Risk Everything (35 page)

Gritting her teeth to keep silent, she locked the chest and secured her weapon beneath her shirt, then left the room and slipped through the shadows on her way to the stables.

On the morrow, Garith would turn Storm over to a Blackthorn patrol. She took special pains to groom her steed and check his equipment. Never would she have Connor think she willingly neglected her mount.

Night spread over Rimsdale. With the creeping dusk came the awareness that the MacDhaidh would soon bed his bride.

Pain struck, near felling her as she grasped Storm’s neck and moaned. After kissing and giving him one last, long pat from his forehead to his withers, she turned and fled through the night.

Meghan could not sleep in Ede’s room. ’Twas so close they could not fail to hear the wedded couple across the landing.

She would lose herself deep in the castle. As she passed the great hall, she spied the bagpipes resting outside the doorway.

She grabbed a candle from a holder nearby, flint, and the bagpipe, and went down one stairway to the next. She lit the candle, and finally, she was in the bowels of the castle.

She shivered, for she was in the dungeons, a place she had

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hated and feared since the blacksmith’s cruel son locked her in the depths of Blackthorn. Filling the bagpipe with air, she started to play. ’Twould chase her memories away.

Not a soft lament. Not a lively tune to set her foot tapping.

The sounds coming from the bagpipe were meant to make a man’s heart race. To stir him to a killing mood.

’Twas Blackthorn’s battle cry that rang out. The sound crashed against the stone walls, drifted through the door cracks and up the stairwells, softening as it traveled.

Rolf ’s feet lagged. Way too soon he stood outside his chamber door. He hesitated and took a deep, shaky breath.

Though he had downed enough wine to dull the ache in his mind, his heart cried out that it was Ailsa, and not his love, who awaited him.

His wife sat propped against white silk pillows, the sheet resting at her waist. Her naked body was as pale as her face, and she had artfully spread her silvery hair around her head.

All but invisible on her breasts, her nipples were a muted pink. She saw him in the doorway and waited several moments afore she clutched the sheet to her neck in pretended shyness.

Rolf sighed and wondered how he could coax his limp tarse to enough eagerness to consummate his marriage. Even his ballocks seemed to shrink away from his thighs. From the listless weight of his sex, he knew he must needs nip out the candles’ flames and douse the fire. If he couldna see his bride, could he pretend ’twas his golden lass who was eager to welcome him? At the thought, his tarse stirred.

Still without speaking, he closed the door and started to darken the room. No sooner had he pinched out the first flame than he heard the sound of boots pounding toward his door. With a sense of reprieve, he opened it to find Dougald, breathless and ready to rap his fist against the sturdy wood.

“Forgive me, Rolf, but I kenned I had best seek your wishes,” he said as he nodded toward the bed.

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Rolf stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him. “What has happened?”

“The stable boy became alarmed when Meghan fled after cosseting Storm. She has disappeared. Sounds of Blackthorn’s battle call float about as if drifting on the fog. The men are edgy, wonderin’ if she could have called forth their warriors.”

Rolf darted past him and raced up the stone steps to the top of the castle. Once there, they listened, holding their breaths.

True to Dougald’s word, the call to war sounded ghostly. They could not tell from whence it came. He saw warriors had crossed the bridge and were returning. They hurried below to meet them.

“Not from land,” Jamie blurted, out of breath. “You canna hear the sounds past the front bailey.”

Rolf issued his orders, and soon the castle and all its grounds teemed with men carrying torchlights and swords.

After a time, the music faded into the mists.

’Twas Rolf who found her. The dawn would soon be upon them when he descended to the dungeons, a place he never thought to look until they had searched each inch of ground.

Walking quietly, he looked inside each dank, musty cell. He came to the farthest corner and stepped past the iron bars, holding his candle aloft.

Crowded against the damp rear wall, Meghan lay curled into a tight ball, her head atop the bagpipe. Ugsome lay backed up against her as if he sought to share his warmth with her. The dog’s lips drew back in a soundless snarl as he protected her.

Meghan had come to a place she feared. To hide. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and there for him to see were the tracks of the many tears she had shed afore she slept. His Meghan whom he had never seen cry from despair. Not even after the shame he heaped on her when he brought her roped like a wild mare to Rimsdale.

A burning ache invaded his soul. He blinked moisture away and swallowed the lump in his throat. Finally, he returned to the

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great hall and called off the search. While all believed he went to his marriage bed, he slipped below.

He stopped where Meghan would not see him, but near enough to be there if, when she awakened, she feared someone had again locked her in the depths of the castle with no way out. He slid his back down the rough wall and sat on the cold damp stones, not caring what damage it did to his fine garments. Pinching out the candle flame, he set himself to watch over her.

Hours later, Ugsome made soft greeting sounds, and Rolf heard Meghan’s voice, husky from sleep, tell the beast what a sweet dog he was. He soundlessly rose and went above.

So as not to humiliate Ailsa, Rolf kept to the shadows and used the rear stairwells up to his solar to change his clothing. He straightened his slumped shoulders upon entering his room.

His eyes snapped wide in disbelief. The room was in shambles. Ailsa had yanked his clothing from the wall pegs, tossed others from his chest and scattered them about the floor. Atop one heap was her wedding smock, ripped asunder from neck to hem.

By the looks of things, he knew she had stomped on the pile.

His roar of rage jolted her to her feet. Naked, she eyed him as if she would kill him if she could.

“Look at you,” Ailsa screamed at him. “You spent our wedding night swiving that whore in filth like the animal she is.

You spilled seed that belongs to no one but me.”

“I will tup any woman I wish to offer my favors to, be it Meghan of Blackthorn or any to whom my tarse leads me.

You have no say in where I spill my seed.”

“I willna allow your leman in my castle.”

“Heh.” He snorted in disgust. “For you, there is no
my castle
. Rimsdale is mine alone. Should I die without a son, it will pass to Garith. Naught here belongs to you but your clothin’, and that only if I deem you will have them.”

By the time he finished venting his anger, Ailsa’s eyes glinted with malice. He did not care. He had no need for her

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affection, merely the use of her body to carry an heir. Though at the moment he did not know how he could work up enough lust to accomplish that task. He yanked off his clothing, then grabbed a tartan from the floor. After belting it around his waist, he turned to leave the room.

“When I return, this room will be as I left it last eve. Dinna try my temper about it.” She flinched under his glare.

After Meghan refreshed herself in Ede’s room, she avoided contact with anyone. Passing the open door to the lord’s solar, she heard Ailsa bragging to the servants.

“Last eve he was so eager to take my maidenhead that he tore the gown from my body. He was like an animal, tossing his own clothes about the room in his haste.” She sniggered when the maids giggled. “He is as big as a destrier and so savage he near split me in two. ’Tis why blood stains the sheets and still drips down my thighs.”

“Oh, me lady, ne’er have I heard such from the lasses he—” The sound of a vicious slap cut off the girl’s words.

“Never speak to me of sluts. Should any try to lure him to their beds, I will see they are sent to service swineherds or sold as slaves.”

Meghan swallowed hard, striving to keep from spewing onto the rushes. Wrapping her arms around her chest, she fought the shudders that the overheard words caused. In all his eagerness to bed her, never had he been so lustful as to lose control. Not even after their first time had she continued to bleed the next morn.

She darted down to the great doors leading outside and thrust them open to escape into the cool morning air. She wanted to give Storm one last hug and spied Garith entering the stable. As she neared the doorway, she halted on hearing the MacDhaidh’s voice. Though he but praised Storm and gave Garith his last instructions to safely hand over the horse to a Blackthorn patrol, anger flew through her. She could

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not bear to see him now. Turning, she sprinted across the bailey and hurried to the top of the barbican.

As Garith rode out through the gatehouse, she noted he had attached Storm’s lead to the belt at his waist. The gelding trotted behind him.

“Dinna fret, Meghan, I will see no harm comes to him,”

Garith shouted up to her and waved.

She nodded and lifted her hand in a brief gesture. She trusted him. Unlike his brother, he lacked deceit. Her nape tingled, for the heat of a man’s gaze caressed her back like ardent fingers. Fury stiffened her shoulders. After spending a night swiving his wife as often as Ailsa had claimed, how dare MacDhaidh eye her with lust. Turning, her lips curled with disgust as she took extra care not to brush against him. Every muscle twitched and throbbed with the urge to strike out at him. Below, she sought comfort with exercising Simple. The laughter of the children at the sparrowhawk’s antics helped comfort her mind.

The rest of the day passed in a sickly blur. Ede seemed to take every opportunity to escape the castle and its new mis-tress. She brought food from the noon meal, for herself and for Meghan. They sat beneath an apple tree and enjoyed a cool breeze as they ate. Once done, Ede was reluctant to return inside.

“Ailsa has done naught but scream at everyone this day.

Not one service has she praised, but carped over the least thing. She demands changes of all kinds. Rolf says not a word but ignores her as if she isna there.”

Meghan shrugged. “Mayhap he will get more than he kenned by taking her to wife.” It mattered not what happened within the castle. All that concerned her was that Garith return to tell her Storm was delivered to Blackthorn’s warriors.

That and her need to find the bolt hole Ugsome used.

She spent the rest of the day atop Rimsdale in hopes she would see Cloud Dancer floating through the clouds. Night fell, and she stayed in their room until she forced down enough food to keep up her strength. She was sure she carried a bairn, but

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she would keep it secret. Did the MacDhaidh know, her chance to escape would be gone.

Dressed in black leggings and black shirt, she slipped from the castle. Ugsome trotted in front of her, seeming to know she wished him to lead her to where he took his nightly forays. Luck was with her, for she evaded the guards atop the walkways. The dog shoved between the bushes at the south wall. She followed close behind.

Had Ugsome not been with her, she would have missed the old wooden door covered with vines. In the darkness, Meghan felt all along the door, wondering how the beast could have escaped through it. The lock and metal hinges felt well oiled. Ugsome’s wet nose shoved her hand aside. Placing her fingers on his neck, she felt him flatten against the ground. In a short time, he wriggled and pushed with his back paws and was on the other side of the door.

At the bottom, the door had begun to rot away. The dog had scratched away enough of the wood, and then had dug a small trench to finish the opening. Disappointed, she sighed. Perhaps a child could pass through, but not a full-grown woman.

Ugsome stuck his nose back inside, whining and snuffling at her hand, inviting her to join him. She patted him, and when she did not follow him, he padded away.

She again felt the lock. Concentrating, she noted the size, shape, and keyhole. Could she pick this lock as she had the trunk? She grasped the altered comb and tried until it broke in two. Mayhap it would take a while, but in the end, she would find a way to open it.

’Twas well past the noon hour when Garith and the men returned. As he rode across the bridge, she saw he studied the skyline of the battlements until he spied her. He flashed a grin and nodded slightly, letting her know he would seek her out when he could.

Below, Rolf ’s long strides took him across the front bailey to await his brother at the barbican. Garith rode through

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and vaulted from his horse. Rolf grasped his shoulders and scrutinized him in a worried manner, and then embraced him in a quick hug.

Did the fool think the laird of Blackthorn as false-hearted as he himself? Garith had ridden under a flag of truce. Not a warrior at Blackthorn would betray that. She watched as he motioned the men into the castle to question them. Meghan sighed.

It would be no little time afore Garith could come to her.

“Meghan! I got away as swiftly as I could, but Rolf had so many questions,” Garith said as he burst through the doorway at the top of the main tower. Ugsome trotted behind him, and when the young man stopped, he reared up and put his paws on Garith’s shoulders. He sniffed over him from his head to his toes.

“ ’Tis the wolf Guardian you smell, but dinna worry. I will always love you best.” He laughed as he thumped the dog on his sides.

“Did it take ye much time to search out a Blackthorn patrol?” Meghan was anxious to hear of her own people.

“Nay. The strangest thing happened,” he answered, excitement making his voice crackle. “You know the fork in the path where one leads to Rimsdale, the other to Blackthorn?”