“ ’Twill be fine. There will be others as well, but Robin will ride with me.”
A smile split Robin’s stubborn jaw. “When?” he asked. “When do we ride?”
“Upon the return of Bjorn and Cormick,” he said, then repeated Garrick’s oft-spoken but never heard advice, “Be patient, lad; there are many years yet for battle.”
With Wolf in the lead, they made their way to the camp, avoiding any of Holt’s soldiers and seeing only a few carts and travelers upon the road. It was dark by the time they returned, but Megan was waiting, her beautiful face expectant when Wolf rode into the circle of light cast by the fire.
“So you’re safe,” she said to the boy as Robin dismounted.
“Aye.”
“Well, come along. Odell’s made a fine stew with some of the boar meat …” Wolf watched as she helped the boy to a trencher of the thick, greasy soup. Robin’s eyes glowed and he couldn’t keep a grin from his face as she fussed about him. Aye, he was smitten, as were several of the men. Peter’s one-eyed gaze followed her about when he thought no one was watching, and even gruff Jagger managed a grin when she was near. ’Twas a problem. Wasn’t he, too, enchanted by the lilt of her voice or the sparkle in her golden eyes? Didn’t he think much too long about the slope of her shoulders, the sway of her hips as she walked, or the bounce of her breasts? ’Twas enough to distract a man, to cause his member to spring to attention at the most awkward of times. Already, the men, though they knew it not, were vying for her attention.
’Twould be good to be rid of her, or so he tried to convince himself, though he could not shake the memory of their lovemaking.
Cupping her hand near her mouth, she said something into Robin’s ear and he threw back his head and laughed uproariously, as if she were the most clever woman on earth. Jealousy, his old enemy, slithered into Wolf’s veins and caused his jaw to clench so hard it ached.
He could not let himself become too attached to her because she was the cur Holt’s wife and could never be his. That painful thought brought him up short. He’d not considered marriage since Mary’s death, had vowed that he’d never allow a woman close enough for him to ponder wedding her, but with Megan, he’d let his mind run wild.
“Bloody fool,” he muttered low and under his breath. Somehow she’d gotten to him, and if he didn’t keep some distance between them, he’d try to bed her. Hadn’t he nearly done the deed just this past night?
Though he’d love to humiliate Holt further by stealing his wife’s virginity, he could not dishonor her or shame her by claiming her as his own when he had nothing to offer her—no castle, nay, not even a house, no money, and no life except to run from the law.
He had to return her to her husband, or, as he’d decided more often with each passing day, kill the bastard and make her a widow.
Megan slipped from beneath the furs. Holding her breath, she pulled on her clothes and silently prayed that Wolf, wherever he was, wouldn’t return before she’d escaped. He’d stood at the door of the chamber, not crossing the threshold, not allowing himself near the pallet early in the night. Once he appeared convinced that she was asleep, he waited a few more minutes, then left his post. Now was the time to escape.
Heart thudding, she walked to the sack he kept near the door and reached inside. Her fingers scraped a hatchet and a mason’s tool of some kind before brushing against a small dagger with a curved blade. Her fingers curled around the smooth bone handle. Slowly she extracted the knife, then searched further until she came to a length of rope, the same rope he’d used to restrain her. It was fitting somehow that she’d make good her escape with some of the very tools he’d used for her capture.
She had no choice but to leave. Knowing the depth of her feelings for Wolf and that he planned to ransom her to a cruel husband she should never have married, she wasn’t about to stay here and wait like a lamb for the slaughter. Nay, she had to find a way to wrest herself free of the shackles of her marriage. Since nearly making love to Wolf, she’d known she had to come up with a plan to liberate herself.
The first step was to sneak away from the camp. Biting her lip, she crept to the window and, as she had once before, hoisted herself to the ledge and slipped through the opening. She landed without a sound on the frosty ground and silently cursed when she realized her footsteps were visible in the snow. A hunter such as Wolf would track her without much trouble, but there was naught she could do.
Then she saw him. Sitting near the fire, staring into the flames, his expression hard and faraway, as if he, too, were laying plans. Golden shadows played upon his face and a thick black cloak kept him warm. Her heart nearly broke when she realized she was leaving him forever, that this would be her last vision of him, a lonely man staring into the flames.
Just leave! Now! While he’s let down his guard!
Silently she sneaked around a crumbled corner of the chapel, and praying she wouldn’t snap a twig, slunk past the tethered horses. One, a bay mare, nickered before Peter, from his guard’s position near the rear of one of the tents, hushed the horse with his gentle voice.
Megan nearly jumped from her skin. Quick as lightning, she ducked into the woods and watched while Peter stood with his backside to her. Leaning against a tree, he stared with his solitary eye across the river. Eventually, he took a short walk around the animals before striding to the fire. Megan didn’t wait. This was her chance.
Certain he would turn and spy her in the withering moonlight, she untied a small brown horse that wouldn’t easily be missed. She would have loved to steal Wolf’s destrier, but he was a tall horse, a restless animal, and Peter was certain to notice he was gone.
The brown, a swift little jennet, was a calm enough beast, and Megan worked nervously, untying the tether, praying the horses wouldn’t make any noise. Once the tether was unbound, she led the mare into the woods near the river. They walked close to the rushing water so their footsteps were muffled by the noise. Only when they were far enough from camp that the fire no longer glowed through the trees did Megan loop the rope around the jennet’s nose and ears, then climb upon her slick back. The horse snorted and sidestepped, but ’twas no matter. No one would hear.
“Let’s go, girl,” Megan said, planning to reach the road, where the mare’s hoofprints would blend with those of the others that had passed during the day. The snow had fallen much earlier and though a few solitary flakes drifted to the ground, most of the white powder had lain in patches since the afternoon.
As she rode, she trained her ears backward, listening for the barest of whispers or the clop of horses’ hooves, half expecting a band of men to leap from the shadows at any second. Nerves strung tight, hands sweating in her gloves, she felt as if the mare were moving much too slowly, that she had to put distance between her and the camp. But Wolf was not the only enemy sh
e feared, for, if Wolf’s spies were correct, Holt’s soldiers were scouring the hills and woods, searching for her.
“Come on, come on,” she encouraged, though they were traveling as fast as possible through the forest and the overgrown deer trail that curved away from the river and—
“Well, well, well.” Wolf’s voice rang through the forest and her heart flew to her throat. Where was he? “Taking a midnight ride, m’lady?” The sound ricocheted around her and she squinted into the gloom.
“Aye, I’m leaving,” she said boldly. Damn, if only she could see him! “I’ll not let you sell me, Wolf.” He’d have to chase her down if he wanted to catch her. She pulled on the reins, hoping to turn away from the sound. “Hiya!” she yelled at her mare, but as she started to urge the fleet horse forward, he appeared from the shadows, dark, looming, and furious atop his destrier.
“We need to talk,” he said, grabbing the reins and stripping them from her fingers. Hopping from his horse to the ground, he reached upward, caught her hand, and caused her to tumble into the strength of his arms.