The Thorn & the Thistle

by Julie Moffett

  “Then ye’ve never known a Scottish woman.”

  “Not to the extent that I’ve had the opportunity to know you. I must admit I am intrigued.”

  “Well, I don’t know why ye are surprised. Ye English have never taken the time to learn anything o’ our ways. Ye only kill and conquer without thought, without care to those ways and people ye trample beneath your heavy boots.”

  Rolf’s smile faded and he was silent for a long moment before he stretched out his hand. “Come here.”

  Megan looked at him with surprise and not a little bit of alarm. “What do ye want from me now, Englishman?”

  “I want you to come and sit by the fire with me. I find it absurd and rather uncomfortable that I must shout across the room because you will not share the warmth of the hearth. Come. I give you my word that I will not harm you.”

  Megan hesitated, wary of being near him. Only after realizing he could forcibly move her there if he so desired did she relent and walk over to him. Rolf motioned for her to sit in the chair opposite him. The fire radiated heat and Megan’s body shivered in welcome response to its warmth. She hadn’t even realized that she was so cold.

  “I wish to tell you something. The king has commanded me not only to capture the Wolf but also to bring peace to this area. You say I know naught of you and your people, and to a great extent, you are right. But I am aware of the fierce pride and remarkable courage of the Scots, and I must say, I greatly admire it.”

  He paused a moment as if searching for the words he wanted to say. Then he took her hand, holding it loosely. “We are connected, Megan. You and I. The Scottish and the English. History is not often fair. Those who are strong will generally conquer the weak, despite the unfairness of it. For people like you and me, Megan, we can only do our part to see that as many people as possible are spared the tragic consequences of war. The Wolf’s struggle is honorable. I do not deny this. Your devotion to him is enviable. But the war is over. Scotland has been conquered for five years now and your resistance against us, against me, is futile. You judge us harshly, but you refuse to acknowledge the fact that if the king wanted to end your activities without any regard for life whatsoever, he would have sent a small army of men to crush you. But instead, he sent me. I have come not only to settle this dispute, but also to find an honorable resolution, a peaceful end, to this bitter struggle. Help me to do it right. Without any more needless loss of life.”

  His dark, earnest eyes sought hers. For a moment, Megan measured the man and the sincerity of his words. Her hand felt warm and heavy clasped in his, and she was aware of the strength and warmth of his flesh pressed against hers.

  She realized he awaited her response. “I cannot speak for the Wolf just now. Your words and offer must be considered and judged for what they are.”

  Rolf nodded but did not release her hand. Oddly, Megan found that she did not mind. His closeness no longer seemed threatening.

  “How nice peace would be,” Rolf murmured.

  She sighed. “Aye, how nice.”

  He began to rub his thumb across her knuckles. “You are most intriguing. I’ve never met a woman like you.”

  “There is naught so unusual about me.”

  “Ah, but you are wrong. You have a hidden strength, an intelligence I admire.”

  The pulse at the base of her throat fluttered and she wondered why his touch could have such a physical effect on her. “I’m no one special, Englishman. Best ye keep that in mind.”

  He laughed. “Do you know that if you were an Englishwoman or any score of women from the court, I could rely on my name, position and friendship with the king to impress you? But these things serve only to estrange you. I must rely solely on my wits. Damned if I don’t find this an engaging prospect.”

  “You wish to impress me? Why?”

  “Because I don’t want you to be frightened of me. I want you to trust me.”

  He leaned toward her, his eyes half-closing. Her pulse quickened. He wanted to kiss her again. She should have pulled away, stopped it, but she did neither. Instead she leaned toward him as well.

  Bam, bam, bam.

  The moment broken, both of them jerked their heads toward the door in startled surprise. Scowling, Rolf came to his feet. “Who is it?”

  “My lord, may I have a word with you?” came the voice from the other side of the door.

  Rolf strode across the room and threw open the door. “Peter? What in God’s name couldn’t keep?”

  The older man looked into the room to where Megan sat in front of the fire, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Peter returned his gaze to his irritated lord.

  “Forgive me, Rolf. I wouldn’t have disturbed you except that you have a visitor. He insisted he speak with you at once.”

  “A visitor at this hour?”

  Peter nodded. “Aye, my lord, ’tis Edwin Farrington to see you.”

  Chapter Ten

  Edwin Farrington had rather dashing good looks with a full head of blond hair and a finely trimmed mustache. He was built like a tall, willowy tree, his form slender and effeminate. From all appearances, he seemed to be a pleasant and quite harmless man.

  Yet looks could be utterly deceiving, Rolf thought, as he lifted a glass of brandy to his lips. Beneath that rather ethereal blond head lay a mind as ruthless and cold as he had ever met. From what Rolf knew about the man, Farrington had been disgraced and removed from London by his own family because of heavy gambling, drinking and an ugly and illicit incident involving a young servant. Edwin had been granted land in Scotland primarily because he had an older brother who remained in favor with the king and who wished to stay unscathed by Edwin’s scandals. Those involved believed that whatever schemes Edwin hatched in the Scottish Highlands, they would be far enough from the court to shield the remainder of the Farrington family from any more shame.

  When Rolf first arrived at Castle Kilcraig, he’d made it his business to find out more about the errant Englishman. He’d soon discovered that Farrington was thoroughly hated by most all his Scottish tenants. Through various discreet sources Rolf had heard stories of the man’s cruelty, that Farrington insisted on exorbitant rents and evicted and burned the homes of those villagers unable to pay, delighting in their suffering. Rolf was disturbed by these accounts, and even more disturbed by the lurid tales of the rape and brutality that Farrington and his men had allegedly inflicted on the villagers. If it were true, it was no wonder Rolf couldn’t bribe a single one of them into betraying the Wolf. From what he had discovered, the Wolf supplied the villagers with food when Farrington tried to starve them into submission. It was a messy business and one in which Rolf rather wished he had not become involved. But settling tensions in the area was a part of his responsibility and it seemed that, sooner or later, he would have to take on Farrington in one form or another.

  But other than the evictions, which Rolf reluctantly acknowledged was within Farrington’s rights as a landlord, none of the stories of brutality could easily be confirmed. Regretfully, Rolf realized he would have to become friendlier with this detestable man in order to discover how best to bring him into line with the king’s wishes. Swallowing his distaste for the task, Rolf leaned forward in his chair.

  “So, Edwin, tell me about this urgent matter that has brought you here at such an hour.”

  Edwin thoughtfully ran his finger lightly across the top of his glass of brandy, regarding Rolf from beneath pale brows. “I’ve heard that you’ve captured several of the Wolf’s men. I would like to question them about thirty head of cattle that recently disappeared from my property.”

  “I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”

  “You refuse me the right to question the heathen?” Edwin said, raising an eyebrow in surprise.

  “I refuse you nothing, Edwin. The prisoners escaped last night. I manage
d to recapture only three of them. They are too badly wounded to be questioned.”

  “Escaped? Was it the work of the Wolf?”

  “Not exactly. That honor goes to a young Scottish lass who slipped past her guard and managed to free the prisoners. I presume the Wolf was lying in wait outside the castle to take them to safety. I recaptured the girl but she refuses to talk.”

  “Damn.” Farrington paused, considering. “What do you know of her?”

  Rolf swirled the liquid in his glass. “Very little, other than she’s apparently one of the Wolf’s followers. I made the unfortunate mistake of underestimating her. It appears as if Scottish women are quite unlike English ladies.”

  “Whores, all of them.” Farrington spat. “She sounds like a woman in need of a lesson. If you really want information from her, turn her over to me.”

  Rolf clenched his jaw. “Your offer is generous, Edwin, but I assure you that I require no help in getting the information I need.”

  “Of course not. I did not mean to suggest otherwise. And I would like to take this opportunity to express my gratitude for your help in protecting my holdings. I only want it to be known that I am at your full disposal in whatever capacity I may be of use to you. This includes the questioning of the prisoners. I have proven modestly successful at that, you see.”

  Rolf took another sip of his brandy and noted the odd gleam in Farrington’s eyes. The man enjoyed torture. He had seen that same look in other men’s eyes after a battle when they roamed the field, taking pleasure in killing the wounded and helpless. Rolf had always severely punished any man he found participating in such activities. But he had been a commanding officer then. Here in Scotland he had no such authority over Farrington and both men knew it. Moreover, Rolf was fully aware that Farrington’s respect for him came solely from the fact that he had been sent by the king to protect Farrington and other English landlords in the area. Rolf knew that if he wanted any control over Farrington, he would have to fully exploit that advantage.

  Rolf set aside his glass and stood up. “I will make every effort to determine the whereabouts of your missing cattle. I would also like to suggest closer cooperation between the two of us. If you would be so good as to share any information you might come across concerning the activities of the rebels, I would be most grateful. I’m certain the king would be appreciative as well. I will be glad to pass along word of your assistance to him.”

  Farrington smiled and stood, inclining his pale head toward Rolf. “I am most grateful for His Majesty’s concern. Believe me, I am as anxious as you to be done with the illegal activities of these barbaric heathens.”

  Rolf escorted him to the door, calling for Andrew. The young man appeared instantly. “See our guest returned to his mount.” He turned to Farrington. “Have you need of an escort?”

  Farrington shook his head. “No, I’ve plenty of my own men with me. I have no desire to be set upon by the Wolf while I traverse the short distance to my estate.”

  After the men had exchanged a few more polite words, Farrington left. With the man finally gone, Rolf sank into a chair, stretching his muscular legs out in front of him. The events of the past few days were catching up with him. The cleverness of the Wolf, the stubborn, fierce pride of the Scots and the queer gleam in Farrington’s eyes as he contemplated torture. God’s wounds, this was a bloody mess. And what in the devil was he to do with the girl? One moment he felt like throttling her while the next moment he wanted to drag her into his arms and taste the sweetness of her kiss.

  Rolf ran his fingers through his dark mane of hair. Whatever the mystery behind the intriguing woman with sky blue eyes, it would have to wait until another day. He was desperately in need of a good night’s sleep. By God, tonight he meant to have it.

  * * *

  The next three days passed uneventfully for Megan. She was permitted to tend the wounded men, surprised but grateful that Rolf had not insisted they be returned to the dungeon.

  Her clansmen were showing marked improvement. The lad, Lachlan, could now sit up and take broth with his own hand. Megan had removed the bandage from one of Douglas MacLeary’s eyes, breathing a sigh of relief when he reported that he still had partial sight in it. The other eye remained behind a makeshift eye patch after Megan had examined it, fearful he might never regain sight in it. Hugh Graham, the third prisoner, had a broken leg and a deep slash on his neck. Megan had cauterized the wound on his neck with a hot knife the first night he had been brought to her, and then had wrapped it in a warm poultice. Although Megan knew a frightful scar would result, she was relieved to see that it was healing.

  Rolf had not yet attempted to question the wounded men. Secretly she feared he waited for them to heal so they could remain conscious under torture. She pushed that troubling thought aside. She had not seen him for days, but from what she managed to glean from Abigail, he was leading his men on rounds about the forest, determining a new strategy for capturing the Wolf.

  On the afternoon of the fourth day, Megan was sitting in her bedchamber, mending some of her clansmen’s clothing, when she heard the bolt being drawn across the door. Thinking it was Abigail she did not pause nor look up from her sewing.

  “Where did you get the needle and thread?”

  Megan glanced up, stopping in mid-stitch when she heard the rich timbre of Rolf’s voice.

  He leaned against the doorway dressed in a cream-colored lawn shirt with full sleeves and a tan pair of breeches. His short waistcoat was adorned with finely trimmed braid and worn open.

  “Abigail gave them to me.” She was flustered by his sudden appearance. “I didn’t see any harm in seeking permission to mend a few o’ the men’s clothes.”

  Rolf folded his hands across his chest. “So Abigail has fallen under your command now, has she?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. She only responded to a simple request.”

  “Nothing about you is simple. But as surprising as it may be, I’ve not come to argue, but to invite you to take a ride about the grounds with me.”

  “A ride?” Whatever she had expected from him, it was not an invitation for a ride.

  “Yes, will you join me?”

  Megan laid the mending aside and stood, smoothing her skirts down. Folding her arms across her chest in a stance similar, she stared. “Somehow I doubt that ye wish just to see me on a horse. What do ye really want, Englishman?”

  “Above all, I want you to stop calling me Englishman. My Christian name is Rolf. I give you permission to use it.”

  Megan raised an eyebrow. “Do ye order all o’ your prisoners to call ye that?”

  The corner of Rolf’s mouth twisted. “In all truth, I find the lack of titles among the Scottish to be quite refreshing. As you have permitted me to call you Megan, it is only fair that I insist you use my Christian name.”

  Megan shook her head. The thought of calling him by his name made her uncomfortable and implied a far more intimate relationship than she was willing to acknowledge.

  “Well?” Rolf repeated when she didn’t answer. “Will you join me in a ride or do you prefer to remain here locked in your chamber?”

  Megan glanced at the open window. The sun shone, spilling across the wooden floor. The breeze was cool but refreshing. She had an overwhelming urge to be outside and feel the cleansing wind against her skin.

  “I don’t have a cloak.”

  “I’ll have Abigail fetch one for you.”

  She paused before nodding her agreement. As they left the chamber, the guard stiffened in attention, nodding to Rolf.

  With a firm hand under her elbow, Rolf guided her down the front stairs and left her alone in the entranceway while he searched for Abigail. He returned minutes later with a long black cloak, its collar lined with fur. He helped her into it, fastening the pearl clasp at the front. She held her breath but said n
othing as he lifted her hair from beneath it, his fingers brushing against her neck and jaw. For a moment their eyes met and then Megan stepped back, unwilling to acknowledge the spark of attraction she felt leap between them.

  Rolf did not press the matter either and instead, led her out into the bright sunshine. Once astride a beautiful mare, Megan felt the tension within her ease. It was a beautiful winter day and the sun felt warm on her face despite the cool wind. She had not been outside for days and did not realize how much she missed it.

  Taking the reins in her hands, she looked over at Rolf. “Where are we going?”

  His head was uncovered and his dark hair gleamed in the sunlight as he leaned toward her. “There is a lake not far from here. I thought we’d ride there and back.”

  “Alone?”

  Rolf urged his stallion closer. “We won’t be completely alone, Megan. My men will be a discreet distance away. So I wouldn’t recommend any thoughts of escape or rescue.”

  She tossed back her head and laughed, her hair tumbling free of her ribbon. “Och, how little ye know o’ me, Englishman. I gave ye my word I’d no’ escape as long as ye permitted me to treat the wounds of the men. Do ye no’ believe me?”

  “I’ve learned not to underestimate you. I never make the same mistake twice.”

  “Then ye have naught to worry about, do ye?”

  “Quite the contrary. I’m certain I don’t worry enough.”

  She laughed again, shooting past him and spurring her horse into a gallop. Rolf followed close behind, soon overtaking her. He raced her, side by side, until they reached the edge of the lake. Pulling hard on the reins, he came to a stop. Megan pulled up alongside. Exhilarated, she brushed the hair from her eyes, her cheeks warm from the ride.

  “’Tis a fine mare ye’ve permitted me to ride. But your stallion is magnificent.”

  “You are eyeing him with such with envy, I find myself jealous.”

  “Nay, no’ envy, Englishman. Appreciation. There’s a difference.”