Without thinking, she rushed across the chamber. The crack of her open palm hitting his cheek reverberated through the chamber. “Don’t ever speak o’ the Wolf like that again. I’ll no’ stand for it.” Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears.
Rolf shot out his hand, capturing her wrist in a tight grip. His eyes slit into tiny dark irises of anger. One muscle in his jaw twitched, drawing her eye to the red spot on his cheek where she’d slapped it. He could crush her, hurt her, and no one would stop him.
He tightened his grip on her wrist. “Have you no stomach for the truth, woman?”
“I have no stomach for your depraved insinuations.” Her words caught on a choke. “The Wolf is the most honorable man I’ve ever known.”
Rolf’s eyes lingered on her face and Megan feared she’d given away too much by her sudden show of emotion.
Without another word, Rolf dropped her hand. She met his gaze, refusing to cower or step back from him.
“So your plan was to free the prisoners and flee with them over the wall? The escape was your idea.”
“Aye.”
“Then why did the men put so little value on your safety? They left you behind, for God’s sake. You are not injured. You had no reason to remain with those who were.”
“I have healing skills. I knew that those unable to escape would need my help.”
“I don’t believe you are telling the truth. No man in his right mind would leave a woman at the mercy of his enemy.”
Megan bristled. “Och, ye Englishmen know nothing o’ our ways. Scottish women are no’ like your simpering English ladies who need to be rescued and coddled. We can fight, raid and even own our own land. Well, at least we could before ye English trampled o’er ever’ tradition we held dear.”
“Traditions the Scots jeopardized by supporting the Stuart Pretender to the Throne.”
“No’ all Scots supported him, damn ye. But I wish to God that we would have. Anything would have been better than what your precious King has reduced us to now.”
Rolf’s eyes narrowed. “Have care how you speak of your sovereign.”
“He is your sovereign, no’ mine. I’ll no’ apologize for what I did tonight. I’ll never stop fighting the injustice ye English have unleashed on my land, no matter what sort o’ torture ye devise for me.”
Rolf’s eyes met hers for a tension-filled moment, neither willing to look away first. The servant who rushed in carrying jars of herbs and salve finally broke their standoff.
“Here they are, my lord.”
“Give them to the lass.” Rolf gave a sharp jerk of his head.
Megan took the jars, opening them and examining the contents. She knelt by Lachlan’s side, whispering to him. Rolf leaned down to stir the fire once more before walking toward the door.
“You gave me your word once before and you honored it.” His tone held a cool and impersonal note. “Was that a mere coincidence or do the Scots truly honor their word?”
Megan paused in her ministrations, turning around to look at him. “If a Scot gives his word, then he means it.”
He paused a moment, as if reflecting on her words. “So be it, then. You are to remain here until I have the tunnel in your room sealed. Those men who are re-captured may be treated before they are returned to the dungeon. That is, if I have your word you will not try to escape again.”
Megan looked down at Lachlan, whose eyes had fluttered open. The boy had heard everything that Rolf had just said.
“Nay, Megan, dinna promise anything to the Englishman.” He dissolved into a fit of painful coughing.
Rolf stood at the doorway, awaiting her reply. His eyes were as dark and unreadable as the expression on his face.
Megan hesitated, torn by conflicting emotions. Finally, she spoke. “I give ye my word, Englishman.”
Rolf nodded once and then disappeared amid a whirl of his cloak down the stairway.
Chapter Nine
Megan placed her hand over her brow, squinting against the bright glare of the early morning sun. From her perch on the window seat, she glanced up at the clear winter sky. It was a beautiful day for March, bright and sunny. Usually clear skies meant good omens. But on this day Megan could not dare to hope that luck might be going the way of the Scottish.
Her eyes drifted back to the courtyard where she awaited sight of Rolf and his men. They had been gone for hours, making no secret of the fact that they meant to pursue her clansmen without pause until the prisoners were either re-captured or dead. Remembering their pale and weary faces when she released them from the dungeon, she knew they could not have gone far.
Berating herself for such thoughts, Megan clenched her fists at her side. Where was her faith in Uncle Geddes and the men? It was true that they were wounded, but no one knew the forest like they did. They had to have escaped. Besides, if it were not so, Rolf and his men would most likely have returned hours ago.
Yet she could not ignore her feeling of apprehension that something had gone wrong. She forced herself to consider the possibility that Rolf no longer had any use...or wish for Scottish prisoners. If that were to be true, then all their lives would be worth nothing to him.
“Nay.” It could not be—it must not be. She pushed a strand of ebony hair from her face and stood up. Fear and exhaustion were taking their toll on her. She had to be calm and think. But how could she be calm when the nefarious Rolf St. James was out hunting down her people?
Megan leapt to her feet and began pacing the chamber. Her emotions were in a tangled jumble. Half of her dared to hope that Rolf would return empty-handed, the other half dreaded what would happen to her and the remaining three captives if he returned without his prisoners. Closing her eyes, she rubbed her fingers against her temples, willing the pounding throb behind her eyes to cease.
She had to be strong. The Englishman had already discovered her biggest weakness—the lives of her men. She could not allow herself to be further compromised. He would certainly try to break her whether he returned with or without prisoners. She could not show him that she was afraid.
A clatter of hooves in the courtyard startled Megan from her thoughts. In a mad dash, she flew to the window, pulling aside the heavy velvet drapery. Her heart leapt as she spotted Rolf’s unmistakable form. He sat astride a black stallion, his cloak hanging over the side. He was speaking with Andrew, the same young man who had attacked her in her tent. Scarcely daring to breathe, Megan quickly scanned the rest of the courtyard for her men. A sob of relief slipped past her lips when she saw there were none to be found. Did she dare to hope that the rest of the clansmen had escaped? Or had Rolf decided that he would take no more prisoners?
As her mind tried to sort the grim possibilities, Megan felt a gaze upon her. Turning her head, she saw that Rolf had spotted her at the window. She stepped away, letting the drapes fall back into place. Although she had only met his eyes for a moment, Megan was certain she had read a promise in his grim, serious expression. Harsh punishment would be dealt for what she had done. Leaning her head against the cold wall, she took a deep breath, readying her courage. She wanted to be calm and composed when she faced his anger.
But Rolf did not come. One hour passed and then another before Megan heard the heavy tread of boots in the corridor. She held her breath as the footsteps stopped outside her door. A low murmur of voices drifted in from the corridor, but no move was made to slide the bolt aside. Megan felt a keen disappointment as the heavy footsteps moved on. Quietly, she sank into a chair and waited.
Abigail brought her supper, but Megan had no appetite for food and left the tray untouched. When the older woman came to remove it, she clucked her tongue, but said nothing.
It was early evening when Megan heard the scraping sound of the bolt being drawn across the door. She rose from her chair just as the door swung open.
Rolf stepped into the chamber, pulling the door shut behind him. Despite the hours that had passed, he had not changed clothes from the ride. His boots were still covered with dried mud, his tunic rumpled and stained. His eyes were cool and distant and Megan shivered when his gaze settled on her.
“I trust you’ve been comfortable.” He strode over to the hearth and held out his hands to the flames.
Megan nodded, wrapping her arms about herself both for comfort and to stop the urge she had to tremble. His back still toward her, Rolf bent over and threw another square of peat onto the fire.
Megan twisted her hands in front of her, no longer able to remain silent. “Did the rest o’ the men get away?” She both dreaded and wanted to hear his answer.
Rolf did not reply, instead seeming to take pleasure that for each moment that passed she suffered a lifetime.
She could not help but prod him to answer. “Well?”
He turned to face her. “We captured no others than the men you treated last night.”
Megan exhaled the breath she had been holding, relief flooding through her. “God be praised.”
“I don’t think it is God you should be praising. In fact, I find it a rather curious matter that two score of injured men so easily slipped through my fingers.”
“’Tis their home, the forest. Once they were in the trees, ye didn’t really have a chance o’ finding them.”
Rolf’s eyes narrowed. “I’m afraid I must disagree with you, Megan. Those men were wounded, not able to travel quickly. I am convinced that they could not have done it. Not without help, at least.”
Megan blinked in surprise, stunned by his suggestion. Could Robbie and the other men have been waiting on the other side of the castle? ’Twas certainly possible. Robbie might have gathered the remaining men and come to Castle Kilcraig trying to determine the best way to free the prisoners. What a shock it must have been for Uncle Geddes to stumble across his clansmen, lying in wait in the forest. If it were true, what a stroke of good fortune for them.
“You didn’t know.”
She looked up and saw Rolf watching her. “You’re either damn lucky or incredibly intelligent. It was quite a remarkable performance by your Wolf. He either anticipated your moves or had remarkable faith in your abilities.”
Megan shrugged, but inside she smiled. The men had made it safely. “The Wolf is very clever. I told ye he still has many tricks up his sleeve.”
“I’m beginning to think you are the best weapon he has.”
She brushed aside his comment with a careless wave of her hand. “Och, I’m just one o’ a great many o’ his followers.”
Rolf took two strides across the room until he stood in front of her. “Somehow, I don’t see you as much of a follower.”
Megan kept her eyes on his, her stomach beginning to churn. “Then ye are sadly mistaken. I would follow him to the death.”
Rolf leaned over until his face was a mere inches from her. Unwilling to cower in front of him, Megan held her ground.
“I don’t think the Wolf would let you die, Megan.” He stood so close, his breath warm upon her cheek. “You are far too intriguing a woman to be so easily dismissed. I think that’s why the men were waiting outside my castle wall. Not for your clansmen, but for you.”
“Wishful thinking, Englishman. I know ’Twould serve ye well to think ye held such a valuable hostage. But ye are wrong.”
Rolf reached out, twisting a strand of her raven hair between his fingers. “I suppose you could be right. After all, I am still puzzled as to why you stayed behind while the rest of the men escaped.”
“I told ye that I have healing skills. The wounded men needed me.”
“That is nonsense. You had no guarantees that I would permit you to attend them.”
“Ye gave your word I would be allowed to see them.”
“See them, yes. But I made no promise that you could treat them.”
Megan drew in her breath. “Then ’twas my mistake to believe ye to be a decent man.”
“Perhaps. But it still does not satisfy my curiosity. The men knowingly left you behind. Why? Your argument about Scottish women notwithstanding, I still don’t believe the men, including your father, would have abandoned you to a castle full of Englishmen without just cause. There is something you are hiding from me. Something I mean to find out.”
Megan felt an icy finger of fear slide up her spine. “I think ye are searching for answers where there aren’t any. Besides, I haven’t hidden the aversion I feel for ye, English.”
Rolf released her hair, letting his warm fingers brush her cheek. “Do you want to know what I think, Megan? I think you are a very bad liar. I’m certain you don’t have an aversion to me...or to my kiss for that matter.”
She gasped in outrage, but Rolf only smiled. “Have I come too close to the truth for comfort?”
Her cheeks flushed. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Then I take it that you do not care to test my theory.”
“No’ if ye were the last man in Scotland.”
“Coward,” he murmured.
Megan took several steps backward. Her pulse raced and her breath came in quick gasps. Whether she was frightened or intrigued by this Englishman, she did not know. She only knew that when she was close to him, she was unable to think properly.
She fought to gain control of her senses. “What do ye mean to do wi’ me and the three prisoners ye hold in the tower?”
Rolf raised an eyebrow. “In the tower, are they?”
Megan immediately realized her mistake. “The men...er...they were badly wounded and I didn’t think they should be moved to the cold, damp dungeon.”
“You mean to say that you ordered my men to keep the prisoners in the tower room?”
“Well, ’twouldn’t be right to say that I ordered it. I simply suggested that ye and I had discussed it earlier and ye hadn’t minded the idea.”
“My men followed an order from you? A captive? And all because you had the audacity to hint that I’d be unhappy if your command was not carried out?”
She lifted her shoulders. “The purpose was solely to protect the health of the prisoners.”
His voice held a hint of incredulity. “You’re a brazen bit of goods Megan. I’m not certain whether to be irritated or impressed. However, I’d like to make it clear that there will be no more orders from you.”
“I don’t take orders from you, Englishman.”
“Don’t push me, Megan. Even I have my limits.”
His expression held a dangerous edge and she realized she’d have to tread carefully with him. “So, what do ye mean to do wi’ us?”
Rolf’s face grew thoughtful. “In fact, I tire of this game of run and chase. I’ve decided to ask the Wolf for a trade.”
“A trade?”
“A trade. If he turns himself in, I’ll set you and the remaining men free.”
“Then ye waste your time. Your terms will no’ be accepted.”
Rolf walked over to one of the chairs and sat, leaving Megan standing alone in the middle of the room. “I wouldn’t be so certain. If the Wolf turns himself in, I will also grant a general amnesty to all those who follow him.”
Megan drew in a sharp breath in stunned amazement. General amnesty for all the men? It was an astounding offer, but one certain to come with additional terms. Her eyes narrowed as she regarded him.
“How could the Wolf be certain that ye would be true to your word?”
Rolf leaned forward. “I could have the papers drawn up beforehand. You would give me a list of the men to be pardoned and I would see that the king’s seal is on each one of them. The pardon would take effect the moment the Wolf surrendered himself to me. By forfeiting his own life, he will set the remaining men free, n
o longer to be hunted by the Crown.”
Megan laughed with bitterness. “Ye say that as though it means something. The men would be free to live what kind o’ life? A life of abject poverty without land, without homes, is no’ much o’ a deal, Englishman. Nay, I rather think the Wolf would still no’ agree to your terms.”
Rolf’s eyes sparked with interest. “Then what if I were to provide land for the men to live on? It would not be large, grant you, but it would be their own. My men would assist them in rebuilding their homes. In return I would require only that they stop following the Wolf and cease their bitter struggle against the English Crown.”
Megan raised an eyebrow. “Ye have the power to do this?”
“I do.”
“And ye would be the landlord?”
“For now. I would give them their rent for free, in exchange for an agreement to cease hostilities against us.”
“And after ye are gone?”
“I will see that the provisions remain the same regardless of the landlord.”
Megan’s mind raced, searching for the deception in such a generous offer. “The Wolf...he would still face execution?”
“I will not negotiate on that point. The Wolf must be held accountable for his crimes.”
Megan pressed the flat of her hand against her brow. Her thoughts were too jumbled, too unsettled, preventing her from determining the motivations of this handsome Englishman. She had no doubt that he had some devious motivation in proposing such an offer.
“’Tis an interesting offer. But I’m still no’ certain the Wolf will trust ye enough to accept them.”
Rolf stood, the firelight flickering off his tall frame. “You seem to know his mind better than anyone.”
Megan lifted her head. “The Wolf is a Scotsman. His thoughts are those that I understand.”
“But you do not understand me.”
“Let’s just say that I don’t trust ye or your motivations.”
A deep-throated chuckle rumbled from his chest. “I’ve never had my integrity so thoroughly questioned by a woman before.”
The Thorn & the Thistle Page 9