Outlaw (Medieval Trilogy 3)

“A fine animal she is, but methinks it would be best if she were set free.”

“Nay, Shalimar is a good mare and not yet spent—” But her horse was breathing hard, lathering, and was in great need of a rest. “If we could but walk—”

“And let Holt catch us? I think not.” Before she could argue any further, the captor lifted her deftly from the saddle, swung her astride his own horse, dropped Shalimar’s reins, and slapped the mare’s rump hard with his hand. With a startled squeal, the fiery jennet bolted, hooves flying down the east path until she was swallowed in the darkness.

“Good.” Her captor was pleased.

“Are you daft?” Megan cried, trying to climb out of the saddle. She kicked and fought, slapping away his hands though hers were bound, calling out for Shalimar, but the man held her fast. Her heart filled with sudden fear. Without her mare, Megan had no chance of escape. Now she was completely alone with this beast of a man, this criminal, to be forced to do his bidding. He could ransom her to Holt, sell her, or have his own way with her. She swallowed hard, refusing to be defeated, keeping her despair at bay. “My horse is worth much—”

“I care not,” he said swiftly, one strong arm circling her waist, the muscles of his forearm resting hard and firm beneath her breasts, his iron grip clenched tight around her wrists as he held her tight against him.

“But the ransom—”

He clucked to his horse and headed deep into the forest, away from the road, where the darkness was so thick Megan couldn’t see. Branches slapped at her face and her back was pressed hard against her abductor’s chest. Along with the rain, his warm breath tickled the back of her neck, and his smell, so like the forest, enveloped her. The horse plodded on through the undergrowth and the demon said not a word.

The sound of men’s voices, still far away, whispered through the gloom. Through the bare branches of oak and yew, she spied flickering lights, the torches of Holt’s soldiers casting odd points of illumination as they searched for her. As if sensing she might cry out, the outlaw’s hand clamped over her mouth again.

Her mind spun in wild, frightening circles, but she would not give in to the fear that threatened her. She could not trust this man. Surely her fate with him would be as bad as it would have been with Holt, but at least she was past the sentries and could find her own means of escape.

Without Shalimar, she reminded herself, and felt a great loss.

She heard a night bird call and Wolf stiffened. From his throat came a like cry.

A signal. So there were more of them! Her heart sank. Escaping one man would be far easier than fleeing a band of cutthroats and ruffians. She shivered and the man pulled her more closely to him. His muscles were solid and she felt the shape of his knee and thigh pressed intimately to the outside of hers. She sat tall, trying to keep her buttocks from pressing against his crotch, but the task proved impossible. The saddle was confining, and they were wedged together close enough that she felt the rub of his breeches against the silk covering her rump.

“You’ll be caught,” she warned him when the lights had faded and the sounds of the soldiers’ voices no longer reached them.

He laughed.

“And tortured!”

Again the soft, amused chuckle.

“Then hanged.”

“And will you watch?” he asked, his breath feather-light against her ear.

“Aye!” she lied, for in truth she could not watch a man—any man—swing from the hangman’s rope. If the rogue were captured and returned to Dwyrain, she would plead for his life.

“My father will not stand for this.”

“Your father has lost control of his castle.”

The words were true and rang like the dull chimes of death.

“You will be hunt

ed down like a wounded bear.”

“By your husband?” he asked, and she felt her spine stiffen and her chin lift.

“Aye.”

“Good. ’Tis what I want.”

“Who are you?”

“Can you not guess?” He leaned forward, whispering into her ear, causing a naughty little thrill to slide down her spine. “I, m’lady, am the embodiment of your husband’s worst fears.”