Outlaw (Medieval Trilogy 3)

He laughed so loudly she jumped. “A drink?”

“Aye.”

Clucking his tongue, he shook his head. “Is the water better here than down at the chapel?”

“I thought—”

“You thought you could escape, that you could elude me and … what? Walk the entire distance back to Dwyrain this night?” When she didn’t answer, he stretched to his feet, a tall man looming in the darkness. Slowly he advanced on her. “Come, Megan,” he said gently. “ ’Tis cold out here.”

“As if you care for my comfort.”

“I do,” he said, though his tone was tinged with mockery.

“Then return me to Dwyrain.”

“All in good time.”

“For the right amount of gold.”

“Aye,” he said, and the smile left his voice. She felt his gaze move to her lips. “Why else?”

“I know not.” She was quivering inside and was afraid it wasn’t from the wind that cut through her clothes as it tore down the valley. No, her trembling was because he was close to her, so close that the toes of his boots touched hers.

“Come inside.”

“Nay.”

“You would defy me?” There was a hard edge to his voice.

“I will not be ordered about like a slave!”

“Mother of God,” he growled under his breath and one hand reached forward to clasp her upper arm. “If you haven’t yet noticed, Megan, I’m not a patient man!”

“Nor I a patient woman.”

“Get back to the chapel and be thankful that I don’t put you in chains—”

She gasped and tried to draw her arm away. “What kind of beast are you?” she said, fury spurting through her veins. “You drag me away from the castle against my will—”

“Liar.” The word was spoken so softly she barely heard it, and yet it echoed through her heart over and over again, repeating itself and mocking her. He dragged her closer to him, so close that even in the night she saw the breeze move through his hair and the reflection of the moon in his eyes. Her traitorous heart beat faster. “You wanted to be free of the castle,” he guessed, his breath caressing her face as he stopped in front of her. “There was a part of you that longed to soar away from all the thick walls and responsibilities.”

“Nay,” but the lie tripped on her tongue.

“And freedom isn’t all that you want,” he said, fingers nearly punishing in their grip, moonlight splashing over the ruthless planes of his face. “There is more, much more,” he said, and a cold sweat beaded beneath her hair at

the suggestion in his words.

“More?”

“ ’Tis the reason you flee now.” His fingers became more gentle and she saw his throat work.

“Which is?”

“Me. You’re afraid of me and what your heart is telling you.”

“I know not what you say—”

“Liar.” Again that damning word. “You feel it, too, Megan,” he said.