Outlaw (Medieval Trilogy 3)

“Take her!” Holt was sick of excuses and whining and pathetic attempts by the men to weasel out of their assigned tasks. “Do it now. Lock her in her room.”

“Nay, Holt, you cannot!” Cayley cried, frantic. “You must keep these men safe!”

“I can do anything I wish, and I will,” he said, his hands curling around the stem of his mazer just as Father Timothy hurried out of the chapel. The clumsy priest nearly stumbled over the hem of his robe at the sight that met his eyes, and for a second Holt thought the priest had drunk too much of the holy wine again. Lately, Timothy had been having second thoughts about his allegiance to Holt and he, as a minion of the Almighty, was becoming a royal pain in the arse.

“You are not yet baron!” Cayley cried.

Holt turned to the immediate problem of Cayley’s newfound sense of injustice. “ ’Tis only a matter of time, m’lady, before the baron leaves this earth.”

She gasped. “Nay!”

He couldn’t help but smile. He crooked his neck, hitching his head in the direction of the keep as he ordered the nearest soldier, “Post a sentry at her door.”

“I’ll not be treated as a prisoner!”

Holt rolled his eyes. “Of course you will, m’lady,” he drawled, “unless you do as you’re told, which seems to be harder for you each day. Now, guard, take her.”

He watched as a knight, a silly fool of a lad named Foster, grabbed Cayley’s arm and led her toward the keep. The girl fought and argued, yanking hard against the hard manacle of the lad’s grip, but Foster forced her across the snow-dusted grass of the bailey.

One of Holt’s first duties as new lord would be to marry her off, and not to Connor, who wanted her so badly. Nay, Cayley, the beautiful, mule-headed daughter of Ewan of Dwyrain, would be worth much to some of the older barons whose wives had died. He would have to pay no dowry, because there was one man, Baron Rolf of Castle Henning, a tired old soldier, who was rumored to like to watch his young wives play and mate with his soldiers or servant boys while he watched. ’Twas said that Rolf had an entire chamber filled with peepholes where he could witness his wife’s seduction and betrayal, then find her unfit as the lady of his castle. Four of his wives had died and two had disappeared, run away, it seemed. Yea, Rolf would be a good choice to tame Cayley.

As soon as he was baron, Holt would force her to marry.

Today, however, ’twas his mission to deal with the two traitors who dared try and sell him his wife. “Take them away,” he ordered the soldiers who held the ropes surrounding their necks. He finished his wine. “I’ll flog them later.”

Father Timothy made the sign of the cross over his chest as he watched Cayley being dragged into the keep against her will. “In the name of our God, Holt,” he said in a low, desperate voice as his gaze shifted over the few meager troops still holding the prisoners, “what are you thinking?”

“I’ll have no disrespect,” Holt said, tired of arguing with everyone. Cayley was supposed to be her submissive self and the priest had promised to be his ally. Now … since the time the sorcerer had been dragged into the dungeon, loyalty to him had begun to waver, Cayley appeared to have grown a backbone, and the priest was suddenly God-fearing.

Father Timothy eyed the two new captives, then his gaze wandered after Cayley again. She was struggling like a beast from hell against the soldier’s grasp as he hauled her up the steps of the keep. From the corner of his mouth, Timothy said, “Lady Cayley cannot be treated like a common wench, and these men,” he motioned to the new prisoners, “if they bring word of Lady Megan, should be taken in as guests of the baron.”

“Even if they bring a note of ransom from the outlaw Wolf?” Holt asked, arching one eyebrow disdainfully. “I think not.”

“ ’Twould be the Christian gesture to offer them—”

“Food and shelter?” Holt cut in sarcastically as he sneered at the two captives. “Or, mayhap a cup of wine and a trencher of brawn? Or … wait, they might prefer a night in bed with a wench from the kitchen!”

“Nay, Holt, do not mock me. ’Tis only that if you are to become baron, you must look like a fair and even-tempered leader.”

“ ’Tis not a matter of ‘if,’ but ‘when’ I become baron, Timothy,” Holt said, his eyes narrowing on the soldiers and prisoners. “ ’Twould be a good idea to remember where your allegiance lies, for I know much about you.”

The priest’s face sobered and turned a sick shade of gray. ’Twas so easy to humble a prideful man whose guilt and piety constantly battled with each other. “Aye, ’tis right you are,” Timothy said and crossed himself hurriedly.

Holt chuckled. “Amen.” He motioned to his beaten prisoners. “Take their sorry arses into the dungeon and put them in the lowest cells, next to the sorcerer. Mayhap we’ll get lucky and he’ll place a curse on them so that they’ll talk.”

The blond one sneered and the other glared with eyes filled with hate. Well, let them rot. There would be no bartering with him about his wife, and if he ever found the outlaw rogue who had stolen her away, he’d personally see the man drawn and quartered.

Cayley paced from one end of her chamber to the other. Who would save her father now that she’d been foolish enough to get herself trapped in her room? For the past few days, ever since the sorcerer had convinced her that Ewan’s wine had been poisoned, she’d poured out his mazer and filled it herself. She had no idea who was fouling his drink, though she’d tried to watch as Cook prepared Ewan’s dinner. Nell sometimes carried Ewan’s tray to him, as had she. There were others as well, pages and serving girls, none of whom Cayley thought would try to kill the baron. No, the poison had to have come from Holt, who was rarely in the kitchens … but he visited her father daily to report to Ewan about what was happening within and without the thick walls of Dwyrain, and though Ewan hardly responded, Holt considered it his responsibility to tell the old baron everything.

And doctor his drink?

Cayley’s heart sank. It didn’t matter that she had poured Ewan wine from a new jug before his tray was taken to him. The dark deed was done later.

How could she have been so blind? “Father, I’m sorry,” she said softly, wishing there was a means of escape from her chamber and knowing there was none.

She should have confided in someone, but she’d been frightened and wasn’t sure whom to trust anymore. The castle had once been a happy place where she’d grown up in the glow of her parents’ love, with siblings around her. ’Twas no longer. In the past two years, Dwyrain had become dark and sinister, not the same safe haven she’d lived in all her life.

She no longer walked freely through the gardens of marigolds and fragrant roses, nor did she linger at the dovecote,