Outlaw (Medieval Trilogy 3)

He waded across the creek, mindless of the depths of the icy water that swirled and splashed about his boots, his gaze fastened to hers as if her eyes opened deep into her soul. Oh, what a fool she was. She should not let this man have the tiniest glimmer of what she thought. ’Twould be dangerous for him to know too much about her, to give him that power.

“Why did you agree to marry Holt?” he asked, his voice low.

“ ’Tis no concern of yours.”

“Why?” he said, climbing up the short bank to stand in front of her. He was nearly a head taller than she and he craned his neck downward to stare deep into her eyes. “Do you love him?”

Her throat closed in on itself.

With one clenched fist, he propped up her chin, forcing her to look into his blue, blue eyes. Shadowed in the dark, they glimmered for a second with some deep and strange emotion that touched her before it disappeared. “Tell me.”

A new emotion, one she couldn’t name, started deep in her chest, causing her heart to drum and her pulse to pound and her breath to catch. Though she knew she was making a mistake by confiding in him, she admitted the truth. “Nay, I … I love him not. ’Twas my father’s wish that I marry Holt.”

“And you agreed?”

“I had no say.”

His eyes narrowed thoughtfully, as if he didn’t believe her. “I’ve heard of you, Megan of Dwyrain,” he admitted, his face so close to hers she saw red-gold pinpoints of light—reflections from the campfire—in his eyes. She stood as if rooted to the earth, unable to move, unwilling to protest. “ ’Tis said you have a mind of your own, that you do as you choose, that you ride in and out of the castle gates without a guard whenever you so desire.”

“Not always.”

“I’ve seen you myself, while I was waiting for my chance to steal you away.”

“You were watching me?” she asked, thunderstruck. How long had he sought and plotted his revenge?

“Aye.”

Anger took control of her tongue. “You are a fiend!”

His smile was touched with self-condemnation. “So I’ve been told.” He studied her again and she wanted to squirm from beneath his scrutinizing eyes. “Yo

ur father gives you much freedom, many choices, pampers you and lets you hunt in the forests and ride far from the castle gates. Yet you say he chose the man for you.”

“What concern is it of yours?” she snapped, unable to stop seething. But what reason did she have to hide the truth? If his revenge was against Holt, mayhap ’twas better if she admitted that she, too, trusted not the man she’d taken as her husband.

“Yea, ’tis true,” she said, pursing her lips. “But my father is no longer young, nor well. He talks of dying and meeting my mother and brother and sister soon in heaven. He fears that my other sister and I will be able not to care for ourselves, that we need men to protect us.”

He snorted as if the thought were that of a simpleton. “Thinks he that you are weak?”

“Nay, not just me. All women.”

Wolf laughed. “Not always and surely not you.”

She favored him with the hint of a smile as he rubbed his cheek where she’d slapped him earlier that evening.

“Father wants a grandson. He decided that because I had no suitors that pleased me and was not hasty to accept a proposal, he would pick a husband for me.”

“So he chose Holt.”

“Aye,” she said, sliding him a glance. “He chose Sir Holt because of his bravery and loyalty and courage.”

“Then Ewan must be deaf, mute, and blind as well as stupid,” Wolf said. “Your husband is a weak coward whose only loyalty is to himself.”

“He is not my husband,” she blurted, then bit her tongue.

“Nay?” Wolf mocked. “Did you not stand up at the altar and pledge yourself to him?”

“Aye,” she admitted, feeling weak. Squeezing her eyes shut, she gritted her back teeth, remembering how soft her voice had sounded, how difficult it was to say two simple words. “I do” had come after tense, silent moments when Holt’s nostrils had quivered in rage and her father had pleaded with her mutely, his cloudy eyes beseeching hers.