The Thorn & the Thistle

by Julie Moffett

  Gasping in surprise, Megan rushed forward to help him, but Peter grabbed her arm, holding her in place. As she watched in astonishment, the villagers cheered their approval as Rolf tossed aside the club and stretched out his good hand to help Dugald to his feet.

  “Saints above. What’s he doing?” she asked Peter.

  Peter turned to her and smiled. “Why I do believe he’s beating the Scottish at their own game.”

  * * *

  “You don’t know how badly I’ve wanted to do that,” Rolf said as Dugald rubbed his shoulder. The sparring with sticks had been fast, furious and fun.

  “Ye are a damn quick learner, Englishman. Even if ye only have one hand.”

  “Well, you are not so bad for a lame man yourself.”

  Rolf laughed and slapped the man on the back. Several pretty young girls from the village ran forward, giggling and talking shyly. Out of the corner of his eye, Rolf saw Megan storm over to them.

  “Uh, oh,” he murmured as Dugald turned around.

  “What the devil is going on here?” Megan shouted at them. She jabbed a finger in Dugald’s chest. “You of all people should know better.”

  Dugald held up a hand. “What o’ it, Megan? The Englishman asked me to teach him to fight like a Scotsman. He’s been working hard at it for a few weeks now. ’Twas but a spot o’ honest fun, I assure ye.”

  “A spot o’ fun?” Megan spluttered. “Have ye lost your senses? Need I remind ye that he is an Englishman? Our enemy? How could ye teach him our ways?”

  Dugald massaged his chest where she had poked it. “He’s no’ like other Englishman. He’s different, helping us to rebuild our homes wi’ his own hands. And he brought me back my young Duggie. Farrington took him to his house after his men burnt the village. I owe him a debt, lass. One I dinna think I can ever really repay.”

  She turned her accusing eyes on Rolf. “What are ye plotting, Englishman?”

  Rolf regarded her, trying not to smile. Spots of anger blazed in her cheeks and enchanting wisps of her dark hair drifted around her face.

  “Plotting?” He hoped his expression contained the right amount of innocence.

  “Ye know what I mean. Learning sticks wi’ Dugald and making friends wi’ the villagers.”

  That she accused him of being kind to the villagers almost made him laugh. “Hmm, let’s see. I’ve been learning the rather interesting technique of the sticks as an interesting way to pass the time. As far as making friends with the villagers, I can’t ever remember making a conscious effort to do so. I presume it just happened from working side by side, helping them to repair their homes.”

  “Ye are trying to trick them into trusting ye.”

  Rolf rolled his eyes in exasperation. “I have no need to resort to trickery and you know it. A man’s actions speak louder than his words.”

  “Now ye sound like Dugald.”

  “Yes, perhaps I do.” He couldn’t help it, he laughed. “Look, you’ve no need to worry I’m plotting anything. Like Dugald said, it was innocent fun. What did you think of the joust?”

  She glared at him. “It won’t work with me, Englishman. I know what ye are trying to do. Ye may have fooled them, but ye canna fool me. I know what ye plan for us.” She strode off toward her horse, her unbound hair swinging.

  Rolf watched her go, the flush of victory fading from his face.

  Dugald put a hand on Rolf’s shoulder. “Dinna fret, lad. The lass has a sharp tongue, but she’s had a difficult life at the hands o’ the English. She’s very protective o’ us, much like her father.”

  “So I’m discovering,” he murmured.

  “Ye have an eye for her, do ye no’, lad?”

  Rolf looked at the man in surprise. He was still not used to the way the Scots spoke to him with such familiarity. “I’m not certain what you mean.”

  Dugald guffawed. “Och, I may be lame, but I’m no’ blind. I see the way ye look at her. But be warned that she’s far more than just a comely lass.”

  Rolf said nothing but returned his gaze to Megan, who was standing near her horse, speaking with one of the village women.

  “Ye’re no’ the first to fall under her spell,” Dugald continued. “’Tis many a lad who wished to claim her. Most fell by the wayside, too daunted by her sharp wit, too awed by her courage. ’Twill take a man strong in character and possessing much patience to match her spirit.”

  “It is most curious that her father has never insisted that she wed.”

  “Most o’ us thought she would eventually wed Robbie. Poor lad’s been in love wi’ her since he was a wee bairn.”

  “Robbie?” The word came out sharper than he intended.

  “Aye, her cousin. A bit o’ a hothead but a good man, he is.”

  A dark frown crossed Rolf’s face and Dugald chuckled. “Och, is that the green-eyed devil I see? Well, if ’tis her heart ye want, ye’d better woo it like a Scotsman. By learning our ways, ye’ll learn hers too.”

  Rolf turned to look at Dugald. “Why are you being so kind? Do you not harbor any of the suspicion she holds for me?”

  Dugald stroked his beard, regarding Rolf. “One thing I’ve learned is that ’tis possible to judge an honest man by his actions. Ye may be an Englishman, but at least ye have acted like one wi’ honor.”

  “You have remarkable faith in your judgments.”

  Dugald nodded. “Perhaps. But we also know how ye stepped in to protect us. Besides, ye haven’t harmed Megan, even though ye’ve learned her identity as the laird’s daughter. The Scots are no’ ones to forget a kind turn.”

  Rolf looked back over to Megan, who had already mounted and sat glaring at him. Dugald followed his eyes, his face breaking out into a broad smile. “Och, dinna be intimidated by that fierce look. I saw how unhappy she looked when ye were talking and laughing wi’ those pretty lassies. Mayhap she’s touched by the green-eyed devil as ye are. Megan may be hot-tempered, but she is still a lass. Ye’d do well no’ to forget that, lad.”

  A slow smile rose to Rolf’s lips as he walked back to his horse. As he passed Megan, he flashed her a grin, ignoring her frosty stare. Then with a jaunty wave to the villagers, he swung up into the saddle. Slapping his reins on his horse’s neck, he led the others toward home.

  * * *

  Megan perched on a chair in the library watching Rolf add another log to the fire. He stirred the ashes to his satisfaction and then turned to face her.

  “What’s really bothering you, Megan? This is not about a jousting match with Dugald.”

  She twisted her hands in her lap. “It’s just...I canna bear to see the villagers harmed again. Please, don’t do this, Englishman.”

  “Then listen to me. I have no quarrel with the villagers. I seek only the Wolf. If you fear your father’s loss of influence on the villagers, then at least you may rest assured that I will not harm them.”

  Megan swallowed with frustration and looked away. It wasn’t her father’s loss of influence she feared, it was her own. Yet, if he discovered she was the Black Wolf, all her bargaining power would be gone. He would simply drag her off to London and be damned with his promises to her and her people. She could not, would not, let that happen.

  Now she only awaited word from Geddes. Before Douglas MacLeary had been released to the village, Megan had spoken at great length with him, instructing him to urge her uncle to accept Rolf’s terms. She was certain that by now Uncle Geddes had informed the Chisholms, MacDonnells and the other clans that her father was no longer alive and she had been acting as laird in his absence. She only hoped that the men would be willing to look beyond their anger at her deception and do what was right for their people. She’d accept Rolf’s truce and then reveal herself as the Wolf. Her life for the lives of all the clansmen and their families. An honorable trade.

&nb
sp; “Megan?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Will you have supper with me tonight?”

  After her dark thoughts, such a request came as a surprise. “Ye wish to sup wi’ me?”

  “Yes. Tonight, I prefer to face you over a table instead of a chessboard. And I wish to speak to you about something.”

  She looked at him. “Why wait till supper to talk? Ye have my full attention now.”

  Rolf looked about the room. “This is not the setting I had in mind. I would prefer something more intimate.” When she hesitated, he took a step toward her. “I’ve given you my word that I’m not going to harm the villagers, Megan. I think you know that I am telling the truth. Please, leave your reservations behind and join me for supper. It’s important.”

  Megan stared at him. “Ye are the most contrary man I’ve ever met.”

  “I wish you would call me Rolf. It’s not such an unreasonable request. But I’ll not hurry you. You’ll say it when you are ready. But come now, will you accept my invitation to supper?”

  She sighed. “Ye won’t stop asking, will ye?”

  He smiled. “I’ve been told that persistence is one of my more honorable traits.”

  “I suppose ’tis rather useful in pursuing one’s enemy.”

  “You are not my enemy, Megan.”

  She rubbed her temples. “I wouldn’t be so certain o’ that if I were ye. But if ye insist, I’ll join ye for supper.”

  His dark eyes lit up. “Splendid. I’ll have Abigail fetch one of the trunks that I presume contains more of your clothing. Since you’re going to be here a bit longer, you might as well dress comfortably.” Turning on his heel, he left Megan staring after him in surprise.

  “He’s plotting something,” she whispered under her breath.

  She walked over to the window and pulled aside the draperies. A dazzling spring sun was shining and there was nary a cloud in the sky.

  Still, the cheerful weather could not raise her spirits or cast off her nagging doubt that something terrible was about to happen, beginning with supper this evening. Rolf St. James had some kind of plan and Megan had a dreadful premonition that she wasn’t going to like it one bit.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Rolf not only sent Megan a trunk filled with her clothes, but he also instructed Abigail to help her dress.

  “’Twas foolish for him to bother ye,” Megan protested as Abigail held up a gown of sapphire blue velvet and lifted it carefully over Megan’s head. “I’m perfectly capable o’ dressing myself.”

  “Of course, you are, my lady.” Abigail smoothed the material over her petticoats. “But it would have taken some time and, in my humble opinion, I wouldn’t keep a man both waiting and famished.”

  Megan couldn’t help but smile, wondering what had made the older woman so talkative this evening. Usually, she brought Megan her food or bedding and left, engaging in only minimal conversation. But tonight, the normally staid housekeeper seemed different. She was lively, cheerful and her gray eyes sparkled with excitement.

  “No, it still quite right,” she murmured, fussing with Megan’s bodice.

  Megan looked down at the gown, noticing that it hung on her frame instead of clinging to her. “It used to fit better through here.” She touched her waist. “But truthfully, I never thought to wear any o’ these gowns again. They bring back too many memories.”

  Abigail clucked. “Well, if you would eat what I fixed, you would have gained at least two stone in a fortnight or two. But ye eat as little as a bird. A shame, I say.”

  “’Tis no’ the food, Abigail. Ye are a wonderful cook. I simply don’t feel like eating when many o’ my people are going hungry.”

  Abigail paused, her hand hovering over Megan’s shoulder. “You have a good heart, my lady. I wouldn’t have expected it from you, being Scottish and all.”

  Megan sighed. “I can see that prejudice and mistrust runs deep on both sides. ’Tis most difficult.”

  The lines on Abigail’s face softened. “Well, I’ve learned a lot about you people since I’ve been here. In many ways you are rather similar to us.” She glanced up. “I meant that as a compliment, my lady.”

  Megan smiled. “I know that ye meant it as such.”

  The woman nodded as she stepped back, surveying the off-shoulder deep décolletage of the gown. “There, you look right lovely.” She reached out to fluff up the petticoats.

  Strangely pleased by the compliment, Megan twirled around, feeling the soft swish of the material around her stockinged legs. “Why all the bother for a simple supper? I might have just as easily decided to wear the same gown I’ve worn for the past several weeks.”

  Abigail clucked in disapproval. “It isn’t right for a lady like you to wear the same gown day after day. Besides, it’s only fitting that tonight you wear something special.”

  Megan looked at the older woman in surprise. “Tonight? What is happening tonight?”

  Abigail shrugged, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “To tell you the truth, my lady, I’m not certain. But I haven’t seen my lord look so...er...happy in a long time. He’s had the kitchen in an uproar for hours and even instructed the servants to polish the silver. Then he asked me put out his finest clothes and see that you are dressed in a proper gown. Now I may be an old woman, but I have my suspicions as to why he’d want to put on such a show for a pretty lady. I think he wants to impress you.”

  Megan felt her cheeks warm. “Me? Ye must be mistaken.”

  “I’m not.” Abigail ushered her to a chair. “No one knows the lad like I do.” Picking up a brush, she began to pull it through her long, thick tresses.

  “Abigail? Does your lord treat all o’ his prisoners this way? I mean, inviting them to supper and such?” Megan winced as the woman found a snarl.

  “I promise you that Rolf doesn’t make a practice of holding young women prisoner. It’s just in your case, the circumstances have been rather odd. Imagine his shock when he discovered that you were the former mistress of this castle.”

  “I don’t need to imagine it. He nearly throttled me, he was so angry.”

  Abigail waved her hand. “Oh, men are always angry about one thing or another. You have naught to fear from him, my lady. I know in my heart that he’s a good man and I have yet to see him raise a hand against a woman in all my years with the family.”

  “How many years have ye been with the family?”

  “Let’s see, ’tis nearly two and thirty years now. I practically raised young Rolf by myself.”

  “Really?” Megan felt a genuine interest. “I suppose that means ye must have known his wife, Caroline, as well.”

  Abigail immediately ceased her strokes. Megan turned around in the chair, looking up at the older woman apologetically. “Forgive me if I tread upon a forbidden subject.”

  The older woman sighed, pushing a strand of gray hair from her forehead. “It’s not a forbidden topic, just a painful one. Lady Caroline was...well, she was very young. She loved beautiful gowns, handsome lords and dancing until midnight. She wasn’t at all suited for a man like Rolf, even before the horrible injury to his hand.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Her death seems to have pained him greatly.”

  “Yes, it was a horrible tragedy. And if that weren’t enough, the gossip at court was most cruel. There was even a trial. Those who accused him said he killed her. But I know he didn’t have anything to do with her death. I myself saw him go into his bedchamber moments before she ran out to the lake. I don’t wish to speak ill of the dead, but Lady Caroline brought it on herself, I say.”

  “’Tisn’t right to lay blame on anyone.”

  “Of course, my lady. You are right.” Abigail lifted Megan’s hair off her shoulders and twisted it around Megan’s head, securing it with a go
ld comb. “There.” She stepped back to survey her work. “You do look a fair sight.”

  Megan stood, smoothing down her skirts. “Thank ye for your help. I know ’tis no’ required for ye to act this way toward me.”

  The housekeeper blushed. “I’ll not lie to you. When I first heard that you’d tried to harm my lord...well, my mind was made up that I wasn’t going to like you But over the past several weeks, I’ve seen a decency and honesty about you that has caused me to change my mind. I can see you are just trying to help your people and do what is right. I suspect Rolf knows it too. You know, it brings a bit of gladness to my old heart to see him smile again. It’s you who brings it to him.”

  Megan was touched by the woman’s words. She folded her hands in front of her. “I don’t deserve your kindness, Abigail, but I appreciate it. Thank ye.”

  The older woman gave Megan a comforting pat on the arm and then withdrew from the room. Minutes later, Andrew arrived to escort her to dinner.

  As they reached the great chamber, Andrew left her at the entranceway, disappearing quickly down the dark corridor. Taking a breath for courage, Megan entered the room. What she saw caused her mouth to drop open in astonishment.

  The chamber appeared to have been scrubbed from top to bottom. The stone floor was brushed clean of dirt and refuse and the long oak table shone from a recent polish. A beautiful, lace tablecloth adorned one end of the table near the hearth and was set with delicate plates and gleaming silver utensils. Two crystal wine glasses shimmered and sparkled in the candlelight.

  Rolf rose from behind the table, his dark eyes sweeping over her bare shoulders and the visible swell of her breasts at the dip in her gown. “You look magnificent.”

  Megan blushed. “’Tis Abigail’s work.”

  “Yes, I’ll have to have a word with her.” He took her elbow. “God’s teeth, I’m not a saint.”