The Thorn & the Thistle

by Julie Moffett

  Peter nodded, veering off to one side and motioning for a half-dozen men to follow. Rolf continued straight up the steep hill in front of them. When they reached the top, Rolf paused, aghast at the spectacle in front of him. The villagers had already reached the outskirts of the estate. Farrington’s stable and a few other assorted buildings were already on fire. Flames licked up toward the sky like a bright orange tongue, casting an eerie yellow glow over the entire area. Horses that had been released from the stables whinnied in fright and stampeded unhindered about the grounds in panic. Piercing screams and angry shouts split the night air.

  “My God.” Megan breathed from over his shoulder.

  “Hold on and keep your head low.” Rolf dug his heels into the side of the horse and rushed toward the house. The fighting was sporadic, but fierce. Rolf guided his stallion among the clashing men. Several were engaged in hand-to-hand combat, using swords, knives and clubs. A few of Farrington’s men had pistols, and Rolf could see that they were firing indiscriminately.

  Rolf whistled under his breath. This scene was far worse than he had anticipated. If he didn’t act soon, he’d have a damn massacre on his hands.

  Wheeling his horse around, Rolf maneuvered sideways just as a musket ball whizzed past his head.

  “That’s it,” he said between clenched teeth.

  Urging the horse away from the action, he dismounted near a tree, handing Megan the reins. “Stay here. I must get this situation under some kind of control. I’ll be back for you in a moment.”

  He headed for Edwin’s house. Nearing the structure, he saw one of Farrington’s men raise his pistol and take aim at a villager. Sprinting across the grass, Rolf tackled Farrington’s man causing the pistol to fire in the air.

  The man struggled but Rolf kept him on the ground with a savage blow to his midsection. “Stay down.” He pressed his forearm into the man’s windpipe.

  “My lord.” The man gasped as he recognized Rolf. “I didn’t know it was you.”

  “You’re damn fortunate for that.” He rose and pulled the man to his feet. “Put that pistol away. Where is Farrington?”

  The man looked over his shoulder, his face black from the smoke. “He’s in the house. We were told to stay out here and protect the estate.”

  “By attacking unarmed villagers?”

  “They have torches and clubs, my lord. They mean to bum the place down.”

  “It’s no wonder. Farrington shot a defenseless old man. Damn it, are you all fools?”

  “I was just doing as I was ordered.”

  “Well, you have new orders now. Inform your men that I’ve ordered the fighting to cease at once. I’ll do my best to get the villagers under control.”

  When the man hesitated, Rolf gave him a push. “Get to it, man. Are you deaf?’

  The man scurried off toward the manor, shouting and waving his arms. Rolf turned, intending to return for Megan when a dark shape stepped out in front of him.

  “’Twas my life ye just saved.”

  Rolf started. “Dugald. You need to talk to the others. It’s a bloody chaotic spectacle here.”

  “’Tis what Farrington deserves.”

  “I won’t argue with that, but burning this place will serve nothing. Have you people lost your senses?”

  Dugald straightened his shoulders. “Ye should know, Englishman. There comes a time when a man must finally take a stand. ’Tis no longer that we’ll let Farrington terrorize us.”

  Rolf’s jaw twitched. “Farrington may be a bastard, but he is still an English subject. Actions like these will only infuriate the king. If you persist in such behavior, not even I will be able to protect you.”

  Dugald looked at him. “’Twas our beloved Queen Mary that stood before her English judges and said, ’Remember that the theater o’ the world is wider than the realm o’ England.’ The Scots are a proud people, Englishman. Know ye that there is more behind the actions o’ the Scottish than just retaliation for what ye English do to us.”

  Rolf exhaled, raking his hand through his hair. “Christ, Dugald, I don’t blame you for this. Just do what you can to stop the villagers before any more damage occurs. I’ll take care of Farrington myself.”

  “I’m afraid that Farrington is no longer a concern for ye, Englishman.”

  Rolf eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean ’tis a matter for young Robbie now. ’Tis his justice that will be served to Farrington this night, no’ yours.”

  Rolf swore. “Damnation, Dugald. He’ll only end up paying for Farrington’s death with his own life. It’s not worth the price.”

  Dugald placed a hand on his shoulder. “But ’tis the way it shall be. Robbie is already in the house. Farrington may already be dead.”

  “Not if I have anything to do about it.” He turned to leave when Dugald spoke again.

  “Wait.”

  The tone of his voice stopped Rolf in his tracks. “There’s one more matter for us to settle, Englishman. Ye have proven to be a man o’ honor and have saved my life and the life o’ my son. In return, an old man would like to give ye a piece o’ advice.”

  “Such as?”

  “Give up your search for the Wolf. Ye may not like what ye find.”

  “That is your advice? If you must know, I hold the Wolf responsible for all of this. If he’d come forward long ago, none of this would have happened.”

  Dugald hunched his shoulders against the cold. “Mayhap he’s already come forward, but ye canna see him. Try thinking like a Scotsman, no’ an Englishman. Perhaps then ye will find your Wolf.”

  “Must the Scottish incessantly speak in riddles?” Rolf snapped. “Hell and damnation, where is he, Dugald? Let me put an end to this now.”

  Dugald sighed. “Ye still do no’ understand us. The Wolf is no’ just a person. He is much more than that. He represents an emotion that feeds our spirit and renews our hope for the survival o’ our people amid your oppression. The Black Wolf is a legend created by one man, but he need no’ live for the spirit o’ his struggle to live in all o’ us.”

  Rolf stilled. “What are you saying? That Robert MacLeod is dead?”

  “I’m simply saying that he need no’ live for his legend to continue.”

  “How can that be? How do you account for the raids, the organized resistance, the brilliant negotiating strategy? If MacLeod hasn’t been leading the clan all this time, who has?”

  When Dugald didn’t answer, Rolf fell pensive, rubbing the gloved knuckles of his maimed hand. “Well, it couldn’t be just anyone. It would have to be someone with a keen wit, a bold spirit and a damnable amount of stubbornness to have forced me into such generous terms for your people. Not only would it take a person of immense courage to have accomplished what has been done, it would require someone who has been involved in the process from the beginning and could fully understand and direct the intricacies of the negotiations and—”

  Rolf broke off in mid-sentence, looking at Dugald with a stricken expression. “God’s teeth. It’s Megan, isn’t it? Blast it, she’s been the Wolf all along. How long has MacLeod been dead?”

  “He died four months before ye even came to Gairloch. ’Twas Megan herself who brought the other clans into the fold. Her da would have been proud o’ her.”

  Rolf started to pace. “Christ, I’m a bigger fool than I thought. Of course, it all fits into the puzzle. That’s why the Wolf seemed to know my every thought. And that’s why Megan didn’t want us to wed. She knew I’d be honor bound to reveal her identity to the king. God Almighty, what have I done?”

  Dugald shrugged. “Just remember, ye can present your sovereign with the Black Wolf, but ye’ll no’ silence the legend. The legend will live on forever in the hearts o’ the Scots. If your quest is to quell the resistance o’ the Black Wolf and
the legend’s followers, ye must find another solution.”

  “Such as?”

  “That, lad, is for you to decide. You must find a way to satisfy your honor without renewing the flames of hatred between our peoples.”

  Rolf stared at the old woodcarver for several minutes before laying his good hand on the man’s shoulder. “You’ve given me a lot to think about, Dugald. Consider your debt to me repaid.”

  “’Twas only a matter o’ time before’ Megan’s identity was revealed. I told ye this, Englishman, not to bring harm to Megan, but to help ye find a way to save her.”

  Rolf nodded. “Understood. And you can rest assured, I’ll do my damnedest to find a way.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “Where in the devil are ye, Rolf St. James?” Megan patted the side of the stallion’s neck. It seemed as if she had been waiting for hours.

  Several times she’d had to fight back the urge to cast Rolf’s instructions to the wind and ride up to the house. Part of her yearned to extract her own revenge on Farrington, while another part worried about Robbie and what might be happening in that house while she dallied out here in the dark.

  “Blast it all. Why did I give him my word?”

  “Because I made you.” The answer came from the dark.

  She gasped in surprise as Rolf materialized, leapt onto the horse in front of her and took the reins. His hair was disheveled, his shirt torn, and he had a grim look on his face.

  “Ye’ve been fighting.”

  “You could say that. But don’t worry, the other fellow looks worse than me.”

  “Ye wish to jest?”

  “Not particularly. We don’t have much time.” He urged the horse into a gallop. “From what I understand, your cousin is already in the house.”

  “Blessed saints. Are we too late?”

  “I hope not. I’ve ordered Farrington’s men to cease their attack on the villagers. Dugald will urge the villagers to do the same. I think we’ll have a temporary truce soon. However, that might change if anything happens to either your cousin or Farrington.”

  Megan pressed her face into Rolf’s back, tightening her arms around his waist. “Please hurry.”

  Although the fighting seemed largely to have stopped at the far perimeter of the estate, the scene close to Farrington’s house was still in chaos. Several people were engaged in fierce personal battles on the front greensward.

  Swearing, Rolf drew his stallion to a halt and dismounted, bringing Megan down after him. “Stay close.” He gripped her hand.

  As they approached the house, Megan could see that it had been severely damaged. Several windows had been shattered and small fires had been set and then extinguished all along the west side. One shutter hung from a sill. Shouting came from inside the house. She and Rolf hastened his step to the front door, stepping back in surprise as one of Farrington’s men staggered out, clutching a bloody middle. He collapsed against Rolf and then slid to the ground.

  “Stop them, my lord. They will kill us all.”

  “Where is Farrington?” Rolf demanded, kneeling beside the man.

  “Upstairs. In his bedchamber. They went after him.” He gurgled once and then fell still, his bloody hand falling to his side.

  Rolf stood, taking her hand. “Stay beside me.” Giving her hand a squeeze, they stepped across the threshold and into the foyer.

  The house had been ransacked. Rugs and tapestries had been slashed, furniture and paintings smashed and glass and broken porcelain lay in pieces across the floor.

  “God’s teeth,” Rolf said under his breath. They moved forward, walking past the sitting room.

  Megan glanced inside, her blood running cold at the sight. Two of Farrington’s men lay sprawled on the floor dead. Their throats had been cut.

  Rolf tried to step in front of Megan to block her view, but she stopped him with a hand on his chest. “I’ve seen worse. But we’d best make haste.”

  He led her toward the staircase, taking the stairs two at a time and pulling Megan behind him.

  The upstairs was deathly quiet.

  Rolf whispered in her ear. “The door to his bedchamber is closed. Stay here.”

  She nodded.

  Drawing his sword, Rolf lifted the latch on the door and kicked it open with his boot. Lunging into the room, he stopped cold at the scene in front of him.

  Farrington, dressed in a white silk robe, was on his bare knees in front of the hearth, his hands clasped behind his back. He sobbed, blood dripping onto his robe from a nasty gash in his neck. Megan’s flame-haired cousin stood behind him, holding a dagger to the Englishman’s ear.

  Two other Scotsmen, lounging against the wall, leapt forward in surprise, drawing their swords when they saw Rolf enter the room.

  “Drop the sword, Englishman.” Robbie jerked his head. “I’ll kill him instantly.”

  Edwin began to sob, his entire body trembling. “Oh, God, he intends to kill me. You must stop him.”

  “Ye’re a bloody coward.” Robbie yanked on Farrington’s hair. “Ye delight in killing others, but canna face your own death like a man. But I’m no’ going to make this easy for ye. Nay, I’m going to make it so painful ye will beg me for death.” He pressed the blade against Farrington’s neck, drawing blood again. Farrington screamed.

  “Let him go,” Rolf ordered. “I can’t permit you to murder him no matter how much he deserves it.”

  “He killed my da and now I’m going to kill him. So, drop the bloody sword or I’ll slit his throat this instant.”

  Rolf looked from Robbie to the other Scotsmen before casting aside his sword. One of the Scotsmen scurried to pick it up while the other circled behind Rolf, grabbing his arms and pinning them behind his back.

  “I’ll let ye watch if ye want, Englishman. Farrington will finally get the justice he deserves.”

  “Indeed, he will. But let’s do this legally. If you kill him now, you will only forfeit your own life as well. It’s the law.”

  “Your law, Englishman, no’ ours. We Scots believe in an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. In this case, Farrington’s life for the life o’ my da.”

  “Farrington will answer for the murder of your father. Some of my men witnessed it. The case against him is strong.”

  Robbie laughed. “Och, and ye expect me to take the word o’ an Englishman just like that? Ye’ll never punish your own kind and I know it. Killing him is my right. My revenge. He’ll die by my hands for all the pain and suffering he has caused to me and Meggie.” He lifted the knife and Farrington whimpered.

  “Don’t do it, Robbie.” Megan stepped into the room and pushed the hood of her cloak from her head.

  “Meggie.” Robbie’s mouth gaped open in astonishment. The two Scotsmen also stared in surprise. “By all o’ the saints, what are ye doing here?”

  “I came to stop ye before ye made a terrible mistake. Don’t kill him.”

  “Dinna kill Farrington? Have ye gone mad, Megan MacLeod? He’s the man who killed your family and dozens o’ our clansmen. Now he’s killed Da.” A mixture of grief and rage crossed his face. “Och, Meggie, he killed Da.”

  A sob escaped her lips. “I know. Blessed saints, I know. I understand how ye feel. I used to lay awake at night and dream o’ cruel and unmerciful ways to end the life o’ this vile man. He has taken from me almost everyone I’ve ever loved. But I’m no’ going to let him do it again. I couldn’t bear losing ye, too, Robbie. Please, I beg ye to put the knife down.”

  Robbie threw a distrustful glance at Rolf. “Ye think this man will bring Farrington to justice? I dinna trust him and ye shouldna either. Let me do what I must and then I’ll take ye away from all o’ this. We’ll start anew, Meggie. We’ll reunite all the clans in Gairloch and build up our strength again. We can still figh
t the English. I know we can.”

  Megan glanced over at the two Scotsmen. “Clarence and John, leave us at once. This is a matter to be settled privately.”

  Clarence shook his head in disbelief. “Have ye gone mad, Megan? What about him?” He jerked hard on Rolf’s arms.

  “Release him. He’s my husband. He will no’ harm us.”

  Clarence murmured, but looked to Robbie for an answer. The flame-haired giant kept his eyes locked on Megan’s. After a moment, he jerked his head sideways.

  “Let the Englishman go.”

  “But, Robbie—” Clarence started, but Robbie cut him off.

  “Just do as I say. And get out o’ here. Both o’ ye. I’ll take care o’ this myself.”

  Clearly shaken, Clarence released Rolf and the two men withdrew from the room, shutting the door behind them.

  Megan stepped forward. “There is no more need to fight, Robbie. We began signing the land grants and pardons last night. It’s over. There is no more need of bloodshed in Gairloch.”

  Robbie scowled. “’Tisn’t true, Meggie. Your Englishman still seeks the Black Wolf.”

  “I know. But rest assured that the Black Wolf has accepted his fate, just as ye must accept yours. Don’t throw it away for rabble like Farrington. Ye have your whole life in front o’ ye.”

  Robbie’s scowl deepened. “Do ye really expect me to simply abandon ye to this fate, Meggie?”

  “’Tis what’s best for the clan.”

  “I dinna care anymore what’s best for the clan.”

  “I don’t believe that and I don’t think ye do either. I’ve made my peace wi’ this, Robbie. Ye should too.”

  “How can ye be so trusting after all the English have done to us? He’s no different than Farrington.”

  “That’s where ye are wrong. He is different. He has kept all o’ his promises. I know he will keep his promises to the clans o’ Gailoch. He is an honorable man.”