Some of the men were out hunting game, others were guarding the camp, and a few others had ridden away on their own missions. Several of the ruffians and the old woman, Isolde, lingered in the camp. Hagan hadn’t asked about them; he was better off not knowing which laws were being broken and by whom.
“We must go back to Erbyn,” he said as Wolf began to sharpen his dagger on a whetstone. “We have little time.”
“There is time.”
Hagan’s temper flared. “Nay—”
“Patience,” Wolf snapped, sliding his thin blade over the smooth rock. His eyes shadowed over with a memory that he didn’t bother to share. “I learned patience a long while ago; now ’tis your time to understand so simple a virtue.”
“But Sorcha—”
“Is not married yet.”
“How do you know this?”
“As I told you, I have spies at Erbyn,” Wolf said with more than a hint of pride. Click, click, click, the tiny weapon gleamed in the firelight.
Hagan’s fists curled in vexation. Never had he felt so helpless, and the feeling gnawed at him. “Who are these traitors?”
“None of your trustworthy men, rest assured, but a few of Darton’s followers who drink too much. When their tongues are loose and their loins hot, they lie with poor wenches who, for a little silver, are willing to share their tales.”
Hagan snorted. “You rely on gossip from whores.”
Wolf grinned and wiped his knife upon his leggings. “This bothers you?”
“Everything bothers me, and there is no time to waste. Look, outlaw, I would reward you well if you would help me free Lady Sorcha.”
Wolf considered. “How well?”
“All your crimes would be forgiven.”
He sheathed his dagger and lifted a shoulder. “I care not that there be a price upon my head.”
“That is not all. Half of all that is mine, I will give to you.”
Wolf rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. “Land?”
“Aye, and a castle. One that is not far from Prydd.”
“That is a great amount, Lord Hagan,” Wolf said with a sneer. “You are generous.”
Generous? Nay. Desperate. And impatient. “My offer only stands if we start today to save the lady.”
“I want none of your wealth, m’lord,” Wolf said with more than a trace of sarcasm. Hagan felt as if a stone had been thrust upon his soul, for without Wolf’s help, he would have to return to Erbyn alone—trick the outlaws, steal his horse, and begin the journey back to the castle. He wasn’t afraid of returning by himself, but he knew that there was might in numbers, and even this tattered group of robbers was better than no army at all.
Wolf’s eyes slitted at the darkening heavens. “I want only Tadd of Prydd,” he said with such a low voice that Hagan wondered at his intense hatred.
“He is yours. But we must hurry.”
Wolf lowered his blue eyes and gazed at Hagan. “Worry not, I ride in the morning.”
“To Erbyn.”
“Nay, to the north. To Abergwynn.”
“Abergwynn?” Hagan said, remembering the huge castle from his youth. As large as Erbyn, the castle was a fortress with wide curtain walls and tall towers. Its battlements, ramparts, and towers were said to be impenetrable. Garrick, the ruler, was fearless, a warrior whose reputation cast fear into many who rode outside the law. Yet this outlaw seemed to think the baron could be persuaded to their cause.
“How do you know the Baron of Abergwynn?” Hagan asked suspiciously.