Outlaw (Medieval Trilogy 3)

“Aye, Connor,” Red agreed. “And methinks ’e might blame ’is wife as well. Even if she put up a fight and the man raped her, Sir ’Olt’s not a forgiving man.”

Cayley’s stomach turned over, and she again prayed that her sister was safe.

Shouts filled the air.

“Who’s at the gate?” Red asked.

“Maybe the outlaw’s been caught.”

Cayley’s heart beat like a madman’s drum.

There was a loud cry from the sentry and both soldiers rushed down the steps. Cayley, her blood cold as the bottom of the moat, slid out from the shadows and hurried through the open door and down the wet steps. Her boots sank into the mud of the inner bailey, but still she ran forward. Soldiers were dragging a half-dressed man up the path leading to the great hall.

“Call for Sir Holt!” one of the knights ordered Red. “We’ve got a man who claimed he was attacked by the outlaw!

“So you’re Kelvin of Hawarth,” Holt said, tearing off a piece of bread and handing it to the blond man his men had found wandering through the forest not far from the castle. Nearly naked, half frozen, his lips blue as midnight, he’d been discovered by two of Holt’s men who were looking for the outlaw.

“Aye, my older brother is Osric, the baron, and Rhosyn is my niece,” he said, shivering in the great hall. He sat on a bench near the fire, warming his back through the blanket that was wrapped around him. A proud man, and impetuous, he was embarrassed as he told his tale. “I was on my way to the wedding when a bastard jumped me, put a knife to my throat, gagged and stripped me, then tied me to a tree. All the while he’s doin’ this, he’s thankin’ me for the fine clothes and invitation to the wedding. Jesus God, I thought my life was over!”

He paused to chew the crusty bread. “Hours later, in the black of the night, an old man comes up to me, tells me I’m lucky not to be dead, and steals my horse, leavin’ me in the freezin’ rain. I started walking, probably in circles mostly, and didn’t find the road until this morning.”

Holt scowled as he cut a piece of cheese with the cruel little dagger he’d taken from the armory earlier. “You knew this man not?”

“Nay, never seen ’im before in my life, but before I left Hawarth, the sheriff warned me of bands of thugs raiding the roads. There’s a man they call Wolf, dark of hair, with a split eyebrow, who is the leader of a group of cast-outs. They say the men know each other only by a name they chose and no women or children are allowed in the group. The men are fiercely loyal to Wolf, the only one of the lot who can read, a man who some claim was of noble birth but was cast out for some past sin.”

“Think you that you were the victim of this Wolf?”

Kelvin took a bite of the cheese, then washed it down with a long swallow of wine. “Aye,” he said with a crisp nod. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he scowled. “Shamed me, he did. Left me to rot, though the other member of his band—at least I think the old bugger was one of the thief’s men—did release me and only steal my horse. A wicked one, that, with an evil cackle that sounded like it came from the bowels of hell.” Shuddering, he looked Holt square in the eye. “I scare not easily. My brother claims I’m too bold and reckless for my own good, but that night alone, strapped to the base of a tree wearing naught but my braies, hearing bats and owls and all sorts of creatures scuttling through the brush, I was scared, let me tell you. What if some beast had come by, or another murdering thug? I had not my sword or hands that I could use. Helpless, I was, and ’tis a feeling I’ll not want to have again any too soon. Even after the old one cut me loose, I was near naked. If I ever come across the black-heart who did this to me, I swear I’ll run him through and take God’s punishment.”

Holt believed him. The man felt as humiliated as he did. So Holt gained another ally in his fight against the outlaw. “This time I will go after him myself,” Holt said. “You may ride with me if you like, but make no mistake, we will not return empty-handed.”

Kelvin grinned. “Aye,” he said. “If you can spare some clothes and weapons, I’ll gladly hunt down the bastard.”

“Are ye hungry?” the lad, Robin, asked her. He was fair of skin with freckles all about his face, round blue eyes, and teeth that were far from straight, but his smile was true and the blush that stained his cheeks caused Megan to return his grin.

“Aye, a bit.”

In truth, she was starved. ’Twas evening. Darkness had collected over the land, bringing with it a soft mist and quiet fog that hung close to the ground. Though she’d done little but explore the camp while thinking of ways to escape, she was hungry again. The charred rabbit and fish had been hours ago and though she’d been offered a goodly portion, she’d barely touched the burned, tasteless food. Odell lacked Cook’s spices and sense of timing, though no one else acted as if it mattered. The men had devoured the tough meat as if the food were a great feast, and Wolf, while he’d sliced off a shank of rabbit and eaten it with his knife, had watched her, apparently amused at her distaste for the meal.

Since then, she’d barely seen him. He’d been in one tent or the other, off riding or talking by the stream with his men. There were many questions asked of him, along with sidelong looks cast her way from each of the men. ’Twas more than obvious that many of the band resented her. Others, like charming Robin, were eager to make her acquaintance.

Wolf had not insisted she be bound. All he had asked was that she stay in the camp in his sight. When the time had come for her to relieve herself, he’d walked with her into the woods and waited on the other side of a copse of trees until she was finished. ’Twas awkward and embarrassing, but better than having her wrists or ankles tied.

The men in the camp were an odd lot, solitary sorts whom she suspected were outcasts either by their own choice or the choosing of their loved ones. Cutthroats, pickpockets, robbers, or murderers, she knew not. No one, as far as she could tell, discussed his crimes. Past lives were never mentioned, another rule of the band. Just as there were to be no women in the group, there were also no secrets shared about crimes, homes, or loves.

“Tell me about your leader,” she said to Robin after he’d broug

ht her a trencher of beans and fish that again was burned. Wolf caught her eye as he spoke to the tall blond one—Bjorn—then turned back to his conversation.

The men ate at will. Whenever their job was finished, they stopped by the fire where Odell offered up his pitiful fare. Wolf had barely eaten but he was unable or unwilling to stop long enough for a meal. There were no prayers of thanks sent to God, no formality whatsoever.

Robin sat on a stone next to hers by the stream. “Wolf took me in.”

“You mean stole you away from your mother,” she said, eating with her fingers as Robin did.

“Nay, I have no ma,” Robin said. “She died birthin’ me.”

“Oh … I’m sorry.”