With a motion of one finger, Holt gave a silent command to the guard and a fist, hard-knuckled and bare, crashed into the side of his face. Bones crunched. Blood sprayed. Wolf’s knees buckled, but the sentries held him upright. “Why is it you stole her from me?”
“Know you not, Holt?” Wolf asked. “Do you not remember me when Tadd of Prydd had his way with the fisherman’s daughter in a village east of Prydd?”
“I remember not.…” But his voice faded and his jaw grew tight. Clearing his throat, he glared at Wolf.
“Now,” Holt said, dismissing whatever thoughts chased through his evil mind. “Let’s start again. Where’s my wife?”
“Go to hell.”
Holt’s lips flattened over his teeth. “Hell? Interesting that you should bring it up, because I think, when I’m through with you, you’ll wish you were there.” Rubbing the stubble on his jaw, he said to a thick-bodied knight, “Throw him in the dungeon, but not in the same cell with his friends. Torture him slowly, until he tells us what we want to know. When he finally confesses, see that all the rest of the prisoners—the damned sorcerer, the two who rode with this cur, Jack, and Tom, the carpenter’s son—feel the noose tighten around their necks.”
Wolf felt sick. Because of his love for Megan, he’d brought Robin and Jagger to their deaths.
Another flick of Holt’s finger. A fist splintered Wolf’s nose and the world swam again. Wolf felt as if he were drowning, but before he slid beneath the balming waters of unconsciousness, he sputtered, “I’ll see you in hell, Holt.”
Holt shuddered at the words. Why would this man not break? How deep was his need of vengeance for a woman who had been raped … a woman Holt did not remember? “Take the Judas to Ivor and see that his tongue is loosened,” Holt commanded, his nerves jangled. How could one man, beaten and battered and half dead, dare defy him?
Holt had felt a rush of ecstasy when he’d heard that Wolf had been captured in the north tower. Finally, his luck had turned, and he planned to prove Wolf for the traitor he was. There had been too much gossip in the castle, too much speculation that Megan had not been found because she didn’t want to be located, that she’d taken up with her abductor and willingly slept with him, that she was dirtying her marriage vows and laughing at him.
Holt’s stomach turned at that thought. True, he’d not been celibate since his wife had been stolen from him, but with his vexation, he’d needed some comfort. Nell had willingly provided her lush body to him, but it wasn’t enough. Even when Dilys was forced to watch them couple to add to his delight, ’twas an empty union. As he’d gazed down upon Nell’s freckled and gap-toothed mouth, it had been Megan’s face he’d seen and he had nearly tasted her total and complete surrender. He wanted to mount her like a stallion and trumpet in primal lust that she was his and his alone.
Except for the outlaw. If the cur of the forest had bedded her, then Holt planned to cut off each of Wolf’s balls slowly, drawing out the process and savoring the gelding of his enemy.
He finished his wine and met his guards in the chamber deep beneath the north tower that Ewan, the fool, had rarely used. Wolf was deep within the bowels of the keep, spread-eagled upon the floor, still unconscious. More icy water was used to awaken him, and when his eyes blinked open, Holt stood before him.
“Now,” he said, “let’s begin again.”
Wolf felt as if a thousand destriers had trampled upon him. Every muscle ached and his bones felt as if they’d splintered from his joints. Pain, deep and feral, pounded on his body and he was aware that he was in a dark, fetid chamber surrounded by Holt and his men. A huge fire burned bright in one corner, a boy fanning the flames with a bellows.
Holt reached for a long-handled clamp with his gloved hand, and using the tool, dug in the flames until he found a coal that glowed like a red eye in the night.
“You will tell me where my wife is,” Holt said, advancing slowly, the red ember menacingly close to Wolf’s face.
Wolf raised his head, and mustering his strength, spit on the toe of Holt’s boot.
Rage sparked in the new lord’s eyes. “So that’s the way it is, eh? Fine. You’re a fool, Wolf, and I brand you as such.” With that he dropped the coal onto Wolf’s back. White-hot pain seared into his body as flesh singed and burned. Wolf convulsed and bit down on his tongue. They could burn him, slice him, set the beasts of the forest upon him, nearly drown him, but never would he betray Megan.
“Lord Holt!” a soldier cried as Wolf struggled with consciousness.
“Not now. I’m busy!” Holt walked to the fire again, his wicked weapon in his hand.
“But, m’lord—”
Spinning fast, Holt pinned the soldier with harsh, unforgiving eyes. “I said—”
“ ’Tis the lady Megan,” the soldier announced, his gaze moving from Wolf’s singed back to Holt’s face.
Wolf swallowed to keep his stomach contents from spewing from his mouth.
“What of her?”
“She’s here, m’lord, at the castle gates, and she’s demanding to be let in!”
Fourteen
o my wayward bride has returned!” Holt’s eyes gleamed as the winch was turned and the portcullis grated open. Dressed in a crimson velvet surcoat befitting a king, Holt was surrounded by soldiers holding torches and drawn swords. Though he forced a smile, disapproval edged his mouth and brought deep furrows to his forehead. A dozen accusations sizzled in his eyes—questions Megan didn’t want to hear or have to answer.
Astride the bay, Megan shivered but refused to show any sign of weakness. Fear could never be her companion, for courage was her shield. This keep, with its familiar stone walls, tall watchtowers, and wide battlements, was her rightful home, the castle she was to inherit once her brother, poor Bevan, was pronounced dead. Squaring her shoulders, she stared straight at the husband she loathed. “I needs speak with my father,” she said, bracing herself for the ugly truth.