Outlaw (Medieval Trilogy 3)

“Who?”

Megan had to fight a glimmer of hope.

“I know not.” Cupping his hands around his mouth, the sentry yelled down to those on the outside of the portal, “Who goes there?”

“Damn it, man,” Holt thundered. “I care not if it’s the bloody king! Can’t you see I’m with my wife?! Leave them be ’til morning!” Strong despite his wounds, he headed for the keep and hauled Megan with him.

“M’lord!” Again, the priest tried to intervene. “Please, Holt, listen to me. As God is my witness, you must not kill these men, nor harm this woman.”

“As God is my witness, you and your false sense of piety bore me, Timothy. You are a traitor.” His eyes swept the crowd that was beginning to gather and gape. “Yes, the good priest has betrayed me,” he said to his subjects, “as many of you have, and I will not—will never—allow any kind of insubordination.” He snapped his fingers.

Hiss! Thwack!

The priest screamed in pain as an arrow pierced him from behind.

Megan gasped in horror.

“Oh, Jesus, Lord, forgive me of my sins!” Timothy fell forward, first to his knees and finally onto his face.

Someone in the crowd screamed. A horse reared and lashed out with its hooves and Holt sneered at the blood staining the priest’s robes. “Now I suppose he can speak with God more easily.”

“You brute!” Reeling away from him, Megan dove toward the fallen man. “Father Timothy, oh, Timothy—” she said, cradling his head. “Call for the physician or Rue!”

“Leave him be!” Holt commanded as the doctor pushed through the crowd. Reaching down, he jerked Megan to her feet. “Weep not for the priest.”

Wolf lunged, but was restrained, and Holt laughed at his futile efforts while Megan again fought tears and fury that such horrors had happened in her beloved Dwyrain.

Groaning, the priest lifted his head and began chanting prayers. Blood spread over his robes, and the bottoms of his bare feet turned upward, showing calluses and corns in the shimmering moonlight. “Make an example of him as well,” Holt ordered. “When he’s bled to death, gut him and mount his head over the south tower.”

“Father, take me now,” Timothy prayed.

“Nay!” Megan ordered, whirling on Holt. “You are a fiend!” To the soldiers, she commanded, “I’m mistress of this castle, and I say you let the prisoners go free and see that Father Timothy is seen by the doctor and—”

Slap! Holt’s hand connected with her face, sending her spinning. Pain blinded her. Blood slipped from her lip. She started to fall, but Holt caught her before she hit the ground and in one swift motion, hauled her over his shoulder.

The earth swayed and heaved and she caught a glimpse of Wolf, lunging forward, trying to reach her, screaming something she couldn’t hear as she pounded on Holt’s back and kicked.

His laugh was brittle as a leaf in January, and several burly soldiers restrained Wolf.

“You’ll find out what happens when a woman defies me,” Holt promised, limping and swearing as he carried her up the stairs to the keep. She pounded on his back and kicked wildly, hoping to land one of her blows in his wound, but he shifted his weight so that she could not draw any more blood.

“Bastard! Fiend! Dirty son of a—”

“If you do not want to see your traitor of a lover killed right now, you’ll stop!” Holt growled, and she quit moving in an instant. She bit her tongue in her efforts not to scream at him, but she knew she would never accept her fate.

Desperation clawing at his soul, Wolf watched in silent agony as the woman he loved was torn from him and hauled up the stairs of the keep to be raped by the man she’d wed. Rage thundered through his blood, pounding in his brain, nearly blinding him.

Holt’s soldiers dragged him roughly toward the prison, but as Holt’s hand connected with Megan’s cheek, Wolf roared in fury. Pivoting sharply and snarling, he flung off the men restraining him as if they were stuffed with down.

“Hey, what the bloody hell—”

Wolf snatched an arrow from a guard’s quiver, then rammed the deadly tip deep into the man’s neck. As the soldier squealed and bled, Wolf snatched his sword and began swinging.

Jagger, though blindfolded, heard the sounds of battle and threw his considerable weight at his guard. He sent the man reeling, tore off his blindfold, and with his wrists bound, leaped upon his captor, snapped his neck in his powerful hands, and grabbed the guard’s sword. “Now, men!” he yelled.

Jack and Robin tore off their blindfolds. Tom kicked a guard in the shin and Ian reached to the ground, found rocks, and hurled them at a horse’s haunches. A destrier neighed in fear and tore through the crowd. Other beasts followed, scattering soldiers and peasants.

“Bloody hell!” one soldier exclaimed.