Outlaw (Medieval Trilogy 3)

hurried across the bent, frozen grass, her stomach rumbled at the smell of smoke mingling with the scent of sizzling meat. A side of pork roasted on a spit over an open fire, turned by a dog rigged to the contraption as it ran in circles.

Chapel bells pealed softly, reverberating in Megan’s heart and reminding her of her mission to untie herself from this unwanted marriage. Father Timothy hurried across the bailey and Megan stiffened. She trusted not his piety or his words. “Welcome, m’lady,” he said with a worried smile. He’d become thinner since she’d seen him last and his air of superiority was missing this morning. “ ’Tis sad news you’ve come home to.”

“Aye,” she said, nodding.

“The lady needs her rest,” Holt said swiftly while clamping possessive fingers over Megan’s forearm.

“Of course.” Timothy nodded, but his eyes never left Megan’s face. ’Twas as if he was trying to silently speak with her. “I’ve said the Mass for your father and I prayed that you or your sister would have been there when he was laid to rest. ’Twas a pity he had no family at his bedside near the end or at his burial—”

“No family? But Cayley …” Dread strangled the words in her throat while Holt glared at the priest. “… was she too ill to attend Mass?” she asked, fear and suspicion mingling in her mind. Had Holt deceived her? “Do not tell me that my sister is on her deathbed.”

“Oh, no, I only meant that she wasn’t in the chapel during Mass when your father—”

Holt coughed loudly and the fingers tightened over her arm. “Excuse us, Father,” he said, “but the lady is tired from her journey and we’ve not had any time together as husband and wife.” His voice was soft and filled with suggestion. “You understand.”

Timothy blushed. “Aye—”

“Wait!” Megan whirled on the hated man who was her husband. “Why would Cayley not attend my father’s funeral Mass?”

“She was not here,” Holt admitted.

“Where was she?” Megan’s heart blood turned to ice. Something evil was happening here at Dwyrain, something she didn’t understand, something that involved her sister.

“Lady Cayley left.”

“Left?” She turned to the priest so quickly that a gust of wind caught her hood and tore it from her head.

Father Timothy stared at her for a heartbeat, cleared his throat, and nodded. “Aye.”

Holt scratched his upper lip. “I did not want to worry you—”

“So you told me she was ill?” Megan spat. Vile, treacherous man!

“She was kidnapped by a prisoner who escaped. A big yellow-haired brute who used her as a shield as he made his way out through the gates—”

“Bjorn?” Megan said, her mind spinning in restless worrisome circles as she recalled him at the outlaw camp. Shaking her head, she said, “Nay, he would not …”

“He was desperate,” Holt inserted, shooting a look at the priest as if to stop any disagreement from the man of God. “He and the other man—”

“Cormick,” Megan said under her breath, unable to hear over the painful hammering of her heart.

“—aye, they tried to escape. The one you call Cormick was killed in his attempt to flee the castle, but the other used Cayley as his hostage and was able to elude my men.”

“Liar!” she said, feeling revulsion as the earth shifted beneath her feet. Not only was her father dead, but Cormick, gentle, gruff Cormick, as well. Because of Holt. “Bjorn would never use another’s life to save his.”

“So you know him well?” Holt was not pleased. Several deep clefts appeared in the skin between his eyebrows.

“Aye, and he’s a good man, a—”

“Criminal. Wanted by the law. A robber, thief, pickpocket, murderer, or rapist, most likely. Your precious criminal is no better than the scum of the earth.”

“No, Holt, methinks you alone retain that honor,” she argued, thankful that her sister was free from the rein of terror that was sure to ruin Dwyrain and everything Cayley held dear. Run, Cayley, she silently thought, run fast and never return!

Holt’s jaw clenched and the fingers around her arm dug deep into her flesh. “So my wife has come home only to defy me.”

“And annul the marriage.”

Holt laughed. “Christ Jesus, you be a saucy tart! ’Twill never happen.” He leaned closer to her, his voice low and rough to her ear. “I’ve waited long for you, wife, but tonight the waiting ends and I will get you with child. Then, not even God Himself would dare break our union.”