“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.”