and thin as the blade of a new sword. Menacing and seductive he was, and her heart thudded, not with fear, but with a new, restless longing. Her mind burned with images of lying with him on the pallet, how she’d writhed and begged like a common wench. Her throat turned to sand and her pulse throbbed at the feel of him.
“You should have thought of that afore you decided to marry him.”