Outlaw (Medieval Trilogy 3)

Absently, she rubbed her abdomen, heard her stomach growl again, and wrapped her shawl more tightly around her neck. She only hoped that Sorcha of Erbyn could help her.

Holt eyed his new prisoners with disgust. How easily tricked they’d been, how angry they were that when they’d shouted that they came in peace, they were set upon by half his army. Now they knelt before him, their hands and feet bound, ropes around their necks like common beasts of the field, their noses nearly pressed into the frozen mud and manure behind the stables. Sipping from a mazer of wine, he walked in front of them and felt a grain of satisfaction. Things were finally turning around. These poor, idiotic brutes, sent by Wolf the outlaw, were under his power.

“Did you think I would barter for my wife?” he asked, his long surcoat twirling behind him.

“I only bring the letter.” The big blond one had the nerve to glance upward, but at a lift of his eyebrow, Holt signaled for his soldier to pull on the noose. Oswald was only too happy to wrap the heavy rope one more time around his fist, causing the kneeling cur to cough.

“Aye, you bring a letter from the Wolf.” Holt read the perfect scrawl again. ’Twas true the outlaw was no common man, but educated and, no doubt, from a noble house. “But friend, ’tis not only a gentle missive, but a demand for ransom.”

This time the yellow-haired giant didn’t say a word.

&nb

sp; “Fancy that.” Holt clucked his tongue, then took a long swallow from his cup. “Nay, I think not. Instead I think you and your companion here will join my other guests in the dungeon.”

“Wait!”

Holt’s temper snapped as he spied Cayley striding across the outer bailey. Without being restrained by a wimple, her blond hair flew behind her like a golden banner. Her small face was set with anger, her jaw stretched forward defiantly. He’d taken her for a brainless twit, interested only in herself, but lately, since her father had fallen ill and Megan had been kidnapped, Cayley made herself a much stronger presence than she had been. ’Twas no wonder why Connor wanted to bed her, though Holt had no intention of honoring his bargain with the surly knight. Nay, he had other plans for his feisty sister-in-law. ’Twas almost as if she’d risen to new heights in the face of adversity, and it bored Holt. Now, she was bearing down on the men as if she were driven by an inner fire, her boots clicking on the hard, frozen ground.

“Who are these men?”

“Criminals,” Holt replied, and she wasn’t surprised or even repelled. “ ’Tis no concern of yours.”

“Why not? Am I not the baron’s daughter, his only issue here at the castle?”

“Cayley, dear, this”—he waved toward the men groveling at his feet as if they were insignificant flies swarming over horse dung—“is to be handled by men.”

“I see not why. If they are here to ransom Megan, then give them the money or whatever ’tis they demand.”

So she knew about the ransom. Either she’d been hiding nearby listening to the conversation or she had a spy within his ranks of soldiers—a spy who had run to her with the news. “Nay,” he said with forced patience. “I’ll not pay. ’Tis what the criminals want. They won’t be satisfied with the first demand, but will ask for more, again and again. ’Tis impossible to barter with them. They have no sense of honor.”

“Such as yours?” Something flickered in her gaze, a hint of distrust that he hadn’t seen before.

“Aye, such as mine.” Holt ignored her and glanced at Oswald. “Take them both to the north tower and leave them there until I call for them.”

“Nay. They are our guests. If they can tell us that Megan is well and safe—”

“She is,” the blond one said.

Oh, he was a bold, rebellious one, and Holt could almost feel the snap of his whip as he cracked it over the outlaw’s broad back.

“Where is she being held?”

“That I cannot say.”

“Cannot or will not?”

“She is safe. Unhurt. She will be returned when the demands of the letter are—aahh!” Holt kicked the lying cur in the ribs, the toe of his shoe digging deep in the hard-muscled flesh.

“Where?”

The big man had the insolence to lift his head and glare at Holt with unyielding eyes. Though there was already a bruise forming on his skin, he didn’t flinch when Holt rounded and kicked him again.

“Stop!” Cayley cried. “Do not—”

“Take her away!” Holt ordered to another guard standing near the inner gate.

The soldier hesitated. “But she’s the lord’s daughter—”