Risk Everything (2 page)

“A small matter is not finished as yet.”

After the men were through dressing the deer, he watched them fade into the forest.

Rolf stretched and rolled his shoulders. A slight smile lifted the corners of his lips as he thought of this unexpected turn in their hunt.

He rode until he deemed he was close to where she hid, to keep guard though not be seen. Sliding off his mount, he watered the horse at a stream, then fed the beast. Working with quick efficiency, he gathered wood and built a fire.

While the meat cooked, Rolf washed himself. He grinned and nodded his head. ’Twas not long now. His blood quickened. He looked forward to the morrow with feral anticipation.

His prey would learn she could not run from him. He knew where Meghan would go to ground. She believed she had out-witted them. When she thought she was safe, she would learn she was not.

He would be there.

Waiting.

Chapter 2

Meghan raced Storm through a stream swollen with last eve’s rain. Icy water splashed her face and soaked her leggings. When she deemed she had eluded her pursuers, she led Storm back into the forest. Half a league from the stream, the tense muscles in her face relaxed. She had not forgotten the cave’s location.

A rocky lip overhung the entrance that faced a steep drop to a loch below. The ledge leading to it was but wide enough for Storm to walk behind her. Gripping his bridle, Meghan kept his head close over her right shoulder as she led him. He huffed softly, uneasy.

“Dinna fret, Storm,” she whispered as she stroked the soft hair between his eyes. “I was proud of ye today. Why, ye were swift and slippery as an eel when ye wove between the trees and evaded the knaves.”

Simple flitted from one tree to another as Meghan coaxed the horse through the narrow entrance. The bird acted with a rare bit of good sense, and her head bobbed as if agreeing.

The pleasant scent of pine drifted into the cave. Traces of sunlight filtered through the entrance. It was as she last left it. Ample enough for herself and Storm. She led him to the back and whispered, “Down.” Storm snorted and shook his head, showing his annoyance with her, reminding her of Connor when he scolded her.

Simple landed at the entrance to the cave, then hopped over to her. Meghan held up her wrist, and the sparrowhawk alighted on the leather armband. Her fingers caressed the soft

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gray feathers on its wee head as she sat down to wait. Men shouted and horses crashed through the brush on the hill above. Hearing their vivid curses, she clamped a hand over her mouth, squelching a nervous laugh.

Men didna like to be bested by a mere woman.

When she heard the deep whistle of their leader, her heart skipped a beat. She coaxed Simple onto a small makeshift perch she had fashioned when she was but ten and three. Grasping her bow, she notched an arrow, ready to send it flying should she have the need. She stared, unflinching, at the cave’s entrance. Muscles tense and ready, she listened and waited.

Did they ken she was there? Nay.

Again, a whistle split the air, sounding far behind the men above. She relaxed her taut muscles and returned the arrow to her quiver. ’Twas not long before all sounds of her pursuers faded into the distance. She settled down to bide her time.

The sun crept toward the horizon while she waited, but she was not so brainsick as to think it safe to leave her haven.

No Scot intent on grabbing a hefty ransom was without a trick or two beneath his plaid. A trick not related to that other part of him that lurked there.

Nay, she could not leave. But Simple could.

Deep in thought, her fingers pinched her lower lip, pulling it forward. She studied the sparrowhawk. For the last fortnight, with guards aplenty around her, she had trained Simple to return to the mews without her. When the bird arrived, the head falconer rewarded it with a choice morsel. Never had they attempted it this far from Blackthorn. Still, ’twas worth the chance.

Her gaze darted around the small area, searching for what she needed. When the hair at her temple teased her face, she remembered how the leather thong whipped her cheeks. Though it was still tangled in her snarled hair, she worked it loose. After sliding the dirk from its sheath strapped to her thigh, she cut a strip four fingers wide. As she tied it to Simple’s right ankle, she hoped the small raptor would remember its lessons well.

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Coaxing it onto her wrist again, she padded over to the entrance.

“Well now, wee lovey. Fly home to Simon for a treat worthy of an eagle.”

Simple blinked at her.

Meghan shook her finger much as she would when cautioning a youngling. “Dinna think to seek yer own prey, for I willna be there to soothe yer feathers if ye neglect to look where ye go.”

Poor foolish bird that she was, she could likely forget her training and do herself harm trying to sink her talons in the arse of a Heeland cow. After a cautious glance, Meghan ventured a pace out of the entrance. Lifting her arm, she tossed the bird into the air. The sparrowhawk took flight, circled and climbed higher, then descended.

Meghan groaned. Simple circled again, then climbed and was soon out of sight. When the wee one returned to the mews without her, Simon would alert Laird Damron and her brother. She sighed as she stepped back inside. She had done all she could. After unbuckling the small sword strapped to her waist, she lifted the bow from around her shoulder, sat, and leaned back against Storm.

Cold seeped clear through to her bones. Could she better share the horse’s warmth if she removed the chain mail? Nay.

She needed its protection more than warmth. She huddled closer to the big horse to still the shivers racing through her.

She dared not close her eyes. Who were they? They wore Morgan colors to move with ease about Blackthorn lands.

These were no homeless, marauding peasants, but men well mounted with weapons aplenty.

Her head jerked up with a thought. Why had they not brought her down with an arrow or sword? Neither had she aimed a fatal blow. For certes, had her aim not been accurate, the man who wore her arrow would not thank her for his life had he lost his own most pleasurable weapon.

Her teeth teased her lower lip. Had they known ’twas a woman they stalked before she removed her helm? She

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frowned, uncertain. All of Blackthorn knew of her preference for young men’s clothing. She had ever hated needlework and womanly pursuits and had oft escaped, disguised as a squire, to learn the same skills as her brother and cousins.

The first time she had been found out was a disaster. A royal disaster. For she had been at the royal court in Normandy. Her nape prickled, remembering a hard, muscular arm grasping her waist and lifting her off her feet against an even harder body.

She rested her head against Storm’s chest. His heartbeat soothed her. Ah well, ’twas long ago. . . .

She startled. Alert. Had she dozed? Light still shone through the opening. A soothing hand on Storm’s neck warned him to keep silent. She held her breath and cocked her head to the right.

Listening.

She sensed, rather than heard, something. Of a sudden, someone blocked all light from the cave. She leapt to her feet, pleased to tease her brother.

“Well now, Connor, didna I tell ye Simple would learn such a useful trick?”

Meghan smiled and took but one step. And froze. The breeze carried the scent of the man standing there, his body tense with suppressed violence. A whiff of sandalwood and spices. A remembered scent. But ’twas not her brother’s.

“A useful trick, to be sure,” answered a dark voice.

Her head whipped around, and her gaze darted to the ground beside Storm where she had been so witless to lay down her weapons. How close was she to them? Too far. They would be no aid to her now. Her hand crept toward the dirk strapped to her thigh.

“Dinna even think it.”

His lethal tone sent ice crystals shattering down her spine.

It, too, was something half remembered. Heard long ago.

Where? Her frantic mind searched for the memory. Her legs near buckled. She scowled. Did she turn coward? She dug in her feet, squared her shoulders, and stiffened her spine.

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So large was he that naught but a glimmer of light found its way into the cave. He must needs duck to enter it. She tried to swallow, but her mouth turned dry as burnt feathers. Storm was sixteen hands at the withers. This man looked to be near three hands more. Though tall for a woman, her head reached no higher than his chin.

He stood with legs spread and fists on his hips. With a sneer, she adopted the same posture, daring him to approach her.

Her jaw set. She pitched her voice low, imitating a young man.

“ ’Tis your death ye are wantin’ if ye linger. The might of Blackthorn will be crashin’ through this forest shortly. A guide will bring them straight to me.”

“Guide?” The voice sounded amused. “ ’Tis on this
guide
you pin your hopes of rescue?” He moved slightly. Far enough so the fading light behind him silhouetted his right side.

Meghan gasped. There was no mistaking Simple perched on the man’s shoulder, content and swaying back and forth.

The hapless bird rubbed her head against that granite jaw, acting for all the world like this man was her beloved handler.

Traitorous bird!

Fury swept through Meghan. What did he want? How had he known where she was? Her brain raced, searching for answers. She knew Simple could not have shown him the way.

The bird would have done well to find Blackthorn, as big as it was, but never could she find her way back to this small cave. Why had he played this barn-cat-and-mouse game with her? His men could not be with him, or she would have heard them thrashing about.

“What do ye want of me?” Her chin thrust forward. He could not know who she was. “I am but a lowly squire, not worthy of a great ransom.”

His harsh bark of laughter sent her hopes dashing.

“Are you now? A lowly squire? Aye, ’tis doubtful such would bring a ransom. Dinna think I am so mindless I canna know a woman hides behind a man’s clothin’. Had I no nose

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to smell, no eyes to see, my tarse would have known the woman lurking there.”

He took a menacing step forward. Storm nickered and stood as Meghan stepped back. She had no more room to maneuver.

“The woman who is sister to Connor and cousin to Damron and Mereck of Blackthorn is worth much more than mere gold.” His voice grated over the men’s names. He spit them out as if they were spoiled meat. Distasteful. Disgusting.

What grievance could he have against the men of her family?

“Ye talk in riddles, man. What is worth more than gold?”

Did he plan to ask for precious jewels? She had no fear that Damron would deny Connor by opening his treasure coffers.

“Vengeance.”

That one word anchored the pieces of her memory together.

In the past three years, something had been happening in the background of the turmoil and excitement revolving around the marriages of Damron, Mereck, and Connor of Blackthorn.

She frowned. Tried to remember. A short time after Damron and Brianna’s marriage, a systematic raiding of their outly-ing villages began. After each, someone brought a message to the laird of Blackthorn, which he tossed into the fire. She had walked into the solar one day, unexpected. The men were talking, their backs to her. Connor’s tense voice read the missive.

Was it something like, “Ye have taken my deer” that he had said?

Nay, not that. She dug deeper in her memory. Ah. She remembered.

’Twas,
Ye have taken that which I hold most dear. Look to
yer own
.

The men had seen her and had gone silent. Now it all made sense. The tighter security the guards kept on the women of her family. Someone always watching her. And Damron and Connor threatening to beat her if she went alone to hunt without an escort.

While she stood engrossed and staring at the cave wall trying to remember, he had moved closer.

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She inhaled deeply. Her heart pounded. Remembering. Her legs turned to water as she stared at him. It couldna be! She opened her mouth to speak. He stopped her.

“Nay! Dinna say a word. Come peacefully with me or go trussed like a pig. ’Tis your choice.” He grasped for her arm.

Simple chirped and flew to land on the makeshift perch.

Meghan twirled to the left and kicked up with her right foot, landing a solid blow against his rock-hard stomach. Her sole stung from the contact. His hand shot out, grabbed her ankle, and twisted. She hit the floor. Hard. Face forward. She gasped. Dirt flew in her mouth. He pounced and straddled her back. Her breath shot out.

“I told you to come peacefully. Never have I hurt a woman apurpose, but to me you are not a woman. You are my vengeance.”

He wrenched off the leather band that protected her from Simple’s claws. “I dinna doubt you could free yourself by sliding from this,” he said as he tossed it aside. He caught her wrists and bound them together.

“Devil’s spawn! Lucifer’s arse! Release me,” Meghan cursed, and spit dirt out of her mouth.

“Still the gentle lady, are you?” He settled more of his weight on her buttocks.

“Ooof!” Did he intend to smash her like he would a beetle? Waves of heat from his body penetrated even the chain mail that covered her back.

She squirmed and arched. The mail bit into her flesh. She would not give in.

“Enough, woman,” he commanded. He grabbed her nape and thrust her head against the ground. His legs gripped tighter.

She could not move. Though she could wrestle well with most men, she was no match for this one.

“Enough? Ne’er, you horse’s turd.”

As if offended, Storm snorted and stamped his hooves.

“Easy, Storm, easy,” the man crooned gently. Storm quieted.

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Not so with her. He forced her face into the soil and shoved it back and forth.