Outlaw (Medieval Trilogy 3)

“Do not lie, Megan. You’ve been planning to escape since you first arrived. I saw you eyeing the horses and searching the woods. You’ve watched the men in the camp all day and even this night, hoping you’ll discover where the sentries are posted and who they be.”

Swallowing hard, she mentally kicked herself. How had she been so obvious?

He reached into a bag on the floor and withdrew a length of soft cord. “Give me your hands.”

“Nay.”

A muscle worked at the edge of his jaw. “Would you rather I force you?”

“Please, Wolf, do not bind me,” she pleaded, and he hesitated, his eyes searching hers, his lips folding in on themselves.

“And I would have your word that you will not try to escape?”

“As God is my witness,” she said, hoping the Lord didn’t strike her dead for the lie.

He looped the cord through both his hands, stretching it tight. “Then I’ll give you a choice, Megan of Dwyrain,” he said slowly. “You can sleep alone with your wrists bound. Or—”

“Or?” she repeated, her heart knocking crazily, the air in the tent suddenly too heavy to breathe.

“Or I will make my bed in here with you and you can sleep unbound.” One of his dark eyebrows lifted insolently and she quivered inside at the eager gleam in his deep blue eyes. “So tell me, m’lady,” he urged, snapping the cord again, “what will it be?”

Four

lankets tossed over his legs, Wolf leaned against the trunk of a tree and stared at his tent. His men were scattered about the fire, some in temporary shelters of their own, while others, the few who could stand no walls, were curled up as he was, beneath the shelter of a tree, the hilts of their swords and knives in their closed fists. Heath, Cormick, and Dominic slept fitfully, as if they’d spent too many years in closed dungeons behind iron bars. Guards were posted, their eyes searching the darkness as, ever vigilant, they tended the fire and walked around the edge of the camp.

Wolf was certain Megan would try to escape. Would he not attempt the same if he were the one who had been abducted? No small cord around his wrists would stop him. Nay, he didn’t blame her for wanting to return to her home, even if it were to share a bed with Holt of Prydd. His stomach turned at the thought and a new emotion, one akin to hot jealousy, crept through his blood. He didn’t like the feeling, for he prided himself on his solitude, for his need for no one else, especially a woman.

So she would try to escape and he would catch her and then he would end up sleeping in the tent with her, on the same pallet, under the same furs and blankets with her breathing softly in his ear, her body warm and comforting.

’Twould be hell. Even at the thought of it, his lust stirred. He’d been long without a woman, and none had touched him as had this one with her condemning golden eyes and tongue as sharp as a fine dagger’s blade, this woman Holt had chosen for his bride. Saints in heaven, ’twas his curse to lust after his enemy’s woman.

He’d planned to cut her hair, hoping to make her appear more manlike, to disguise her if they were accosted by Holt’s men and also so that she would be less attractive, less feminine, so as not to distract his men or himself. But he had not been able to go through with it, and ’twould not have mattered, for hers was a beauty that was not bits and pieces—eyes, hair, lips—but all-encompassing. He attempted to force his thoughts to a different path, but his wayward mind would have none of it. He could not concentrate on plans for moving the camp, or hunting for the next meal, or training Robin with a sword; no, his mind was determined to settle on Megan, with her wide eyes the color of honey and red-brown hair spread out around her face. The curls were thick and rich and he wanted to bury his face in their scented strands and lose himself in the wonder that was this woman.

Yea, the thought of sleeping with her held more than a little appeal. He dug the heel of his boot into the ground as he remembered the few glimpses he’d caught of her breasts, pale and full, her nipples dark, ripe spheres beckoning his touch. He’d seen the length of her spine as she’d shed her wedding dress, the gentle valley that curved to split her small, round rump.

Stifling a groan, he shifted, damning his manhood that had sprung to life at the thought of coupling with her. How glorious ’twould be to join his body to hers, to thrust deep into the warm well of her womanhood, to collapse on those soft, welcoming breasts.

Aside from the pure physical comfort he would receive, Wolf considered there to be no greater humiliation for his old enemy than for Wolf to steal Holt’s wife’s

virginity. Even if she were not a virgin, ’twould be an insult of the highest order for a hated adversary to take her before she could lie with her husband.

Smiling in the darkness, Wolf savored that particular thought, but an old, unwanted streak of nobility, one he hadn’t been able to discard no matter how hard he’d tried, wouldn’t allow him to attempt to seduce the woman. Though she was a fool for marrying Holt, his intent was not to hurt her. His grin faded. Such a simple plan was suddenly complicated. He should ransom her now rather than wait. For though he enjoyed the thought of Holt twisting in the wind, not knowing where his bride was—whether she was alive or dead—keeping her was dangerous, not only because of the threat of Holt’s men finding them, but for other reasons as well—reasons that touched his heart and frightened him. In a few days … then he’d contact his old enemy and ransom the feisty woman.

He picked up a stick on the ground and idly shredded the bark from the softer white wood. Robin had offered to stand guard at Megan’s door and now, seated near the flap, his arms crossed over his knees, his head lolling, he was falling asleep. With a snort, the boy shook his head to awaken, but within seconds his head was falling forward again.

Robin wanted so much to be a man; he was eager to prove himself and would someday make a challenge for the leadership of their outlaw band.

Wolf understood a boy’s need to be considered an adult far better than anyone, including Robin, could know. He, too, had been a young eager pup, ever ready to take command of Abergwynn, the castle he’d left long ago in the life he’d shed.

Now, obviously, Robin was fascinated with Megan, the first woman the lad had seen and spoken with since Wolf had saved him from the jailer. Wolf knew the emotion. ’Twas all he could do to keep his hands off her and see that his men, a randy, vicious lot, did, as well.

One of his men, Simon, had once bragged of taking a woman by force and Wolf’s justice had been swift. Within seconds he’d knocked away Simon’s weapon and pressed the blade of his sword to Simon’s long, skinny neck. Simon had been tall and strong, his face pockmarked, his eyes never warm. He’d had arguments and fights with some of the men, and so it was with no regret that Wolf had stripped him of his clothes, horse, and weapons; banished him from the band; and left him, tied and bound, naked as the day he was born, screaming obscenities in the middle of a town to the east of Erbyn.

Simon had sworn vengeance, spitting and kicking and vowing to slice Wolf to ribbons, but Wolf had not worried. Simon was a coward, a bully who loved to prove he was stronger than those weaker—especially women.

Wolf had no stomach for rape and he would not let any of his men near Megan for fear that they might not be able to control themselves around a woman. There would be brawls and harsh words, all because they would want her attention. ’Twas the way of men—the curse of being born male. Even young Robin was already smitten.

This was one plan he hadn’t thought through well enough. Was he not as bad as his men—mayhap worse? Though he would defend her honor to the death rather than see her taken by force, was he not, even now, planning her seduction? The thought of making love to Megan over and over again was a welcome balm, and he felt that if given enough time, he could seduce her. But seduction thought out so carefully, planned without her knowledge, was probably not so much better than forcing her. Even though stealing Holt’s wife’s virtue would be great revenge, a way to further humiliate his enemy, and it appealed to Wolf’s sense of justice for the rape of Mary, he couldn’t, wouldn’t, abuse Megan thus.