The Thorn & the Thistle

by Julie Moffett

  “Is anyone here?” Rolf called out and Megan repeated his question in Gaelic.

  No one answered, but Megan heard a small whimper. Stepping into the cottage, she saw a woman with three children huddling in a dark corner among the debris. All of them had sootcovered faces and tattered clothes. Two of the children were crying. The woman gasped and crossed herself when she saw Rolf, while the children stared at them with wide, frightened eyes.

  As Rolf stepped forward, the eldest of the children jumped to his feet. With a small cry, the lad threw himself at Rolf, his fists pummeling the Englishman’s stomach. Rolf reached down for the lad and the mother screamed something in Gaelic.

  Megan rushed to Rolf’s side, clutching his arm as he pulled the kicking child away from her. “She begs for ye no’ to hurt him. Please.”

  Startled, Rolf looked into Megan’s frantic eyes. “I’m not going to hurt the child, Megan. Tell her to be calm.”

  Megan repeated Rolf’s words in Gaelic. The woman stopped her sobbing, but looked fearfully at Rolf.

  “Now ask her what the devil happened here.”

  Megan relayed his question. The woman spoke between sobs, clutching her remaining children to her bosom.

  “She says the Englishman on the hill came down demanding to know who had stolen his cattle,” Megan translated. “When no one answered to his liking, he had his men burn the village in retaliation.”

  “Farrington.” Rolf swore under his breath.

  Megan nodded in confirmation before returning her attention to the woman. “She says she doesn’t know where her oldest son is. Some o’ the other young people are missing as well. She thinks Farrington took them to his house.”

  Rolf’s frown deepened as he released the child, giving him a gentle push toward his mother. The boy stumbled a few steps and collapsed into his mother’s waiting arms. She gathered him to her bosom, giving Rolf a grateful glance and whispering something.

  “She thanks ye for no’ harming the boy. Since he dared to strike ye, ’twas your right to do so, had ye wished.”

  Rolf stiffened. “The woman actually thinks it’s my right to harm a child?”

  When she nodded, he swore. “Christ’s blood, tell her no matter what she has heard about me, I do not harm children.”

  Megan knelt down beside the woman and spoke with her. Amazed, Rolf watched how she soothed the woman by murmuring and placing a comforting hand on her arm.

  “What did you tell her?” Rolf asked her when she finally stood.

  “I assured her that you do no’ harm bairns.”

  Rolf pursed his lips. “Surely it couldn’t have taken you that long to tell her that.”

  “Well, I also told her that ye would bring food and blankets for her family.”

  Rolf looked her in stunned amazement. “You told her what?”

  She lifted her chin, meeting his icy gaze straight on. “There are women and bairns in this village who will either starve or freeze to death tonight if they are no’ given assistance. ’Tis the fault o’ the English that they are in such straits. If ye are serious about bringing peace here, ’Twould be a good start.”

  Rolf’s hand shot out and circled around her wrist. With one firm yank, he pulled her to his chest. “Don’t you ever give me an order again or I’ll...”

  “Kill me?” Megan finished for him, her voice hard with bitterness. “Do ye think I care what happens to me? Look around ye. People are suffering because o’ ye and your countrymen. Casting people from their homes and brutalizing them. ’Tis naught but a game for ye.”

  Rolf’s fingers tightened around her wrist and Megan gasped at the ferocity of his glare. “I didn’t do this, Megan, and contrary to your belief, I don’t approve of these kinds of tactics.”

  “But Farrington does. And your King has given him the right to do so. Does that make ye feel proud to be an Englishman?”

  Anger glittered bright in his dark eyes. “I’d advise you to lower your voice. You are frightening the children.”

  A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed that the family was staring at her with terrified eyes, presumably because she dared to raise her voice to the Englishman.

  She sought to reassure them. “Don’t worry, he won’t hurt me. I hope.”

  The woman looked at her but said nothing. With a firm pull, Rolf led Megan from the cottage toward the village center. Megan saw that Rolf’s men had managed to extinguish most of the fires. People were huddled in small groups, crying, moaning and speaking to one another. One of the villagers, a young woman, recognized Megan and ran to her, lifting the bottom of Megan’s skirts to her cheek. Megan knelt down and gathered the woman in her arms, murmuring.

  “Do you know her?” Rolf asked.

  “Aye, she is a friend o’ my family’s.”

  “Why is she treating you like royalty?”

  Megan glanced up at him. “’Tis an odd way o’ looking at things, Englishman. Can’t ye see she is frightened?”

  Rolf did indeed see that the girl was terrified, but for a brief moment before she had clutched Megan’s skirts, he had distinctly seen something else in her eyes. Hope. And as he now looked at the ragged group of villagers, he saw unconcealed looks of relief and expectation.

  Rolf returned his gaze to Megan’s face. “Do you know many of the people here?”

  Megan quickly scanned the tired and frightened faces. “Aye, some.”

  “Good. I want to find out exactly what happened. Do you think they will speak to you truthfully?”

  “Perhaps.” She drew the young woman to her feet. After they exchanged a few whispered words, the woman kissed Megan’s hand and stepped back to the shelter of the crowd.

  Rolf frowned, looking down at her. “What did you promise her?”

  Megan tilted her head back. “What makes ye think I promised her anything?”

  “Megan,” he growled in warning.

  “Och, all right. Ye have a fierce temper, ye do. I promised her food and blankets as well.”

  “Damnation, woman. You are sorely trying my patience.”

  “’Tis no’ that much o’ a sacrifice for ye,” Megan countered, realizing that she may have pushed him too far. “But for these people, ’tis a matter o’ life and death. Please...I ask ye to help them.”

  Rolf considered her words. “First ask them for an accounting of what happened.”

  Megan complied, translating Rolf’s questions.

  The villagers repeated stories similar to the one they had already heard. Sickened by their graphic description of Farrington’s actions, Megan felt her stomach churn with anger and disgust. Rolf raised a hand, indicating that he had heard enough, and went to confer with several of his men.

  Left alone, Megan made her way among the villagers, reassuring and comforting as many as she could. Many recognized her and clamored around, begging and pleading in Gaelic for food, supplies and medicine. Overwhelmed, Megan promised to do what she could, asking in return that they not reveal her identity to the English. The villagers nodded with understanding, looking fearfully at the large Englishman with a crippled hand whose dark gaze often rested on her face.

  Rolf returned, pulling Megan aside. “Tell them that several of my men will return with blankets, food and healing salves for the bums. Those cottages that took the least damage will be repaired so at least the children will have a warm place to sleep for tonight. Upon the morn, we’ll take stock of the damage and determine the best strategy to help them rebuild their homes.”

  Megan stared at him in sheer astonishment, blinking as if she had not heard him correctly. As she hesitated, he took her by the shoulders, turning her to face the villagers. “Tell them.”

  Megan repeated Rolf’s words. Before she had finished, an old woman shouted something and pointed at Rolf. The villagers fell si
lent.

  “What did she say?” Rolf asked.

  Megan swallowed, looking up at Rolf. “She...she doesn’t believe ye.”

  Rolf strode over to where the woman was standing. The villagers murmured and Megan held her breath waiting for his explosion of anger. Instead he gazed into the old woman’s eyes.

  “Tell her she is wrong,” he instructed Megan. “I give her my word.”

  Megan exhaled the breath she held, repeating Rolf’s words. Murmurs of surprise rippled among the villagers. The woman’s eyes widened in disbelief, but she said nothing more.

  Rolf gazed out at the villagers once more before ordering his men to mount. Once upon his own stallion, he motioned for Peter to approach him. The old man guided his horse beside Rolf’s, listening to his lord’s instructions. When Rolf was finished, Peter rode to where Megan was waiting on her horse. Taking her reins in his hand, he said, “You will be returning with me and several others to Castle Kilcraig. We are to gather the supplies for the villagers. I require your assistance in the preparation of the needed medicines.”

  Megan looked over at Rolf, who was speaking with a small group of men. “He will no’ return to the castle wi’ us?”

  Peter shook his gray head. “No, my lady, he has other matters to attend.”

  “Matters?” She raised an eyebrow. Peter nodded as Rolf turned his horse around and rode toward the top of the hill. A handful of his men followed, riding to catch up with him.

  “Aye, my lady.” They watched Rolf disappear over the hill. “He is quite anxious to have words with a certain gentleman.”

  * * *

  Rolf and his men rode up to the stone manor house that sat atop a nearby hill, looking down over the valley from which he had just ridden. Ordering his men to wait for him, he left the reins of his horse in the hands of an astonished stable boy and strode to the front door. Without bothering to knock, he opened the door, pushing past a stammering servant.

  “Where is Farrington?” Rolf thundered at a servant who had rushed down the stairs to intercept him.

  “I’m s-sorry, sir. My lord is quite indisposed at the moment. Shall I announce your arrival?”

  “I’ll announce it myself.” Rolf took the steps two at a time. The shocked servant ran after him, babbling in fear. Rolf flung open the first door at the top of the stairs. When that chamber proved to be empty, he systematically opened each door until he came to the last one, now barred by the trembling body of the distressed servant.

  “I b-beg you, my lord, please do not disturb him.”

  “Either move out of the way quietly or I’ll move you myself.”

  The servant swallowed, sizing up Rolf’s large form. After a moment’s hesitation, he stepped aside, just as Farrington opened the door, adjusting the belt on his robe.

  “Damn you, Farrington.” Rolf’s voice was so furious that he barely recognized it as his own. “What in the hell do you think you are doing?”

  Farrington started in surprise at the unexpected intrusion. A mixture of astonishment and rage crossed his face when he saw Rolf, but he quickly composed himself. Backing into his room, he nodded at Rolf. The servant remained at the door.

  Farrington walked over to a small table and picked up a crystal decanter. With a small pop, he removed the lid and poured himself a drink. “May I offer you some brandy? It is quite excellent, you know. It’s French.”

  “I wish to speak with you in private.”

  Farrington glanced once more at the door and then nodded. He swept out of the room, leading Rolf to a small sitting room farther down the hall. Once inside, Rolf shut the door firmly behind them.

  Farrington sat himself in a chair by the fire and stretched his bare legs toward the warmth. “Well, to what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

  “Curse it, man,” Rolf exploded. “Why did you burn the Scots’ village?”

  Edwin looked at Rolf in surprise. “Is that what this is all about? For God’s sake, could it not have waited until tomorrow?”

  Rolf smothered a curse, straining to control his rage. “I asked why you burned the village.”

  Edwin shrugged. “I wanted to teach the villagers a lesson. They should understand that if they protect the Wolf, they will pay.”

  “You bloody idiot,” Rolf grounded out. “You aren’t teaching them a lesson. You are driving them into his arms. The Scots don’t fear you—they despise you.”

  Edwin’s eyes narrowed into tiny slits. “Have care how you speak to me, St. James. I’ve been in the Highlands nearly two years and I bloody well know how to deal with these heathen. They respect strength. In time, they will respect me.”

  Rolf walked over to the hearth, his good hand gripping the back of one of the covered chairs. “Respect is earned, not forced, Edwin. Your reckless actions do nothing but inflame old passions and hatred. For God’s sake, man, these are people we are talking about, not animals.”

  Edwin took a careful sip of his brandy. “Ah, but you are wrong. The Scots are nothing but a savage race. I handle them how I would any animals—with force and fear.” He laughed, raking a hand through his tousled blond hair. “I’m afraid that you concern yourself over a few burnt cottages. I know what I am doing.”

  “I presume that is why the king sent me here to protect you and your holdings. You’ve made a bloody mess of things. Christ, you don’t even realize what you have done. You have given the Scots cause to resist us and for good reason. You’ve shown them nothing but cruelty.”

  Edwin set aside his brandy and stood up. “I think I’ve heard quite enough. Just what the devil do you want from me?”

  “Stay away from the villagers and let me handle them.”

  Edwin’s eyes narrowed as his fingers played with the cord of his sash. “You? Why should I agree? Those people are my tenants, living on my property. They are protecting people who have stolen my cattle. I have every right to treat them however I choose and you know it.”

  “Regardless of your complaints, they are not your personal slaves. If I ever catch you harming any of them again, I’ll personally see that the king hears of your actions.”

  A scarlet flush spread across Edwin’s face. “Don’t you dare threaten me. There are tales of my own I could relate to the king, including some lurid ones involving your dear departed wife. Did you know that the Duke of Holybrook was not her only lover? She had scores of others, including my brother. Rumors can be easily revived, you know.”

  Rolf shot across the room. With a growl of fury, he grabbed the lapel of Edwin’s robe with his good hand, nearly strangling the pale man.

  “Let me make one thing clear,” Rolf spat out. “If you ever mention my wife again, I’ll kill you and be damned with the consequences. Do you understand me?”

  Edwin nodded in fear, his eyes bulging. “I...understand. Please...release me.”

  Rolf pressed his forearm tighter against the man’s neck before shoving him away with a grunt of disgust. Striding to the door, he said, “I will wait outside with my men for the Scots you abducted from the village today. I will see a thorough accounting for each of those who disappeared today. If I discover that any of the Scottish are still missing, I will personally order my soldiers to take apart this house piece by piece until they are found.”

  “I would warn you not to make an enemy of me,” Edwin said, rubbing his throat. “I have the authority to do as I please here.”

  “Not for long if I have any say about it. Now you will do as I ask or I will make good on my threat.”

  Farrington did not answer, but as he stared at Rolf, a silent message of hate flared in his eyes. Rolf met Edwin’s stare with a contemptuous look of his own before stalking out of the room.

  Chapter Twelve

  Peter had not left Megan’s side since they returned from the village. Much to her astoni
shment, he even brought her supper and then asked if he could join her. Nodding, she watched as the stocky, gray-haired man carried the tray to the table and set it down. Dragging up a second chair, he waited until Megan had seated herself before easing himself down across from her. For a while, they hardly spoke, sipping their wine and eating the thick meaty stew Abigail had prepared for them. Finally, unable to contain her curiosity, Megan pushed the bowl aside and looked at the older man.

  “Did ye wish to speak wi’ me about something, Peter? Ye’ve no’ left me alone for a moment since we left the village.”

  The older man finished chewing the meat he had just put into his mouth and took a long drink of his wine. After wiping his lips with the back of his hand, he opened his mouth to say something and then shut it, looking uncomfortable.

  “Come, what troubles ye?” Megan asked again. “Surely ye have more to do than while away the hours wi’ me.”

  Sighing, Peter pushed away from the table and stood. “I’m not certain I should be doing this. I fear I might bring Rolf’s wrath upon me. He doesn’t approve of people talking about him.”

  Puzzled, Megan’s dark brows furrowed together, but she said nothing, waiting for him to continue. After a moment, Peter pressed a gnarled hand to his brow.

  “What happened today in the village—it didn’t set well with me, my lady. I know how mistrustful you are of Rolf and I didn’t want you to think that he had anything to do with it. I assure you he doesn’t hold to those methods. I’ve served with him for ten years and with his father for five and twenty before that. The St. James men are honorable. What you saw today, it is not the work of an honorable man.”

  Megan remembered the angry expression on Rolf’s face when he had seen the woman and her children huddled together in the smoking ruins of their croft. Then she thought of him standing in front of the villagers, promising to bring them food, blankets and wood for rebuilding their homes. She wondered if he were there now, talking with them and distributing food.