Outlaw (Medieval Trilogy 3)

“Well, that’s a bit of a problem, you see.” Holt glanced from her and shook his head slowly. Despair burrowed deep in her soul and she knew before he spoke a word that the old crone had been right. “Baron Ewan passed on a few days ago, I’m afraid.”

Megan thought she’d steeled herself, but when the dreaded words rolled so easily off Holt’s tongue, her insides turned to jelly. A mind-numbing wave of grief washed over her, extinguishing the solitary flame of hope that had burned so brightly in her heart. Oh, Father, she silently cried, I abandoned you. Had I returned sooner, mayhap I could have forestalled your death. Swaying upon the mare’s back, she grabbed the saddle’s pommel, blinked for a second, and fought the tears that blocked her throat.

Dawn was breaking over the walls of the keep but the joy she should have felt at returning to her home, the castle where she’d grown up, withered away. Father, mother, brother, and baby sister, nearly everyone gone. Only Cayley remained, and that thought brought her a ray of happiness. At least she was not alone.

Do not forget that you carry Wolf’s child in your womb. You will never be alone or without one you love. She took a small bit of comfort in that thought.

“I’ve upset you,” Holt said, with feigned remorse as he lifted a hand to her, and the sun, fettered by a thin layer of clouds, offered some illumination to the winter-cold castle. “I’m sorry about your father’s death—’tis a tragedy.” Holt motioned to her horse, and receiving the unspoken command, one of his men, Elwin, a gangly youth who nearly tripped over his own feet, charged forward and grabbed her mount’s reins. The thin straps of leather slipped through her fingers and she silently cursed herself for letting down her guard.

“Come in, wife, and warm yourself.”

’Twas time to set matters straight. “Make no mistake, Sir Holt, I’m not—nor will I ever be—your wife!”

“Did I not hear you vow in front of God, country, and everyone in this keep that I was to be your husband?”

“ ’Twas my father’s bidding. He’s gone. I no longer have to try to please him.”

“Too late, Megan,” he said without the slightest inflection as his jaw turned to granite. Determination flickered in his gaze and Megan knew more than a moment’s fear. This man—heavily muscled and ruthless—was not about to be denied. “Surely you’ve not forgotten that the priest married us, and by the law of the land, as well as that of the church, you are now and for the rest of your days bound to me.”

She didn’t move, but the words crashed over her, echoing through her brain over and over again, like a monk’s damning cadence. “Come, Megan,” Holt said with a hard, unforgiving smile as he motioned for her to climb down from her mare. “You’re tired and need rest. I trust you were able to elude the outlaw who ransomed you.”

Feeling like Judas, she nodded woodenly, telling herself not to think about Wolf and her love for him, that if she pushed him to a far corner of her mind, the pain in her heart would lessen. She could never be with him as wife to a husband—not that he would want that—nor could she be his wench, not as long as she was married to Holt. Bitterness crept into her soul and she prayed for an end to a marriage that had never begun, a marriage that should never have existed. Her heart belonged in the forest with the outlaw who wore the name of the beast of the night. Though she’d tried to turn her mind against him, to pretend that he was nothing but an uncivilized rogue, a criminal who hid in the woods and preyed upon innocent travelers, she couldn’t. She loved him far too deeply. ’Twas her curse.

Holt was staring at her and she forced the image of Wolf’s handsome face from her mind. “Has … has my father been laid to rest?”

“Aye. This morn. In the chapel cemetery.”

Pain ripped through her, as she was unable to say goodbye or see again the man who had sired her, taught her to ride and shoot a bow and arrow, the man who had taught her to look for the finer points of a horse, and, in the end, thinking he was doing what was best for her, insisted she marry Holt. Heart heavy, she said, “I need to visit his grave and speak with Cayley.”

Holt’s eyebrow quirked upward and he smiled, opening his hands to her. “Then come into the keep. She’s not been well and—”

“What?” Megan’s head snapped up and she stared at Holt. Her pulse pounded a dread-inspired tempo. Cayley was the last living member of her family. Nothing could be wrong with her. Nothing!

“ ’Tis true,” he said, frowning thoughtfully. “Since your father’s death, the lady has been beside herself and the physician knows not if ’tis something within her or only her grief causing her so much pain.”

“For the love of Jesus, take me to her,” Megan said, her own sorrow forgotten in the thought that she might be able to help her sister. Every muscle in her body ached from days of riding without much rest, but she needed to see the one remaining member of her family. Though they’d often fought as children, she and Cayley were close and had shared many a secret between them.

Dismounting in one swift motion, she was grateful her legs held her, for she wanted not any help from Holt. Though ’twas early, the castle was coming to life with the approaching morning. Peasants, soldiers, and servants alike began to cross the bailey, and she smiled at the faces she recognized—the baker and miller, wheelwright and ale conner. Boys of every age lugged firewood, sacks of grain, and baskets of stones. Girls, too, were busy gathering eggs, tossing seeds to the chickens, carrying laundry to the creek, or checking the eel traps in the pond. Water was being drawn from the well and the farrier’s hammer was already clanking against his anvil.

“Hey, look! ’Tis the lady!” one of Cook’s helpers, who was hauling a side of venison, said.

“ ’Tis!” Nell, this time, carrying a pail of milk.

“Wonder what ’appened to her with that outlaw?” the miller’s wife asked.

A giggle. “ ’E was a handsome devil, ’e was.”

“Look at her. Wonder what she’s thinkin’? Poor lass, losing her father while she was gone.”

“Lady Megan!” Rue cried out, and Megan smiled as she spied her old nursemaid. Never had there been a kinder-hearted soul than Rue. Plucking her skirts upward so the hems would not become soiled, the old woman started across the bailey, but at a signal from Holt, one of the men detained her.

So this was how it was going to be.

“Come, Megan, Cook will fix you something warm while you see to Cayley. Mayhap you can make her feel better,” Holt said, and Megan caught the unspoken messages being exchanged among some of his men. Something wasn’t right in the castle, and ’twas more than her father’s death that caused the eerie feeling to settle upon her.

But she had to see her sister.

As she