Risk Everything (18 page)

Never had there been a woman any man would admire for so many traits. Her intrepid personality and the way she thwarted his attempts to rule her made Rolf unsure whether to laugh or bellow at her. Every step of the way, she defied him. But at least she wasna wearing trews.

While Meghan settled her cumbersome bulk on the stool, he placed the morning’s fare within her reach. She ate slowly, careful to dip but small spoonfuls of porridge so she wouldna spill it on the cloth. Never once did she look at him.

“Come, Dougald. We work on the eastern sea wall today.”

Seeing him stand, the men gobbled the last of their meal and tore off hunks of bread to munch on as they hurried to go about their duties.

He stopped behind her and ran his hands down her arms to her wrists. Clasping her hands firmly in his, he pulled her close as he brought her arms around her bulky middle.

“Tonight, Meghan,” he whispered in her ear while he rubbed his cheek against hers. “Tonight you will lie beneath me. Think on it. I will set my brand on you. You will forget any man who came afore me. Any who come after will be found lacking.”

“Forget? Ne’er! Ye willna match the men in my life.”

He held tight to her struggling hands as he nuzzled his lips on her throat. He nipped her gently with his teeth, then soothed the skin with his tongue afore trailing it across her jaw and up to her ear.

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“Release me. Ne’er will I be yer leman.” She jerked her head to avoid his lips.

“Aye. You will. This eve. I will taste your breast, your soft belly—all of you.” His voice grated with passion. He gloated in triumph as tremors rippled through her.

He released her and had strode halfway across the room by the time a pewter goblet thunked on the floor behind him. He smiled, satisfied.

All morning Meghan feigned being subdued and resigned to her fate, until even Ede seemed to relax. Several hours later, seeing no one watched her, she carefully approached Rolf ’s solar. Bending, she pretended to retie her shoe so she could glance at both ends of the landing. Seeing no one watched, she entered and eased the door shut. The man was neat, she had to give him that. Nothing laid about but a wooden comb, a pot of soap on the washing stand, and some cloths for washing.

A heavy lock secured his weapons chest. No doubt her own dagger was within. With the right tool, she could open the lock in a trice. Throwing open the unlocked clothing chest, she searched through it. Nothing. Not even an eating knife.

With hands on her hips, she sucked her teeth at the offending chest. Noting the pegs on the wall held a cloak and several pairs of breeches, she patted them down but found the pockets were empty.

The drone of many voices and the noisy clatter of cart wheels coming across the bridge echoed in the stone walls.

Meghan crossed the room to peer out the window.

’Twas market day. The perfect time for her to escape within a crowd. Carts carrying cages where chickens squawked and protested, children shouting and laughing as they herded sheep through the gatehouse—all added to the confusion. An old woman pulling a trundle of vegetables drew her interest.

Even from where she watched, Meghan could see the soil had not been kind. The turnips looked small, as did the onions and carrots. Her spirits brightened and she smiled. Though she

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could not take Simple, or ride out on Storm, she would leave the castle.

Returning to the clothing chest, she rummaged through it.

A short time later, she put her ear to the door and listened. All was quiet. She opened it enough to see her way was clear afore she left the room.

Ugsome, forever close when duties took Garith elsewhere, loped up the stairwell and padded over to her. His tail wagged so hard it nearly toppled him as he followed her into Ede’s room. She changed, and when ready to leave, commanded the beastie to lie quiet and stay. He stretched out on his stomach, his battered head on his paws, and turned sad eyes up at her.

Every man Rolf could spare worked on the sea wall, out of sight from the north barbican that led from the castle and the bridge on the west.

In the bailey, Meghan strode toward the well, warily watching from the corners of her eyes for anyone who might recognize her. Seeing no one noted her, she dabbed her hands in the wet ground beside the well. When she again stood, mud splattered her face and clothing. She looked like a common lad who worked hard in the fields. Weaving in and out of the milling crowd, she avoided Rimsdale’s servants and waited until a boisterous group of village merchants gathered their empty baskets and carts. As they headed back through the gatehouse, she mingled in with them.

Drawing abreast of the weary old woman struggling with the empty trundle, Meghan deepened her voice and spoke.

“Ma’am, I be strong and restless. Me da saw ye needed help and sent me. Let me push yer cart for ye.” To strengthen her story, Meghan glanced behind her to wave and flash a grin at an old swineherd many paces behind. Puzzled, the man waved back.

The woman sighed. “ ’Tis thankful I be fer yer help, lad.”

She shook her head and gave a sad smile. “The master, he be a good man. After me auld man passed, the master said I was not to be afeared to bring what I could grow. Ne’er has his cook turned me away, e’en tho me wares be not the best.”

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“Oh, aye,” Meghan agreed. “The MacDhaidh is like no other.” She kept her head lowered.

Halfway across the bridge, the old woman stumbled, and Meghan dropped the handles of the trundle and put her arms around her. “Oh, ma’am, let me help ye sit in the cart. ’Twill anger me da if I let ye get hurt.” She eased the frail woman over to the cart and made sure she was securely seated.

Meghan felt her hat begin to slip. She tilted her head to hold it steady, and when her hands were again free, she righted it.

“Fer a lad with so much dirt on yer face and clothes, ye do smell fresh as the mornin’s air.”

“Ma makes me bathe afore comin’ to the castle. I fell in the mud this morn. No doubt, she will thump me heid fer ru-inin’ me clothes.” Meghan, pretending her da had already cuffed her, settled the cap over her secured hair. She judged the woman weighed less than a hundredweight. How had the poor soul managed her loaded cart this morn?

Once they reached the village, Meghan saw her settled securely in her broken-down cottage. Bidding her a good day, she hurried down a path in the heavy woods until she was out of sight of the villagers. Rolf would not discover she was gone for a while, and by the time they searched the castle and grounds, night would fall. She would have a good start. She broke into an even-paced run. If the weather held, the moon would guide her until she had to stop and rest.

It was cool in the forest. Even so, Meghan began to sweat after she had gone about two leagues. She stopped and listened. No sounds of pursuing horsemen disturbed the utter quiet. Pulling off her cap, she shook out her hair, then lifted it to cool her neck. She knelt down and tugged at the clothing on her legs.

She was thankful that she wore two pairs of heavy wool hose.

Hose pilfered from Rolf ’s chest. She had donned one of his gray tunics and a pair of breeches too. They were far too big, but she had rolled the waistline of the breeches and pulled the drawstring tight to hold them. She bunched the tunic up and over her leather belt. Since she had left the clothing borrowed

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from Ede folded in a neat pile on the bed, Rolf would look for her to wear what she’d had on that morn. She hoped Ede wouldna notice that the Blackthorn tartan and tunic rested between the pallet and the ropes of her bed.

Hearing water nearby, she left the path, careful to lift branches aside and not break them. Each step she took, she glanced back to be sure she left no clues behind. She found a small stream, and after splashing cold water on her face and drinking her fill, she studied the position of the waning sun.

If she continued northwest, she would come to the Naver, the river that fed Loch Naver. ’Twas at the northern end of the forest, a league or two within Blackthorn lands.

With any luck at all, she would meet up with a Blackthorn patrol sometime late in the next day. She pressed on throughout the afternoon, walking in streams whenever she could to throw off any hounds Rolf might bring with him. Long after night fell, she trudged down a stream and was so weary she feared she would fall on her face. She must stop to rest and start fresh at daylight.

Meghan looked about her. Best not sleep on the ground. A perch high atop a tree would give her an advantage. If his warriors were to stumble on her path, they would be studying the ground and never look up to find her. An added boon was she would see them coming. She spotted a large tree where a good-sized branch hung out over the water. ’Twas perfect. In a scant bit of time, she was hidden high in the tree so thick with leafy branches she could barely see below. Good. If she could not see them, they would not see her.

Straddling a stout branch, she took off her belt and wrapped it around herself and the trunk and buckled it. She leaned back against the trunk and sighed with relief. She swayed back and forth, testing it. The belt kept her from moving more than two hands’ span in either direction. If she slept, she had no fear of plunging to the ground. Her eyes grew heavy and soon closed.

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At the first light of dawn, a hearty yawn coaxed her awake.

She yawned again and reached up to rub her stiff neck.

Again? Wait! Her body stilled. She slapped a hand over her mouth and held her breath. She had but yawned once. Wary now of disturbing any branches, she peered down past her right side to the ground below.

Steely gray eyes stared back at her. Rolf lay on his back, arms folded behind his head, his gray cloak flung over him.

From his rested look, he had not only spent several hours there, but he had also slept well while doing it.

“Well now, I would enjoy the view more if ye were clothed as a proper lass. Still, no proper lass would spend the night tied high in a tree, would she?” He waited. When she kept her lips pressed closed and glared her hatred at him, he stretched and threw off the cloak.

“Come down, Meghan.” His voice was hard.

“Nay. This view far surpasses the offal littering the ground.”

“Come down, Meghan,” he repeated. His voice softened.

“Go away. Find another lass willin’ to be yer whore. Do ye not know when a woman scorns ye?”

“Well now, if you dinna come down, then I must come after you.” His gray eyes hardened, and his voice grew even softer, more ruthless. “You willna like it.” He stood and watched her as he shook out his cloak. “Have you e’er made love beneath a tree? Hmm? Did you like the feel of the sun on your bared breasts, warming them for a man’s lips?” He dropped the cloak and put his hands on his hips. His hot gaze never left her eyes.

“Have you felt a warm breeze caress between your widespread legs? I am told it heightens a lass’s pleasure tenfold.”

“Bastard!” A shoe struck him on the shoulder. He picked it up and studied it, as if it was a curiosity, then continued as though he had not stopped.

“I will count to ten. If you are not down by then, I will come after you. Dinna make me, Meghan. If you do, ’tis on your hands and knees you will serve me.” He put his hands on his hips and stared at her.

“One . . .” She didna move. “Two . . .”

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“Whor—” She stopped herself, remembering his threat to beat her did she call him whoreson again. “Lucifer’s spawn!”

The other shoe went crashing down. He sidestepped it with ease.

“Three . . . four . . .” He stared into her eyes, daring her to thwart him.

“Five . . .” He started to unbuckle his belt. “Obey me, Meghan, and I will wait until this eve to couple with you in the comfort of my solar. Else, I will do as I said.”

She swallowed bile, for she knew he was ruthless enough to do it.

“Six . . .” The belt slithered to the ground. When he reached up to pull off his tunic, she knew she had best give in.

“Halt, ye slatherin’ beast.” Furious now, her hands fumbled at the buckle of her belt. A cold knot closed off her throat, stifling the curses forming on her lips. So close to her own lands! She should ne’er have stopped to sleep. Her throat ached with the lump there.

When she at last released the buckle, she replaced the belt around her waist to keep his breeches from falling off. She had some slight satisfaction seeing his eyes widen. He recognized his clothing. After he retrieved his belt and put it on, she worked the stiffness out of her arms and legs. In a flash, she scrambled down the tree as fast as she had gone up.

She clamped her teeth together, for if she spoke, she knew her voice would waver and give her away. She
wouldna
yield to tears like a weakling of a woman.

Chapter 14

Rolf stifled a rumble of satisfaction as Meghan swung down, as supple as a youth, from one branch to the next. As she released the last one, he caught her around her thighs, her hips held tight to his chest. Her buttocks rested against his forearms.

She glared down at him; her fists pounded his shoulders.

“Lucifer’s poxed arse.” She spit out the words with contempt as she glared down at him. “Release me.”

His arms tightened, and he nestled his face against her stomach. “In due time,” his muffled voice answered.

“Now!” Every inch of her body tightened with resistance.

Every hair on his head challenged her angry fists as she grabbed them and tugged to force his face away.

“Aye,
Sir
Meghan, I am at your command.” Of a sudden, he opened his arms. Her fingers released their grip. With arms flapping like a bird taking flight, she tried to steady her balance. She plopped on her bottom to the crackling sound of the dead leaves that carpeted the ground.

She scowled up at him, and he raised his brows in question.

“Did you not demand I release you?” He reached out a hand.