Outlaw (Medieval Trilogy 3)

“This concerns you not,” Wolf said.

“Then why should I have to leave?” Crossing her ankles, and tucking her arms under her breasts, she turned her face up saucily and smiled, silently begging him to continue.

“Megan, please,” he said with a quiet calm that was more frightening than a furious rage. “ ’Tis man-talk.”

“Have I not cooked for you?”

The men exchanged glances, but no one argued.

“Have I not helped mend your torn breeches? And you, Peter, did I not find some softer fabric for your eye patch?”

“Aye,” he agreed, though he wouldn’t meet her stare.

“And Dominic, when you needed help cleaning the weaponry, did I not offer assistance?” Before he could answer, her gaze swept to Heath. “I’ve helped you tan hides, and Lord knows I’ve done my share with Odell.”

Several men laughed and nodded their heads.

There was a quiet muttering in the background as Heath whispered something to Peter.

“Have I not cleaned, hunted, and helped make camp?”

“Can’t argue there,” Robin said, his eyes shining in awe as he looked at her.

She stood slowly, inching up her chin, standing toe to toe with the lord and master of the outlaws, the man called Wolf, the renegade to whom she’d unwillingly given her heart. “And have I not, when you were injured, stitched you together and balmed your wounds?”

A muscle in the side of his jaw tightened.

“Why then, just because I am not a man—nay, because I am your guest—would I not be allowed to listen and speak my mind? Have I not done everything I could to help you?”

“But you tried to escape.”

“And failed.”

“Why not let her listen in?” Dominic rolled his hands toward the darkening sky.

“Aye, but she’s got no say.” Jagger, sitting on a rock, hung his hands between his legs and shook his head. “The rule is ‘no women—’ ”

“So be it!” Wolf declared. “Sit, Megan; hear what we have to say, because I lied when I told you the talk is none of your concern.” He glanced around the fire to each of his men, their hooded cloaks dusted with snow and their faces illuminated by the golden flames. Megan eased back onto her stump but heard the knell of doom thundering in her ears. “Bjorn and Cormick have already been sent to Dwyrain. In Bjorn’s pouch, he carries a letter from me that states that I have Holt’s wife and am willing to return her in exchange for gold.”

Megan felt as if the world had begun to spin.

“Just like that?” Odell wondered aloud.

“It should have been done a week ago.”

“By the gods,” Odell whispered.

Megan’s heart pounded painfully in her chest. No! No! No! she inwardly cried. She could not think of leaving. Not now. Not ever! “You are sending me away?” she asked, her voice catching. Somewhere nearby, an owl hooted mournfully.

“Aye. Your father is ill, Megan,” he said gently. “The day I took you from the castle, he fell and had to be carried to his bed, where he has remained.”

“Nay!” she cried. She knew, of course, that her father was no longer the strong leader that he’d once been, that ofttimes he’d been confused, that he’d even thought that he talked with her dead mother and Baby Roz, but Megan refused to think Ewan would die soon and refused to believe the painful words. “ ’Tis but a trick to lure me back there.”

“No trick,” Wolf said gently, then cast a tormented glance to the stars just starting to appear in the vast, dark sky. “Asides, you needs be with your husband.”

“After what you told me of him, you would send me back?”

“ ’Twas not I who married him,” he reminded her. “And in my letter, I’ve demanded that as part of your ransom, no injury befall you. Should I hear that you are being mistreated, I’ve vowed to storm the castle, sneak into his bedchamber, and cut out his heart.”