Outlaw

by Lisa Jackson

  “Only if I take you with me!” Wolf said as he swung a bloodied sword at the new baron, twisting from the blows of Holt’s weapon. Too late. The sharp blade sliced into Wolf’s arm. Blood sprayed the chamber. Megan screamed, and with her horrified eyes trained on the two men reeling, parrying, lunging, and swearing, she stepped away, closer to the fire, searching for something, anything, to use as a weapon.

  “This is for Mary, the fisherman’s daughter!” Wolf cried as he jammed his sword into Holt’s thigh. Holt roared in pain, but struck with his sword, slicing through Wolf’s tunic.

  “Tadd raped her.”

  “Aye, but you held her down, did you not?”

  Oh, God, they were both going to die! She found a stick used to tend the fire and lifted it, only to have the slender wood cleaved by Holt’s sword and her feet knocked out from under her. “You, too, will see the end of this earth,” he promised her, spinning to meet Wolf’s thrust. Desperate and mindless of the fear, Megan held on to the short end of her stick, and on her knees, stretched upward, plunging the cleaved stake into the wound at Holt’s side, the wound she’d inflicted earlier. Holt bellowed like a wounded bull.

  “Jezebel!” he roared, but fighting the pain, swiped his weapon at Wolf. Swords clanged, bodies fell against her. Megan, struggling to her feet, lost her balance and fell. The room spun, rush lights glittering wildly. Wolf and Holt locked swords as the rush-strewn floor came up to meet her.

  “Megan!” Wolf cried.

  Her head slammed into the stones and her body crumpled. The room temporarily went black as she felt a sharp, hard pain deep inside, a tearing, but she bit down against the agony and tried to save Wolf.

  “Stay back!” Wolf commanded. He swung fiercely, cutting Holt on the ear.

  With fire in his eyes, Holt rushed forward.

  Wolf grinned with vengeance and held his sword aloft. “Now, you die, bastard!”

  Men rushed into the room and Megan thought that they were Holt’s men until she recognized the sorcerer, Robin, and Hagan of Erbyn. Her heart soared for an instant.

  “ ’Tis over!” Hagan ordered.

  “This is still my castle!” Desperate, Holt grabbed Megan, one arm locked around her waist, the other holding his sword outstretched as he used her naked body as his shield. “Leave me be, or she dies!” he screamed.

  She kicked him hard in the shins, her heels screaming with pain, but he didn’t let go, and to Megan’s horror, Connor stepped into the room, a crossbow in his hands. “Everyone step away!” he ordered in a voice as cold as the depths of a bottomless well.

  “Thank the saints!” Holt said, his legs unsteady. He shoved Megan aside and approached his knight. His smile faltered as the flat-eyed man watched him. “It’s been days since you took the prisoner and …” His gaze wandered to the sorcerer and his words stuck in his throat for a second. “Where have you been, Connor?”

  “To hell and back.” The soldier’s eyes narrowed and he let the bolt of his weapon fly as Wolf reacted, hurling his sword at his enemy, the blade driving deep through the muscles of Holt’s chest to pierce his dark heart. The crossbow bolt gored Holt in his gut. “This is for lying to me about Cayley, you pig. I know you intended not to give her to me.”

  “Bloody God, no!” Holt cried out, falling to his knees as he stared blindly at the man who had defied him, and fell into a useless heap, where he surrendered his last rattling breath.

  Megan held a fur coverlet she’d snagged from the bed over her body, but she couldn’t move. Determined to stand, she closed her eyes, tried to rise, but was suddenly weak. Deep within she felt a rending, and her head spun. She blinked hard.

  “Get that mess out of here,” Hagan ordered.

  “ ’Tis over,” Wolf said, gathering Megan into his arms. He was warm and strong and … another sharp pain gored her. She bit down on her lip and couldn’t stop the tears in her eyes, for Wolf was safe, she was alive, and … and . . . oh, dear God, no … the baby!

  Wolf buried his face in the crook of her neck. “Love, oh, sweet, sweet love,” he said, blinking against tears as he lifted her into his arms and carried her down the hallway. He kissed her head, her throat, her eyes, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, because she knew as he laid her on the bed in her chamber that she was losing his baby. Silent agony tore through her, blinding her, extinguishing the light in her soul.

  “Megan?” His voice came as if from a distance. “Megan.”

  “ ’Tis gone,” she said and felt the rush of blood between her legs. “Wolf, please listen … the babe …” Deep racking sobs rose from her lungs, and then he understood.

  “ ’Tis all right, rest,” he said, lying beside her, refusing to let her go. He pulled the blankets over her and held her close, whispering into her hair. Outside, the sounds of battle quieted, but deep in her heart, Megan felt a pain more desperate than ever before. “I will be with you forever,” he vowed, but she hadn’t the strength to believe him. As she closed her eyes and drifted into sleep, she knew that she’d lost their child, their precious babe, and even Wolf’s love couldn’t fill that gaping hole in her heart.

  The sorcerer came later.

  Wolf stood at the window of her chamber, and while Megan lay half in and half out of consciousness, Cadell laid his hands upon her and shook his head. “ ’Twill be difficult, friend, for the babe’s life has barely started and is slipping away.”

  “I know, I know. Damn it, would you try?” Wolf muttered through a jaw clenched so tight it ached. The wounds he’d sustained while battling Holt were nothing compared to the agony ripping through his soul. ’Twas as if the Devil himself were chasing through his heart, laughing at him, mocking him, for ’twas he who’d brought this pain to his beloved Megan, he who got her with child, he who inadvertently, while slaying Holt, had nearly killed his own unborn babe.

  “Leave us,” Cadell ordered, and the candles near the bedside flickered as the great owl who was the sorcerer’s companion landed in the window and stared inside.

  Reluctantly, Wolf walked through the corridors of Dwyrain, past chambers where the wounded were being tended, through the kitchen, where Cook was attempting to start the morning’s meal, and outside to the bailey, where bodies were being hauled through the gates to the graveyard.

  “So there ye be, ye black-hearted cur,” Odell growled as, bartering with the armorer, he spied Wolf.

  “What now, Odell?”

  The grizzled outlaw picked his way over the spilled blood to stand below Wolf on the steps. “Ye sent Cormick to his death and nearly took Robin and Jagger as well.”

  “Aye.” Guilt would forever be Wolf’s companion. In the distance, the sun was just beginning to rise, sending pale rays through the mist that clung to the cold ground. “ ’Twas my mistake.”

  “All for a woman,” Odell reminded him, and spat upon the ground.

  “For the woman that will be my wife.”

  “We have rules—”

  “Should they not be bent for Megan?” Wolf growled, reaching for the front of his old friend’s tunic and clenching the rough fabric in his fingers. “ ’Tis sorry I am about Cormick. Could I, I would trade places with him, but it cannot be.”

  Odell’s mouth opened and closed and Wolf, realizing that he was close to strangling the man, let him go. “I’m giving up the band,” he said as Holt’s standard was lowered from the flagpole and the old colors of Dwyrain flew once again, for now Megan was truly mistress of this keep.

  “Leave us?” Odell paled. “But—who will lead us?”

  A cold smile played upon Wolf’s lips as he watched Bjorn order the men about, telling the soldiers what to do with the wounded and commanding the carpenter to tear down the rigging for the gallows. “Bjorn will be your leader,” he said, and strode down the steps to meet his friend.

  “He’s not happy with you. He was almost killed as well,” Odell said, rotating his neck like a chicken eyeing a fat bug and rubbing his throat.

  “Aye, Odell, I know
. You needs not screech at me like a fishwife, now do you?”

  Bjorn dusted his hands as the last of the dead were carted from the castle. “Wolf,” he said, his eyes showing no trace of emotion. “We needs speak.” His gaze moved pointedly to Odell, but the grizzled old outlaw didn’t budge.

  “I’m not movin’, if that’s what ye’re askin’.”

  “I’m leaving the band,” Wolf announced. “And I want you to be its leader.”

  Bjorn rubbed his jaw. “ ’Tis your group of thugs.”

  “Aye, but they need a new leader.”

  “Why?”

  “ ’Tis time.” Wolf sighed. “What say you?”

  A corner of Bjorn’s mouth lifted. “I know not if ’tis an honor to be the leader of so foulmouthed and ill-tempered a group.”

  “Well, I’ll be jiggered. If ye won’t be the new—”

  “I’ll do it,” Bjorn said.

  “ ’Tis thanks I owe you,” Wolf said, glancing to the window of Megan’s room, where the owl was perched and blinking against the winter rays of the sun. “You saved my life and that of those in the castle.”

  Bjorn shook his head. “As ye saved mine years ago.”

  The two men clasped hands and Odell spat in disgust as the men Wolf had been close to—Heath, Peter, Robin, Jack, and the lot—came to shake his hand, forgiving him for the death of Cormick.

  “The lady,” Robin asked, his cheeks reddening a bit. “How is she?”

  The pain in Wolf’s heart was great, but he said, “She’ll be fine, Robin lad. She’ll be fine.”

  He only hoped it wasn’t a lie.

  Hagan’s troops left on the third day and Cayley, sitting in for the absent baroness, was in charge. She was young and pretty, but stronger than Wolf had ever thought possible, helping tend to the sick and wounded while dealing with the squabbles of some of the peasants and ensuring that the castle kept running.

  The only time Wolf wondered about her strength was when she said goodbye to his band of thugs, for she appeared to be fighting for self-control, and as Bjorn and his ragged group filed through the gatehouse, she bit her lips and dashed aside tears that had formed in the corners of her eyes.

  Elsewise, she was an able and caring leader. She spent hours with Megan, sitting with her, praying for her, and ordering the servants to care for her.

  Cadell had done what he could, and Megan, bedridden, was still with child. But the days stretched long and she was tired, her face pale, worry shining in her beautiful ale-colored eyes. Wolf didn’t leave her side. While Rue and Cayley tended to her, he’d turn his back and stand at the window, but as she regained her strength, he stayed with her. ’Twas as if he was afraid she might slip away again.

  ’Twas nearly a week before she seemed alive again. There was color in her cheeks for the first time since the battle, and she smiled at him.

  “The baby?” she asked, biting her lip.

  “Cadell and Rue did everything they could,” he said, frowning, “but you lost a lot of blood.”

  “Oh,” she murmured, the pain in her heart inconsolable.

  “But the flow—it stopped on the second day—and if you can keep yourself in bed, there’s still hope.” But she saw the doubt in his eyes. He was trying to give her hope when there was none. Oh, sweet, sweet baby, she silently cried, but pushed the painful thought aside.

  “Tell me … Holt?”

  “Is dead.”

  That much she vaguely remembered, though the days were lost to her and one was like any other. She knew not how much time had passed, nor did she care. “Many of his men were slain as well, and Cayley has not punished their wives or children, but kept them here.”

  “Is she a wise ruler?”

  “Very.” Wolf sat on the corner of her bed and held her hand. “Connor is in prison and Father Timothy is staving off death, though ’tis a miracle.”

  As he talked, Megan tried to shake off the shroud of guilt that had been her cloak ever since feeling her unborn baby’s precious life begin to slip away. She’d dreamed of the child, as she had of Bevan, sweet little Roz, her father and mother.

  “Cadell has returned to the forest, though he will visit, and Jovan the apothecary is in the dungeon, for ’twas he who gave Holt the poison that killed your father.”

  “So much treachery,” she said and closed her eyes. Wolf placed his arms around her and held her fast against him.

  A week passed before she had the strength to rise and walk on shaky legs to the window. The cold breath of winter touched her face as she looked into the bailey and saw that the hated gallows had been destroyed, the timbers broken apart, to be used for firewood.

  Wolf had been dozing in a chair he’d brought in. Though he’d held her often during the day, at night he’d refused to lie in her bed, insisting that she needed her rest and knowing that her body and mind needed time to heal. He roused and smiled as he saw her on her feet.

  “The lady arises, eh?” he asked, stretching in the chair.

  “Aye.”

  “And how’re you feeling, Mistress of Dwyrain?”

  “Better.”

  His blue eyes gleamed and a shock of black hair fell fetchingly over his forehead. “Well enough for a wedding?”

  “A wedding?” she repeated. “But whose—?”

  “Our wedding, love,” he said, standing and circling her small waist in his arms. “The priest, he swears he’s able to perform the ceremony. All we need is a willing bride.”

  “Father Timothy is still recovering.”

  “Aye, but Hagan rode to the abbey and located another man—Brother Something-or-Other—to help Timothy. He’s ready.”

  “Are you?” she asked, touching his rough cheek with her fingertips.

  His smile was warm, his eyes sincere. “I’ve been waiting for you all of my life, Megan,” he said, his lips brushing lightly over hers.

  “But your life as a—”

  “What? A criminal? An outlaw?” He let out a soft little chuckle. “ ’Tis over. Bjorn is the leader now.”

  “So you’re ready to settle down here?”

  “At Dwyrain?” He shook his head. “Nay, m’lady, I think we need a new start, and long ago my brother promised me a small portion of land with its own keep. ’Tis time to take him up on his offer. If you’ll agree to be my wife.”

  Her heart was suddenly full and she pressed a soft little kiss to his lips. “How could I deny you?”

  “You couldn’t.” Lifting her off her feet, he carried her to the bed and fell with her on the rumpled coverlets. “ ’Tis too early yet for me to show you how much I love you, m’lady, but when you are well and truly healed, I will take my time pleasuring you.”

  “Mayhap I’m healed already,” she teased and sighed as his lips found hers.

  “When you are, woman, we will have another child,” he promised, “and ’twill be the first of many.”

  “How many?” she asked.

  He laughed and the sound echoed off the rafters of the chamber. “As many as you want, Megan. As many as you want.”

  Snuggling close, she wrapped her arms around the rogue who would soon be her husband and whispered into his ear, “I think we’ve already started.”

  “What—?”

  “I know not, but the bleeding’s stopped, and I … I feel that the babe is still with me, that somehow Cadell saved that small soul.”

  “Megan,” he said, shaking his head. “ ’Tis too much to believe.”

  “Trust me,” she said and placed a kiss at his temple. “Do you not know that I love you, Wolf?”

  “Forever?”

  “At least,” she said with a giggle.

  “And I love you, woman,” he vowed. His lips found hers in a kiss that touched her soul and promised a lifetime of happiness for the lady and her outlaw.

  Epilogue

  ather Timothy sprinkled holy water on the infant’s forehead and said a soft prayer over the rising wail of the tiny babe. When the prayer was finished, Wolf accep
ted the small bundle from the priest’s trembling hands, and to his wife’s surprise, planted a kiss on the shock of fine red hair. “You be a loud one, son,” he said before handing the baby back to Megan.

  “And strong,” she said as she greeted their guests, those who had attended little Cormick’s christening, for the child had indeed survived, despite the deep rending she’d felt in her womb and the fear that she’d lost him.

  Throughout the chapel were the people she’d grown to love and trust: Robin, now much taller; Odell; one-eyed Peter; Cayley; Bjorn; and Cadell, the sorcerer. Even Lord Hagan, Lady Sorcha and baby Bryanna joined them. Morgana and Garrick of Abergwynn came as well, with their four daughters and Logan in tow. Morgana, tears in her eyes, stood with Cadell, her brother, and would not let go of his sleeve, as if she expected him to disappear from her again.

  While little Cormick squealed unhappily, the guests filed out of the chapel at Dwyrain, where she and Wolf had made their home during most of the past year while waiting for the birth of their child. Cayley was ruler of the castle, and between her and Hagan of Erbyn, all Wolf’s sins had been forgiven. Now, ’twas time to return to Abergwynn and to a small keep not far from the castle.

  Wolf wrapped an arm around her middle, and urged her toward the steps of the great hall.

  “I’ll be there in a minute,” she said, and while he led their guests into the keep for a feast, Megan hurried through the gates of the castle and up a small hill to the cemetery. As the October breeze swirled her skirts, she laid a small bouquet of flowers from the christening on her father’s grave. Finally, Ewan was at peace with his beloved Violet. Bevan’s grave and a small one for Roz were nearby. “I miss you,” she said, “I miss you all, but Father, finally, at last, I’m married. As you wanted.”

  “And happy?” a voice boomed behind her. Turning, she spied Wolf, his hair catching in the wind, his face as rugged as the great hills of Wales.