“For the love of Jesus, what’s going on here?” Like a mother hawk swooping from the heavens to save her chicks, Father Timothy, robes askew and billowing behind him, ran barefoot across the bailey. He blinked rapidly, as if fighting to maintain his courage as he shoved his way through the armed men. “Lord Holt, I beg of you, do not shed any more blood!”
“And why not?” Holt demanded, his jaw tight, his skin pale as death. “These men and my own dear wife are traitors of Dwyrain.” A dark bruise and bloody cut discolored the skin above his eye, yet the wounds Megan had inflicted hadn’t been mortal, and though he was not as strong as he had been, he appeared to be able to survive. “The outlaw turned my bride against me.”
“Nay, Holt, you did that yourself,” Megan said boldly, finding her courage and pushing off Wolf’s restraining arm to step forward to face the man she’d thought she’d killed. All the pain and suffering was her doing, and she would willingly sacrifice herself if only Wolf and his men were allowed their freedom.
“Stop!” Wolf shifted quickly, dropping the horse’s reins and throwing himself between her and the soldiers’ arrows. “Do not be foolish,” he said under his breath, but Holt heard the command and laughed.
“Isn’t that touching? The outlaw and his would-be murderess of a lover! Who would have thought that there was such devotion between criminals?”
“ ’Tis not God’s will that innocent people die!” Timothy proclaimed, his lower lip trembling nervously.
“Innocent?” Holt said with a lusty laugh as he slowly climbed down from the raised floor of the gallows. Grimacing in pain, he repeated, “Innocent? Did ye not hear that my lady tried to kill me, first with my own knife and then with a piece of kindling? Believe me, priest, no one here is innocent this night.”
His stride faltered a bit as he strode across the trampled grass. His steps were not firm, and he was still pale as death. A crusted bruise was beginning to show over his temple, where a vein throbbed in anger. “You!” he said, his voice echoing through the castle and in Megan’s heart. His eyebrows slammed together and his lips were bloodless and flat against his teeth, his eyes hot coals as they found hers in the night. “You, wife, come with me. We have unfinished business.”
“If you want her, then you must kill me first,” Wolf invited, his voice smooth as glass.
Megan’s heart sank. “Nay!”
“Gladly.” Holt’s grin was pure and intense evil as he unsheathed his sword. “Why wait?”
“No!” Frantic, Megan tore herself from Wolf’s possessive grasp. “Nay, do not kill him,” she cried, the ugly thought too horrid to bear. “I’ll go with you. Willingly.” Tears filled her eyes, and despite the knowledge that she was inviting her own doom, she turned to Wolf and stared into his blue eyes one last time, searing their image into her mind for all eternity. She felt a deep rending in her soul and she fought the urge to break down. Tears streaming from her eyes, her fear suddenly abated, and she sniffed, lifting her chin and refusing to weep any more. In a choked voice, she vowed, “I will love you forever, Wolf.”
A muscle worked in Wolf’s jaw. His fingers clenched until his knuckles showed white over the handle of his sword. “As I love you, Megan,” he said, his voice deep with conviction. “Until the day I die.”
“Which will be soon,” Holt announced. “Spare me the pitiful scene.”
Megan’s heart caught. She heard not Holt’s scorn, only that Wolf had said that he loved her. She would carry that sweet drop of heaven with her to the grave.
With a howl, the brutal wind swept through the bailey, moaning eerily, as if God himself were watching Dwyrain and voicing his disapproval. A cloud crept over the moon as Holt stalked up to the outlaw.
Wolf’s eyes narrowed savagely on his enemy. Fearless, he ground out, “Harm her, and I swear that I or my very ghost will hunt you down like the filthy cur you are, find you wherever you cower, and rip out your throat.”
“Bastard!” Holt’s fist crashed into the side of Wolf’s face. Pain exploded behind Wolf’s eyes and Holt nearly stumbled with the effort. “Take him away,” he snarled at his men. “Haul his pathetic hide and the rest of the traitors to the dungeons. I want a dozen of you to stand guard. There will be no escape! Not this time. Do you hear me?”
When no one answered, he clenched his fist. “Do you?”
“Aye, m’lord,” a fat knight agreed anxiously, his Adam’s apple bobbing in fear.
“They’ll be hanged at dawn, and everyone in the castle, every man, woman, and child, from the oldest crone to the newborn babes, will witness how I deal with those who betray Dwyrain and deceive me.” Yanking her roughly, he pulled Megan toward the great hall, and though he had lost blood, he was strong, his grip punishing, his strides long.
“Lord Holt, wait!” a sentry in the watchtower shouted, his voice ringing over the commotion that erupted as the doors of several huts began to swing open. Men and women, bleary-eyed and confused, filtered into the bailey.
Holt stopped dead in his tracks and turned, his head uplifted in harsh fury. “What?”
“There are men outside the gates,” the sentry yelled.
“Who?”
Megan had to fight a glimmer of hope.
“I know not.” Cupping his hands around his mouth, the sentry yelled down to those on the outside of the portal, “Who goes there?”
“Damn it, man,” Holt thundered. “I care not if it’s the bloody king! Can’t you see I’m with my wife?! Leave them be ’til morning!” Strong despite his wounds, he headed for the keep and hauled Megan with him.
“M’lord!” Again, the priest tried to intervene. “Please, Holt, listen to me. As God is my witness, you must not kill these men, nor harm this woman.”
“As God is my witness, you and your false sense of piety bore me, Timothy. You are a traitor.” His eyes swept the crowd that was beginning to gather and gape. “Yes, the good priest has betrayed me,” he said to his subjects, “as many of you have, and I will not—will never—allow any kind of insubordination.” He snapped his fingers.
Hiss! Thwack!
The priest screamed in pain as an arrow pierced him from behind.
Megan gasped in horror.
“Oh, Jesus, Lord, forgive me of my sins!” Timothy fell forward, first to his knees and finally onto his face.
Someone in the crowd screamed. A horse reared and lashed out with its hooves and Holt sneered at the blood staining the priest’s robes. “Now I suppose he can speak with God more easily.”
“You brute!” Reeling away from him, Megan dove toward the fallen man. “Father Timothy, oh, Timothy—” she said, cradling his head. “Call for the physician or Rue!”
“Leave him be!” Holt commanded as the doctor pushed through the crowd. Reaching down, he jerked Megan to her feet. “Weep not for the priest.”
Wolf lunged, but was restrained, and Holt laughed at his futile efforts while Megan again fought tears and fury that such horrors had happened in her beloved Dwyrain.
Groaning, the priest lifted his head and began chanting prayers. Blood spread over his robes, and the bottoms of his bare feet turned upward, showing calluses and corns in the shimmering moonlight. “Make an example of him as well,” Holt ordered. “When he’s bled to death, gut him and mount his head over the south tower.”
“Father, take me now,” Timothy prayed.
“Nay!” Megan ordered, whirling on Holt. “You are a fiend!” To the soldiers, she commanded, “I’m mistress of this castle, and I say you let the prisoners go free and see that Father Timothy is seen by the doctor and—”
Slap! Holt’s hand connected with her face, sending her spinning. Pain blinded her. Blood slipped from her lip. She started to fall, but Holt caught her before she hit the ground and in one swift motion, hauled her over his shoulder.
The earth swayed and heaved and she caught a glimpse of Wolf, lunging forward, trying to reach her, screaming something she couldn’t hear as she pounded on Holt’s back and kicked.
His laugh was brittle as a leaf in January, and several burly soldiers restrained Wolf.
“You’ll find out what happens when a woman defies me,” Holt promised, limping and swearing as he carried her up the stairs to the keep. She pounded on his back and kicked wildly, hoping to land one of her blows in his wound, but he shifted his weight so that she could not draw any more blood.
“Bastard! Fiend! Dirty son of a—”
“If you do not want to see your traitor of a lover killed right now, you’ll stop!” Holt growled, and she quit moving in an instant. She bit her tongue in her efforts not to scream at him, but she knew she would never accept her fate.
Desperation clawing at his soul, Wolf watched in silent agony as the woman he loved was torn from him and hauled up the stairs of the keep to be raped by the man she’d wed. Rage thundered through his blood, pounding in his brain, nearly blinding him.
Holt’s soldiers dragged him roughly toward the prison, but as Holt’s hand connected with Megan’s cheek, Wolf roared in fury. Pivoting sharply and snarling, he flung off the men restraining him as if they were stuffed with down.
“Hey, what the bloody hell—”
Wolf snatched an arrow from a guard’s quiver, then rammed the deadly tip deep into the man’s neck. As the soldier squealed and bled, Wolf snatched his sword and began swinging.
Jagger, though blindfolded, heard the sounds of battle and threw his considerable weight at his guard. He sent the man reeling, tore off his blindfold, and with his wrists bound, leaped upon his captor, snapped his neck in his powerful hands, and grabbed the guard’s sword. “Now, men!” he yelled.
Jack and Robin tore off their blindfolds. Tom kicked a guard in the shin and Ian reached to the ground, found rocks, and hurled them at a horse’s haunches. A destrier neighed in fear and tore through the crowd. Other beasts followed, scattering soldiers and peasants.
“Bloody hell!” one soldier exclaimed.
“Don’t shoot. They be the baron’s best stallions!”
“For the love of Christ!”
“Watch out—” another guard shouted as he reached for the reins and was knocked to the ground. Screaming in tortured agony, he was trampled by heavy, frightened hooves.
Still swinging the sword wildly, Wolf yelled to the soldiers attacking him, “Those who swore your fealty to Baron Ewan, rise against Holt and his army, for ’twas he who killed the baron and his son!”
Tom ran for the gates as Foster yelled, “ ’Tis true! I heard Sir Holt bragging after he drank too much wine!” Several other voices took up the battle cry and joined forces with Wolf. Swords crashed. Arrows zinged. Wolf ducked and saw an attacker running at him, crossbow aimed at his heart. Throwing himself to the ground, he rolled, and before the man could realign his weapon, Wolf’s sword sliced his legs. Tumbling to the ground, the guard writhed in agony. Wolf tossed the loaded bow to Ian.
Tom, swinging a mace he’d grabbed from a fallen guard, inched his way backward toward the wall and finally disappeared into the gatehouse. Soldiers fought their own. Peasants found weapons and joined the battle. Blood stained the grass of Dwyrain.
Wolf swung his stolen sword, slicing anyone who came too close as he made his way across the bailey to the keep, to Megan.
With a loud grinding of gears, the portcullis opened, spilling a small army of men into the bailey. Swords unsheathed, they entered with a piercing battle cry and the thunder of hooves. Swords clattered and clashed and horses screamed. Some of the new arrivals were dressed as soldiers bearing the colors of Erbyn, while the rest were those loyal to no baron, members of Wolf’s bloody band of thieves. Odell and Cadell rode side by side, but Wolf’s heart stilled when he thought he spied another man, one afoot, creep through the open gate.
Connor, whom he’d heard a prison guard say had not returned after escorting Cadell away from the castle walls, was within the keep again.
Hagan’s voice rang through the bailey. “Put down your weapons or make ready to die!”
“You die!” a man loyal to Holt said, only to be cleaved by Robin’s piercing sword.
Arrows hissed through the air, and Wolf, running swiftly, turned his thoughts to Megan and the man who was defiling her as he dashed up the stone steps of the great hall.
He was met by peasants and servants racing from the keep, awakened and drawn into the bailey by the sounds of battle. Throwing on clothes, grabbing torches, pokers, swords, and knives, they hurried to defend Dwyrain as Wolf slunk through the dark hallways, as he had once before when he’d started his quest to kidnap Megan, the very journey that had sealed her doom.
Continuing ever upward, running along hallways, opening doors, his eyes scanning each chamber as his heart thudded in fear of what he might find, Wolf stole through the castle, his sword drawn, his mind and body relentless in his search for the lord’s chamber and the woman he loved.
Megan swallowed hard against her fear and inched her chin up a notch as she leveled her gaze on Holt.
“You lied to me, wife,” he said, circling her as she stood at the foot of the bed. The window was open and the sounds of clanging metal, screaming voices, shouts, and frightened cries of horses seeped into the room. Wolf, oh, love, please be safe. Take Robin and flee for your life!
Holt’s nostrils flared and he fingered the hilt of his sword as he pointed the deadly blade at her face. “You bartered for the lives of those loyal to Wolf, then you went against your own word.” So many memories she had of this, her father and mother’s chamber, so many happy thoughts, now destroyed. “You tried to kill me, Megan.” Clucking his tongue, he shook his head. He was pale, the wound in his side leaking through his tunic, his head bruised, but he was strong enough to frighten her. “I could have forgiven you, except for the fact that you gave your heart to a vile forest creature and then stabbed me, hoping for my death.” His eyebrows lifted in accusation. “ ’Twas a mistake, I’m afraid. There was a time when I wanted you to reign beside me, to be mistress of my manor, to bear my sons. Now, I only want to force you onto the bed and mount you, then let you whore for my soldiers before I cut out your traitorous heart.”
Her mouth turned dry with fear, her insides cold as the death that would surely be hers, but she squared her shoulders and glared at him. She’d not die without a fight. As long as she was alive and there was a breath of life in her body, she would fight this heathen murderer.
“Strip,” he ordered, but his attention was averted as he heard the rattle of chains, grind of gears, and a thunderous battle cry scream through the window. “Oh, for the love of Christ, what now?”
“Could it be that your men have turned against you?” she taunted, and he whirled on her again.
“Take off your damned clothes, woman!”
She didn’t move. Defiantly, she stood.
“Did you not hear me?” His mouth was tight against his teeth, his eyes blazed with fury.
Without a sound, she disobeyed, and a vein in his temple began to throb.
“Foolish woman! You have no power over what I do. You will do as I say or I will call for the boy Robin to be brought here. I could start by cutting off his fingers one by one, or his toes, and you could hear him cry in pain and beg for mercy while he bled on the rushes. Or if that be too unpleasant, you could take off your bloody clothes for me now!”
Trapped like a cornered dog, she had no choice but to follow his commands. Dear God, be with Wolf and the rest of his men. Save them. Closing her eyes, Megan reached for the ties of her mantle. Pretend it isn’t happening, she told herself. ’Tis only your body. He will never lay claim to your heart. She lifted her mantle over her head.
She stopped, and his eyes flashed in the dark room. “Keep going,” he said, his voice uneven. Though she didn’t want to notice, ’twas impossible not to see the swelling in his breeches as his cock rose in anticipation. Revulsion filled her throat as she untied the ribbons of her tunic and tossed it off. Standing only in her chemise, she shivered.
He motioned with t
he sword again. “Your underclothes as well, m’lady. Christ, you are beautiful,” he said almost in reverent awe as she lowered her chemise and stood proudly before him. Refusing to cover her breasts or the thatch of curls guarding her legs, she waited. “Come forward,” he ordered, and ’twas all she could do not to leap at him and try to scratch out his eyes, but ’twould be futile and others would suffer.
Stopping short of him, she didn’t move when he set the long blade of his weapon between her breasts. “Now, m’lady,” he said, breathing in short, shallow gasps. “Kneel before me as you would your king.” When she hesitated, he growled, “I’ll bring up the boy,” and slowly she fell to her knees. “Unlace my breeches.”
Oh, God, no, she silently prayed.
“Do it now, Megan,” he said, his voice rough, the pointed end of his tongue rimming his lips, “and do it slowly.”
“Sweet Jesus, you cannot ask me to.”
“Guard!” he yelled. “Send for the boy—”
“Do not!”
“Then unleash my cock, whore, or see the boy suffer, and if that is not enough to convince you, I’ll bring your precious Wolf up here so that he can watch me bed you.”
“Nay—”
“And each of my most trusted men will stand in line, waiting and watching for their turn to lay you any way they so wish, and you will service them while the outlaw looks on.”
I’ll die first, she thought, and decided that she had no choice but to do as she was bid, for though she would go willingly to the gates of hell rather than suffer the humiliation and degradation that Holt conjured, she could not take her child’s life. Be strong, Megan.
As she reached upward and touched the leather of Holt’s breeches, she caught a glimpse of movement from the corner of her eye. She dared not look too closely and pretended interest in the task at hand. Holt closed his eyes and groaned in ecstasy.
The door inched open and Wolf, blood running from a cut in his forehead, rushed into the room. “Run!” he yelled at Megan.
Holt’s body jerked. His eyes flew open. Megan ran to the door, and Holt, seeing his enemy’s reflection in the blade of his weapon, hoisted his sword high as he swung it round, facing the door. He slashed the air with his weapon, his eyes centered on Wolf. “Die, you bloody bastard!”