“And is scheduled to hang?” Wolf asked uneasily.
Tom nodded. “My father was told to build a new gallows. Holt is said to want to make an example of the man and to prove that he is a strong baron even though his wife was s
tolen from him and neither he nor his best men have been able to find her.”
Footsteps scraped upon the stairs. Wolf’s hands curled over the hilt of his sword and Jagger flattened against the wall at the base of the steps, ready to jump the intruder. Robin and Tom hid behind sacks of grain, their weapons unsheathed, while Jack waited in the shadows.
“ ’Tis only me,” a woman called.
Tom grinned widely. “Rue. Thank the saints.”
An old, thin woman appeared with a pitcher of ale, loaf of bread, and round of cheese. “ ’Tis not much, I know,” she said, setting her fare on an upended cask. “But ’twas all the cook would give for fear the steward or one of Holt’s spies might see him.” She turned tired eyes on Wolf and offered him the pitcher. “The baron is dead, both his daughters are missing and, I fear, Dwyrain lost.”
“Nay—” Tom argued, but Rue persisted, staring pointedly at Wolf.
“ ’Tis said you are Holt’s sworn enemy.”
Wolf took a long draft from the pitcher, wiped his lips with his sleeve, and nodded. “ ’Tis true.”
“ ’Tis also thought that you are much to blame for the trouble here. If ye had not stolen Lady Megan, mayhap Holt would have been less angry and cruel.”
Wolf passed the pitcher to Jagger, who took a long, healthy swallow. “What do you think, woman?” he asked.
“Holt is bad to his bones. I would waste no tears if Holt were found murdered,” she said, as if she hoped to find the new baron with a sword run through his heart in the morning, “but I’m grateful that both Lady Megan and Lady Cayley are far from his grasp, even though this keep is theirs by rights.” She sliced the cheese with a large knife and sawed off hunks of bread, which she passed to the men. “I think ye, Wolf,” she said, wagging the tip of her blade at his nose as he sank his teeth into the crusty bread, “should see that both of the baron’s daughters are safe so that someday they might reclaim Dwyrain. Ye started this, so I think ye should finish it.”
“I intend to,” he agreed, reaching for the ale pitcher again. “I’ll start by freeing the magician this night. Mayhap he’ll help me find Megan and Cayley, and then, I swear, once they’re safe, I’ll come for Holt.”
“Will ye kill him?”
Wolf thought of Megan and how she might suffer at Holt’s hands should he ever find out that Megan had given herself to his sworn enemy. Something deep in Wolf’s heart stirred; he couldn’t bear to think of her with another man, especially not a cruel cur the likes of the man who had willingly held down a fair maid so that she could be brutally raped. The ale and bread suddenly tasted sour and stuck in his throat. When he lifted his eyes, he found Rue staring at him and he nodded. “Aye,” he vowed, “if needs be, I’ll send him to hell, where he belongs.”
“We cannot stop!” Megan said, though every bone in her body ached, her head throbbed, and her legs were sore from three days of riding.
“The men are tired and you, m’lady, need to rest.” Hagan’s eyes searched the dusky countryside, looking for a spot near the road to make camp.
“Nay! We are too close.” Though she dreaded facing Holt again, she’d felt drawn to Dwyrain, knew she had to return to her home. Hagan had sent word ahead to the abbot of St. Peter’s in the hope of annulling her marriage, and Megan had been restless and eager to ride under the portcullis of Dwyrain. Despite her feeling of despair, she had been whispering prayers that Isolde had been wrong about Ewan, that he yet lived. Though Isolde had sworn that she’d seen him in his grave, the old woman could surely make a mistake now and again. Megan refused to believe that because the nursemaid had been correct about the baby growing in Megan’s womb, this meant that she was never wrong.
“Here!” Hagan indicated a small field not far from the road. “We’ll camp for the night.”
She wanted to argue, to insist that they travel on, but she held her tongue. Hagan of Erbyn had been good to her and his men; she would not thwart him, but she couldn’t shake the feeling—the dread—that something dire was happening within the stone walls of Dwyrain, that if only she were there, some kind of tragedy could be averted.
’Twas but a feeling, although ’twas so real. Goose bumps crawled up her arms and she refused to give in to the fear that gnawed at her insides, the fear that somehow Holt had caught up with Wolf and that even now, the outlaw might be dead, killed by her husband’s hand. Shivering, she dismounted, and as the men started a fire and skinned the squirrels and rabbits they’d killed on the journey, she found the bucket tied to the saddle of her mare and walked to the stream. Dipping into the dark water, she was reminded of her stay with the sorry band of criminals she’d grown to love. She wondered about Robin. Had his wounds healed? Had Odell learned to cook any better? Was one-eyed Peter ever the quiet voice of reason whenever there was a fight? Did Wolf think of her as often as she did of him?
A knot tightened in her throat as an image of Wolf with his brooding dark looks, the pain of his past, the silent anger that drove him, crossed before her eyes. She lifted the pail, but in the ripples of the water she saw his face, handsome, arrogant, and proud, his smile as hard and cunning as the beast from which he’d taken his name. As she drew her bucket through the clear water, she heard the men behind her as they staked out the tents and told jokes. She absently rubbed her abdomen, trying to comfort the child growing deep within her womb. Would this tiny person ever meet his or her father? Would the outlaw Wolf ever learn that he was a father?
Rather than dwell upon the thoughts that were forever tormenting her, Megan squared her shoulders and sent up a prayer for his safety.
In a few days, they’d arrive at Dwyrain and then … then somehow she’d find a way to untie the dreadful knot of her marriage and become a free woman.
Why? To what end? So that Wolf will marry you? He’s an outlaw, Megan, a criminal running from the law! Is that what you want your child to grow up with, knowing that his or her father is a common criminal?
Not common. Far from common. A nobleman turned outlaw.
She lugged the pail back to the fire and set it on the rocks surrounding the crackling kindling.
Aye! My baby will know the wonderful rogue who gave him or her life. By the gods, if it’s the last thing I do, Wolf and his son or daughter will meet!
The moon was cloaked in clouds and no campfire guided them as they picked their way through the woods. Cayley was bone weary, her back sore, her spirits sinking with each plod of her mount’s hooves. It felt as if it had been years since they’d seen civilization. The naked trees of the forest were gloomy and protected them little from the icy mist that drizzled from the sky. Wet branches slapped at her face and vines clawed at her cape.