Outlaw (Medieval Trilogy 3)

Those soft, soothing voices surrounded her and Megan blinked several times against the light of a candle being held near her face. “Where am I?” she asked dazedly as the women, several of them, exchanged glances. Only then, when her eyes adjusted to the yellow candlelight, did she realize that they were nuns, dressed in their somber habits and wimples, staring at her as if she were some oddity—a freak of nature. The room was a dark chamber with a single window and cavernous ceiling.

“ ’Tis the Sacred Heart Nunnery where ye be,” one of the women said. She laid a smooth hand to Megan’s forehead. “I’m Sister Leah, and you … ?”

“Megan of Dwyrain,” she said without thinking, and then gave herself a swift mental kick. Kind as these women were, they believed in God and truth and all that was holy. They wouldn’t look kindly on a bride who had been kidnapped from her husband, then refused to return to him after lying with another man. A cold blush stole up her face and she tried to lever herself up from the hard pallet on which she rested. “I … I must not tarry.”

“You’re ill,” one of the sisters said. “A farmer found you on the road not far from here two days ago and you have not once opened your eyes or taken any nourishment.”

“Aye,” she said, her voice scratchy, her throat dry as flour, her mouth tasting foul. Foolishly, she ran her tongue around her teeth and nearly retched.

“Be quiet,” Sister Leah suggested with a patient smile. “We will bring you food and fresh water and you’ll feel better. Then you can tell us why you were traveling alone.”

“My horse?” Megan asked.

“Horse?” The nuns exchanged knowing glances, which Megan read much too easily. They thought she was not fully awake—that her mind was playing tricks on her.

“My destrier.” Wolf’s horse. “A black stallion with three white stockings and a small white patch on his forehead.”

Three heads slowly wagged side to side. “The farmer brought you in his cart, and ’twas pulled only by a brown workhorse with a back that looked near broken.”

“This is a warhorse, a steed that …” She let her voice drift into silence, for what could she say? That she’d stolen the horse off an outlaw who had kidnapped her and then eventually loved her, as a man loved a woman? That the horse was probably stolen from some nobleman the outlaw had robbed? Swallowing any more arguments, she said instead, “I am on my way to Erbyn.”

“Erbyn?” The first nun, Sister Leah, stared at her with puzzled eyes. “Why?”

“ ’Tis the Lady Sorcha I must see.” Her voice was weak and she could hardly remain half sitting. With a sigh, she fell back on the small bed and the chamber spun before her eyes.

“I’m Sorcha’s sister,” Leah said. “Erbyn is close by.”

With what small amount of strength she had, Megan struggled to sit up again. “Then I must go there. I have to find her and talk to her …”

“Shh. ’Twill all come to pass. First, Megan of Dwyrain, you must get your strength back so you’re able to travel.”

Ice surrounded the edges of Hag’s End Lake, a smooth body of water rumored to be haunted by the ghosts of dead Welsh warriors. Wolf drew up on the reins, motioning for Jagger and Robin to remain silent and invisible in the shadowy forest surrounding the banks. Closing his eyes, Wolf tilted his head. From his mouth came the harsh shriek of a hawk’s cry. The scream split the cold forest air. Jagger blew on his hands. Robin bit on his lower lip.

Wolf waited.

Stillness whispered through the dry leaves and steam seeped from the horses’ nostrils as they breathed hard and stamped impatiently.

“ ’Tis no use,” Jagger finally said.

“Shh!”

They were close to Dwyrain, less than a day’s ride away, and Wolf wasn’t turning back. ’Twas time to face his old enemy and end the burn for revenge that fired in his gut. And time to find Megan, his mind tormented him again. There had been but a few minutes when he’d not thought of her and, in truth, it wasn’t revenge that spurred him on so much as the need to see her again. What if you do see her again? What then? Will you steal her away once more? Bed her ruthlessly? Try to hold her close when she wants nothing to do with you?

Bittersweet agony ripped through his soul. How foolish he’d been to let himself care for her, to let his emotions become entangled with her when he’d vowed years ago never to let a woman close to his heart.

Now he had no choice but to follow his convictions. He could offer her nothing, but he could save her from a marriage that was certain to kill her spirit and dull her bright mind.

So now you’re a god—or a priest? his mind taunted, and Wolf ground his teeth together in frustration. Though she had stood before the altar and pledged her troth to Holt, Wolf believed in his heart that she didn’t love the cur and never would.

Since when do you believe in love?

Ignoring the demons in his head, Wolf lifted his hands to his mouth once more, raised his chin to the sky, and gave the hawk’s mournful cry.

Again, nothing.

“Why not howl like a wolf?” Jagger said and was rewarded with a hard glance.

“And announce to everyone within earshot that I be here?”