Risk Everything (40 page)

I carry your son.”

She tried to wrench her robe open again, but Alpin put his arms around her to restrain her. Distraught, tears streamed down his face.

Jamie burst into the room, his face twitching with anxiety.

“What has happened, man?” Rolf asked.

“We heard a man’s screams inside the woods. We found Fergus.” He stopped and looked at Alpin. “Dead. Stabbed. A trail of blood leads away from him.” He gulped and handed a bit of cloth to Rolf. “We found this on a branch but ten paces away.”

Blood splattered the fabric. Rolf ’s heart ached as the faint hint of heather reached him. ’Twas from Meghan’s shirt. She had avenged herself.

Ailsa shrieked, “My love! The slut murdered my love!”

Rolf clutched the fabric to his chest. He longed to throttle his wife. “Alpin, dinna allow her to leave. We will settle this when I return.”

He galloped across the bridge with Jamie. If Meghan died,

’twas his fault. He had suffered grief and regret aplenty over Ingirid’s death. Now, the choking fear that gripped him was nigh unbearable.

With each drum of Luath’s hooves, his conscience, his

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honor, beat at him. Connor, Meghan, Laird Damron—all at Blackthorn were innocent of foul deeds. But not himself.

He had sought revenge in a most vile way. He had used the woman he loved, had ripped her pride from her and stomped it in the cesspit.

He had treated Meghan’s honor as being of less value than a lowly man’s nod.

He had taken her love and forged it into hate.

Had he also caused her death?

A wail of pain welled up from his heart to rent the air.

Luath whinnied and reared up to paw empty space, near tossing Rolf from his back.

Rolf ’s stomach revolted, and he swallowed hard, fearing he would shame himself in front of his men. He took a deep, steadying breath.

The Rimsdale warriors were hard-pressed in their search, for Blackthorn’s men scattered them for leagues around. They hunted far and wide but failed to find Meghan. Near dawn, Rolf returned to Rimsdale in defeat. Anxiety weighed his shoulders and pained his chest. Though certain now that Laird Damron’s men had protected and rescued her, he suffered, wondering how severe were her wounds.

He tore his fingers through his hair knowing he must now deal with his traitorous wife. He could not throttle her, no matter how his hands ached to do the deed. ’Twould be best that he confine her to an abbey for the rest of her days. For ample funds, they would provide a cell where she could not escape and do another harm.

Although all was quiet after passing through the barbican, he sensed something was amiss. In the middle of the front bailey, Garith stood with his arms bracing Ede’s shoulders.

Tears streaked her face, swollen with bloody scratches. The imprint of a hand blazed red on the right side.

“Ailsa near felled her brother with an iron candleholder,”

Garith said in a wobbly voice. “Ede went to his aid, but Ailsa attacked her like a wild animal. Alpin and I were barely able

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to fend her off so we could get Ede out of the room.” His eyes showed horror at seeing the strength of the crazed woman.

“Has he calmed her?”

“She is gone.” Garith’s ashen face twitched with stress.

“Gone? How could she have gone?” Rolf ’s gaze darted around the bailey as if seeking her.

“Alpin had to take her away.” He gulped and patted Ede on the shoulder. “She screamed and ranted ’twas not safe here.

Even claimed you couldna mate with her. She vowed when the moon was high, you became a horned Lucifer, your shaft larger than a bull. She said you could swive none but the witch Meghan. She broke everything in sight. Her room is a shambles. Alpin couldna calm her till he promised to take her back to MacKean Castle.”

He lifted Ede’s face to examine it and sucked in a deep breath. “Take Ede to the women and see her tended to, Garith.” He squared his shoulders and turned to study his men. “I must needs have you with me, Dougald. Pick enough warriors to defend Rimsdale should Damron of Blackthorn attack.” Sickness filled him, recalling Ede’s words that Rimsdale would pay for what he had done to Meghan.

“We ride to MacKean Castle?” Dougald asked.

“Aye. Jamie will be in charge here with Garith. Every man we can spare must gather weapons and provisions for a battle, should Alpin not give Ailsa over to me.”

“That sheep’s patoot! When we get hold of Rolf, I’ll give him a kick in his overactive ballocks he’ll not soon forget,”

Damron’s Brianna promised as she and Bleddyn scrubbed their hands at Blackthorn Castle. She cleaned Meghan’s wound and stood back for Bleddyn to take over.

“Rolf believed what they told him, little one,” Bleddyn said. “Even Alpin didna know ’twas Ailsa and Fergus who were responsible for Rolf ’s tragedy.”

“Well, damn and blast,” Brianna muttered as she watched him stitch Meghan’s arm. “I still say we should give him a

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healthy kick or two.” She stood at the ready with a salve to spread over the stitches and cloths they had boiled in water and then dried in Bleddyn’s herbarium.

“I plan to snatch a bald spot on his knotty-pated head,”

Mereck’s Netta added, nodding all the while.

“I will let my Dougall spew his milk down the neck of his shirt,” Elise, Connor’s timid wife ventured. Her young son was famous for spurting his milk farther than any of his cousins.

“Meghan, lass, if ye birth a son, do us a boon and name him with somethin’ not startin’ with
D
.” Damron grinned and shook his head. “Netta’s Donald, our own Douglas, and now Elise’s Dougall—mayhap somethin’ like Ian or Eric?”

“Aye, I will think on it,” Meghan said through gritted teeth.

“I have the feelin’ it will be a Mari for mine own mother, or Aldyth for Grandda’s love.” She drew a slow, even breath, waiting for the stitching to end. “How soon can the men be ready to ride again? We must needs hurry. ’Tis a chance Ailsa could put too much of the potion in the first dose and kill them all.”

Connor burst into the room, followed by Mereck. “You are not going, Meghan. That is final,” he shouted at her.

“Ye willna leave me here. I am ridin’ with ye, and
that
is final.” Meghan glared at him as she spoke. “Tell them, Bleddyn. Am I not hearty enough to ride? I willna have the three of ye chargin’ up to Rimsdale and causin’ turmoil. They will know ’tis in peace we come if I ride with ye.”

“Meghan speaks true. And if she rests well this night and does not take with a fever, she will be fit enough if we ride close by her side to aid her. Even so, we will not be heading to Rimsdale,” Bleddyn answered.

“If not to Rimsdale, where do we go?” Damron long since learned Bleddyn knew things no other mortal could.

It took the Welshman but a short time to apprise them of what had happened after Meghan left Rimsdale. It was close to the noon hour the next day before they could leave, for the men nearly had to lock their wives in Damron’s solar to keep them at Blackthorn.

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They clattered over the drawbridge with Blackthorn’s army at their back. Damron led with Mereck, and behind them rode Connor and Bleddyn with Meghan between them, her arm heavy with bandages bound close to her chest.

Late the next day, when they finally galloped through Rimsdale’s lands, people scattered in fear. Not so much from the sight of Damron and his army but for the man who rode at his side.

He wore a hide tunic that came to just below his knees.

Wolf skins covered his massive shoulders, and leather armbands circled his wrists up to his elbows. Long hair flew wild and free, baring piercing green eyes peering from a wolfish face. One side of that face he had painted with blue woad.

’Twas Damron’s half-brother Mereck, known as Baresark, a warrior feared by men throughout England and Scotland for his ferocity.

Chapter 29

Rolf stood at the portcullis of MacKean Castle and grieved for the heartsick look on Alpin’s face. “Ailsa is my wife, Alpin. ’Tis for me to say what needs be done with her.”

“You would lock her away. Like some crazed beast. I canna allow it.” Alpin swiped a hand across his eyes, shamed at the moisture there. “The madness has left since I brought her here. Mayhap ’twill take hold for good, should she be caged.”

“Ailsa’s schemes killed not only my wife and son, but other good men. ’Tis fortunate Garith is regaining the use of his arm, thanks to Meghan’s help.”

He paced, slapping the safety shield on Beast. He could not allow Ailsa to roam free. She was a danger to all within her reach. By rights, he could hang her for what she had done and had planned to do. None would question him, not even King Malcolm.

“I will give you until the morrow to open your gates. If you dinna, I have no choice but to enter by force.” He stared hard at Alpin. “I vow to you, together we will find the proper abbey to secure her.” He turned on his heels and strode to join his men.

Out of reach of Alpin’s archers, Jamie had directed men to set up a village of tents while others sectioned off an area to confine the horses.

Rolf prayed his friend would not thwart him on the morrow, though he feared he would. Ailsa had brought enough grief. He wanted no more widows and children left crying.

With Dougald and Jamie, he formed a battle plan that would cause the least bloodshed.

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* * *

Alpin, his face ravaged by sadness and a sleepless night, said but two lone words that gave Rolf his decision.

“I canna.”

Rolf had no choice but to take the castle by force. He squared his shoulders to keep them from sagging over the anguish he felt for his friend and returned to the far side of the clearing. His men waited, their weapons at the ready.

Warriors with newly acquired crossbows would be first to move up, followed by archers, and then lines of warriors with axes, double-edged swords, and spears. When his army approached, mayhap Donnall could reason with Alpin before any blood need be spilled.

He raised his arm, spun his hand in a circle, and pointed forward. They began to move. Rolf ’s reluctance kept Luath at a slow pace as they neared the castle.

The sound of his army’s approach was drowned out by the roar of thunder in the distance. The sky had not a cloud. The skin across his shoulders and down his back prickled. Acid welled up from his belly, filling his mouth. Dread filled his soul. He swiveled in his saddle and stared eastward toward the growing din. In the blinding rays of sun, the advancing army looked like the heavens had opened to send horsemen down on beams of light.

At the lead rode the most impressive warriors in the Highlands. As they came ever closer, Rolf made out Connor on the far left. To his right rode Laird Damron of Blackthorn, the fearsome Mereck at the center. Next to him rode a slender figure covered in chain mail and helmet. Last came Bleddyn ap Tewdwr. Rolf knew ’twas he by Garith’s description of the Welshman’s many-colored great cape and scarred face.

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To Rolf ’s front, the battlements of MacKean Castle bristled with warriors; the might of Blackthorn gathered at his back. He was tightly boxed in.

“Halt,” he bellowed to his men before they were within striking distance of MacKean Castle. “Dougald, hold steady.

We canna fight back to back. We have not enough men to carry it off. Naught is left for me but to offer single combat to a man of Laird Damron’s choosing.”

“Aye, Rolf. Have a care.” Dougald rubbed the back of his neck and squinted his eyes as he stared at the advancing army.

“If the laird offers you choice of your opponent, Connor is your best match. ’Twould not be seemly to select the youth beside the mystic.”

Rolf led Luath through a path opening between his men.

He rode out into the open area until he came face-to-face with Blackthorn’s might. The slender youth seen from afar was no longer a mystery.

’Twas Meghan. No one had more right than she to see to his defeat. He had shredded her dignity and torn her pride from her before trampling them through the slimy mire of his deceit.

He had destroyed her.

Tearing his attention from her, his gaze met cynical green eyes on either side of the laird of Blackthorn’s gold-plated nose piece.

“I must seek a boon from you, Damron. Single combat with a man of your choosing. I would save the families of Rimsdale and Blackthorn further grief.”

“For what you have done to Meghan, Lucifer will freeze from his dwelling afore you may seek a boon from Blackthorn,” Connor blurted out.

“Hold, cousin.” Damron held up a quieting hand. “Rolf, by what right do ye ask a favor of me after what ye have done to the Pride of Blackthorn?” Damron’s gimlet stare did not leave Rolf.

“Aye. You have much to bring me to account for. I will—”

He got no further, for Meghan approached him on Storm.

“Enough of this blather. We have not come to destroy ye

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but to see to yer well-being. Ye took none of the mandrake?

Garith? He is well also? What of Ede, is she safe?”

Shame flooded him. Instead of berating him as was her due, her concern was for his own people.

“Nay. We have taken none of it. Garith and Ede are well.

After you left my chambers”—he hesitated, wary as he eyed Connor—“Dougald searched Ailsa’s room. We found two vials of potions.” He shifted in his seat, hoping she would not ask of the other potion. “One bore a strange scent. Dougald tested it on a hapless fowl. ’Twas laced with the mandrake.

“Ailsa is brainsick. None but Alpin could calm her. I told him I would confine her in an abbey for the rest of her days to assure she harms no others or herself. I returned after searching for you and found they were gone.”