Outlaw (Medieval Trilogy 3)

Again Odell spit, this time in disgust, and Megan, though she knew she shouldn’t say another word, couldn’t keep her jaws clamped together. “If this is how your leader treats a guest, I would hate to think what he does with a prisoner!”

By the time she was finished, Wolf’s expression was deadly, his hands clenched in tight fists, and his bold jaw was jutted and rock hard. “I promised I would not hurt you, Megan,” he said with slow measure, each word pronounced as if it was to be the last she would hear in this lifetime, “and I always keep my word. I ask that you do the same.”

“You have ripped me away from my home, dragged me away from my marriage feast, and forced me to ride with you here, wherever we are.”

“Have you been whipped?” he asked through lips that barely moved.

“Nay.” She shook her head and her wild curls brushed her shoulders.

“Beaten?”

“No, but—”

“Raped?”

Her breath caught for a second. “Nay,” she whispered.

“Bound except for your hands, which were set free when I knew I could trust you?”

When she didn’t answer, he lifted a dark brow. “Nor were you gagged, hauled about like a sack of grain, or touched in a familiar manner. You, m’lady, have been treated as my guest. However, should you disobey me or make trouble with my men, then you will be treated as a prisoner.” He pressed his face close to hers, near enough that she could see the angry streaks of gray in his blue eyes. “I mean you no harm, Megan of Dwyrain, but you will do as I say or suffer the consequences.”

“You have no right—”

“And as for your husband, if you love him, then you must know that I will do anything in my power to destroy him.”

“But why?” Megan asked, her eyes searching his face. What a puzzle he was—gentle one moment, cruel the next.

“Because he did the same to me. Now—” He looked up and found his men, quiet for once, staring openmouthed at the two of them. “Is there nothing to eat? We’ve been riding all night and our guest must be starved.”

“Robin caught us some rabbits,” Odell ventured. “And there’s pike from the stream and bread we stole from …” His voice drifted off and he cleared his throat. “Let me get the fires going.”

“But first, introductions,” Wolf insisted, naming them each to Megan. Odell, the older scamp who wondered about Wolf giving up her house and was tossing dry leaves and twigs onto the warm coals, looked harmless enough, though she wouldn’t trust him with the truth. The others—Jagger, who appeared tough and mean-tempered; Peter, with only one eye; Bjorn, blond and muscular; as well as several others. Last in the group was Robin, a boy of no more than 12 who could only stare at her and swallow hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing like a leaf upon a rippling stream. His face, beneath a thatch of dark hair, turned three shades of red when at last he spoke, and upon saying her name, his voice cracked. The rest of the men laughed and made great sport, but the poor lad ducked away hurriedly, finding an excuse to slip into the privacy of the forest.

Odell had already constructed a spit over the glowing coals, and soon two rabbits were roasting, sending the scent of sizzling meat through the naked trees and bracken. Megan’s stomach growled and she heard a great flapping of wings in the branches of an oak tree overhead. Looking up, she spied an owl seated near the trunk, its neck twisted so that he could view her.

“Well, I’ll be buggered,” Odell muttered. “Look who’s back!”

“He’s been here before?” Megan asked.

“Aye, lately.” Odell raised his eyes up at the huge bird. “ ’E’s a bother, if you ask me. Bad luck.”

“That’s an old wives’ tale,” Peter put in, but he, too, glanced up at the bird in vexation. “All he wants is our breakfast.”

“Sorry, ’e’ll ’ave to be cookin’ ’is own. I’m not wastin’ my time sweatin’ over an open fire for some bloody damned bird. Go on,” Odell yelled, raising his hands and flapping them wildly. “Shoo away, ye overgrown pigeon. Off with ye!”

The owl only blinked and settled his head into his neck feathers.

“Ah, who cares about ye anyway,” Odell complained, turning back to the charring meat, frowning as the grease drizzled onto the coals.

“Come,” Wolf said, once the men had gone back to their tasks. Some hunted, some whittled, some sharpened weapons, others gathered wood or tended to the horses. One man was carefully cleaning the blades of daggers and swords, and the boy, Robin, cast several nets into the stream.

“Come with me,” Wolf ordered, then led her to the largest tent situated near the forest’s edge. “This is where you’ll be sleeping,” he said and Megan heard Odell, from the fire pit, give a snort of laughter.

“Whose tent is it?” she asked, but she knew the answer.

“Mine.”

Her silly heart fluttered. “And where will you be?” she asked, lifting a dark brow and crossing her arms under her breasts.