Outlaw (Medieval Trilogy 3)

“Aye, but they need a new leader.”

“Why?”

“ ’Tis time.” Wolf sighed. “What say you?”

A corner of Bjorn’s mouth lifted. “I know not if ’tis an honor to be the leader of so foulmouthed and ill-tempered a group.”

“Well, I’ll be jiggered. If ye won’t be the new—”

“I’ll do it,” Bjorn said.

“ ’Tis thanks I owe you,” Wolf said, glancing to the window of Megan’s room, where the owl was perched and blinking against the winter rays of the sun. “You saved my life and that of those in the castle.”

Bjorn shook his head. “As ye saved mine years ago.”

The two men clasped hands and Odell spat in disgust as the men Wolf had been close to—Heath, Peter, Robin, Jack, and the lot—came to shake his hand, forgiving him for the death of Cormick.

“The lady,” Robin asked, his cheeks reddening a bit. “How is she?”

The pain in Wolf’s heart was great, but he said, “She’ll be fine, Robin lad. She’ll be fine.”

He only hoped it wasn’t a lie.

Hagan’s troops left on the third day and Cayley, sitting in for the absent baroness, was in charge. She was young and pretty, but stronger than Wolf had ever thought possible, helping tend to the sick and wounded while dealing with the squabbles of some of the peasants and ensuring that the castle kept running.

The only time Wolf wondered about her strength was when she said goodbye to his band of thugs, for she appeared to be fighting for self-control, and as Bjorn and his ragged group filed through the gatehouse, she bit her lips and dashed aside tears that had formed in the corners of her eyes.

Elsewise, she was an able and caring leader. She spent hours with Megan, sitting with her, praying for her, and ordering the servants to care for her.

Cadell had done what he could, and Megan, bedridden, was still with child. But the days stretched long and she was tired, her face pale, worry shining in her beautiful ale-colored eyes. Wolf didn’t leave her side. While Rue and Cayley tended to her, he’d turn his back and stand at the window, but as she regained her strength, he stayed with her. ’Twas as if he was afraid she might slip away again.

’Twas nearly a week before she seemed alive again. There was color in her cheeks for the first time since the battle, and she smiled at him.

“The baby?” she asked, biting her lip.

“Cadell and Rue did everything they could,” he said, frowning, “but you lost a lot of blood.”

“Oh,” she murmured, the pain in her heart inconsolable.

“But the flow—it stopped on the second day—and if you can keep yourself in bed, there’s still hope.” But she saw the doubt in his eyes. He was trying to give her hope when there was none. Oh, sweet, sweet baby, she silently cried, but pushed the painful thought aside.

“Tell me … Holt?”

“Is dead.”

That much she vaguely remembered, though the days were lost to her and one was like any other. She knew not how much time had passed, nor did she care. “Many of his men were slain as well, and Cayley has not punished their wives or children, but kept them here.”

“Is she a wise ruler?”

“Very.” Wolf sat on the corner of her bed and held her hand. “Connor is in prison and Father Timothy is staving off death, though ’tis a miracle.”

As he talked, Megan tried to shake off the shroud of guilt that had been her cloak ever since feeling her unborn baby’s precious life begin to slip away. She’d dreamed of the child, as she had of Bevan, sweet little Roz, her father and mother.

“Cadell has returned to the forest, though he will visit, and Jovan the apothecary is in the dungeon, for ’twas he who gave Holt the poison that killed your father.”

“So much treachery,” she said and closed her eyes. Wolf placed his arms around her and held her fast against him.

A week passed before she had the strength to rise and walk on shaky legs to the window. The cold breath of winter touched her face as she looked into the bailey and saw that the hated gallows had been destroyed, the timbers broken apart, to be used for firewood.