Authors: Sophia Johnson
“Ha. Worse than it has already? Ne’er have I seen a more impatient man,” she muttered as she wove her way through the trees until she felt the rope grow taut. Keeping tension on it, she backtracked to secure it around a tree. As she did so, she felt him tug on the other end.
“Do ye think to topple me into the brambles?” she called out as she cut the rope from her ankle. Her footsteps silent and swift, she circled the area until she stood by their horses.
His back was to her. She grinned, for he looked up at the sky as if asking God for patience.
After snatching up the horses’ reins, she jumped astride Storm and set him into motion. “Come,” she shouted at Horse and tugged his reins. Soon they were galloping away.
“Meghan! Get you back or you will regret it,” Rolf shouted.
“When Lucifer freezes his arse, churl,” she hollered back.
A loud, shrill whistle rent the air. Saints, she hated that sound. Horse skidded to a stop. The jolt on the reins near pulled her off the saddle until she let them go.
She need not look behind her to know Rolf would soon be breathing down her neck.
“Misbegotten monster,” she grumbled as she leaned forward and urged Storm to fly as fast as possible. “He didna
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bother naming the horse, but sure as Lucifer’s horns, he taught him enough commands.”
This was her last chance. Once they entered the grounds at Rimsdale, she would have not only him, but also every one of his people to evade.
Horse pounded close behind her. A quick glance at Rolf ’s face caused cold dread to grip her throat.
“Lucifer’s wretched teeth. Can I never best the man?”
Storm pricked up his ears. Was he listening to her, or was he paying heed to the other horse charging ever closer? Mayhap the rivalry between the two steeds would aid her.
“Dinna let him near, Storm. Did he not try to nip yer ears this morn?”
Storm surged forward. Horse followed suit.
Rolf also leaned into his mount’s great head, urging him as she did Storm. From the looks of him, he meant to throttle her.
Damnation. He must have said something dire to Horse, else the steed had wings to reach such speed. Before she could count to ten and two, Rolf pulled alongside, crowding Storm until he forced him to stop.
Meghan panted for breath. The horses snorted and stamped, and Simple called from above. Poor confused birdie.
Ne’er had she been left so long on her own.
Rolf ’s saddle creaked as he slid off Horse with deliberate slowness. She squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed. Mayhap he would end it all now and be done with it? She opened her eyes just as his hands reached up for her. Her own hand lashed out. With a low cry, she jerked it back a hair’s width from burying the blade in his neck.
When had she drawn her dirk? She did not remember doing so.
He seized her wrist and near crushed the delicate bones. She screamed in pain, for rope burns and blisters circled there.
“Damn you, Meghan,” he shouted as he jerked her from her saddle. Her quivering legs gave way and she fell to the ground. “At peril to your life, ne’er do such again. Had you drawn on me in front of my men, I would be forced to have
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you whipped. Are you so lackin’ in brains you dinna know when to yield?”
Rolf raised his hand to strike her. She stifled a flinch. She would not cower. His arm quivered with strain as he held back the blow. Both hands fisted time and again. He took several deep, rasping breaths as he fought for control. Reaching beside him, he jerked the coiled rope from his saddle’s pommel and began making a noose.
Did he mean to hang her? A wave of panic swept over her.
She desperately tried to hide her fear from him.
“Ye would kill a woman, Rolf? Ha’e ye sank so low?” If she lived to be ten times ten, she wouldna think he could do such.
“Get up!” He stepped back, allowing her room.
She stood, and he slowly circled her. She gasped when the noose fell around her neck. He could not do it. Could he? She thought it best to keep her mouth shut and her body still. He would come to his right mind soon. She grimaced.
Or would he?
“I gave you every chance to come easily, but you wouldna. I canna trust you on your horse. I canna trust you seated with me.
I canna trust you on foot if you are not within my reach.” He wrapped the end of the rope around his left fist, secured Storm’s reins as he had done before, and then sprang onto his saddle.
He sat and waited. She stood and waited.
“Walk,” he said in a voice fraught with rage.
Meghan squared her shoulders and strolled in the direction he intended for them to go. He followed close behind, letting the rope dangle so it did not tighten around her neck. She lengthened her stride to get the greatest distance, not knowing how many leagues she would have to trudge. Her last attempt to escape had led them away from Rimsdale, perhaps half a league more. Thank all the saints her boots fitted quite well over woolen hose.
To occupy her mind, she enjoyed the closeness of the plants around her, something she couldna do while riding. Nestled close amongst the trees, she spied some of the herbs they kept in supply at Blackthorn.
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She did not recognize many, for she had left the healing arts to the other women of the castle while she trained to help defend them. Were they ever invaded, the varlets wouldna expect a “mere” lass to be guardin’ the ladies.
She spied clusters of feverfew for its white flower and golden center, and valerian for its small white, pink, or laven-der flowers and its pleasant scent.
One herb she knew enough about to be leery of was mandrake. Its pretty greenish yellow flowers belied its deadly power. She had remarked to Damron’s wife that its branched root brought to her mind the shape of the human body. Brianna had made sure she recognized it and knew how dangerous it could be.
“You dawdle,” Rolf said as he flicked the rope behind her.
She had not realized she had stopped to stare at the plant.
“Do I, now? I thought ’twas a pleasant stroll I was takin’
through the woods.”
A jerk on the rope paid her for her sarcastic remark. She deemed it prudent to keep one hand up to hold the noose out from her tender flesh.
How many leagues had she walked? Looking for herbs no longer occupied her mind, nor did watching for the wee forest creatures hiding from them. Her feet burned and her heels stung. By Lucifer’s ragged toes, she wouldna limp!
“Turn left at the tall pine ahead. We will stop to water the horses,” Rolf ordered.
His voice still held the rasp of anger. Because a woman had dared continue to defy him? What had he expected when he came to the cave? That she would throw up her hands in fear and follow, timid as a scullery maid?
Rolf glared at Meghan. He wanted to strangle her for forcing him to take this position. At times she became so engrossed in her thoughts, she forgot to hide behind stalwart behavior.
When she did so, he grimaced each time she limped. Rimsdale was yet a league away at the far end of this woodland. For the last league, they had traveled parallel to the northern tip of a finger of water nestled between two woodlands.
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He led them to the water’s edge and stopped. Meghan dropped to her knees and plunged her head below the surface, and he knew ’twas to shock her body into a spurt of energy.
She came up gasping and shaking her head. Her wet locks whipped about her, flinging droplets of water that caught the sun like tiny rainbows.
When she threw back her head to lift her face to the sky, eyes closed as she fanned her hair back and away, desire burst through his control. His stomach muscles tightened, then lower yet, heat spread through his groin. Her full, sensuous mouth glistened from water still resting there. He fought the urge to lick her lips dry before nibbling them between his teeth. His aching tarse urged him to take her. His iron will forced his body to ignore his desire. Even with her snarled mane and her clothing covered with dust and mud stains, he couldna deny his attraction.
Meghan was the most desirable woman he had ever beheld.
The hellcat! How he despised her for it.
Did she ken what she did to him? He couldna look at her but that his groin flamed hot enough to burn through his clothin’. Since he had captured her, he was in a constant state of arousal.
Not much longer to wait, he promised himself as he tamped his feelings down.
He knelt and splashed his own heated flesh, rubbing his eyes to rid them of her image. Both drank their fill. Once done, they tended their needs. He stayed close, he on one side of a bush, she on the other. When she returned and he saw her face abashed and red, he grunted, satisfied.
“ ’Tis of yer own makin’, Meghan.” He knew she understood when she stiffened her shoulders and glared at him.
Several times after they continued their slow trek, he would have stopped and lifted her up in front of him had she asked.
She was too stubborn, too proud to yield. He was too determined to tame her to offer. So be it. She could no longer mask her limping. He tried to smother any feelings the sight of her distress stirred.
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To him, Meghan of Blackthorn was more precious than gold. Not as a desirable woman, but as a means to his vengeance. Why should he feel shame? He silenced those by-gone dreams he once had of her as his bride.
The ground sloped downhill now. Through the thinning forest, the gray stones of Rimsdale Castle appeared. The fortress occupied an island linked to the land by a stone bridge. A gatehouse guarded the entrance to the bridge. At its end, another defended the island with a drawbridge as added protection. The castle itself sat sideways on the land. The entrance was at its midpoint in the shortest and most sprawling part of the structure. To the left, the walls rose four stories high. Behind was another much larger and taller portion.
His lips lifted in a slight smile when Meghan halted and stared. Rimsdale was far different from Blackthorn. Her home crowned the edge of the cliffs overlooking the Kyle of Tongue.
On the right side of his island, a grove of apple trees grew amidst purple and white heather that sweetened the breeze blowing toward them. In front sprawled a field ample enough for several practice areas. Behind the island, the loch swelled to the foot of a mountain on the far side.
Hmm. Her study of the island was calculating. Not only was she trained in unusual skills, but he knew she was also knowl-edgeable in castle defense. Her gaze darted over each part of the bridge, the gatehouse, and the drawbridge. She squinted as if to judge the depth of the water, then studied the land leading up from it. She gave an almost imperceptible nod.
It brought a scowl to his face. What had she seen?
“You dawdle.” He flicked the rope again.
With head high, Meghan stiffened her back and sauntered down the hill. Pride showed in every footfall. His people had gathered at the opposite end by the time they reached the first gatehouse. Storm stomped and balked at the bridge. Rolf gathered the gelding’s reins. A sharp tug brought him in line.
The guard raised the portcullis, its iron bars sharp and lethal.
“Can ye no’ take this noose from my neck now? ’Tis certain I canna do ye harm on yer own bridge.”
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She swallowed and glanced at the gawking crowd.
“ ’Tis certain
I am
if I keep you tethered you willna cause me further trouble. ’Tis for your own good. I willna have a lass defy me afore mine own people.”
Clearing her throat, she raised her head. Pride stiffened her body. Surprisingly, she pretended to swipe off an insect as she brushed the dust and grime from her clothing.
She began to walk as fast as she could. From the set of her jaw, he knew she labored not to limp in front of these people who were strangers to her.
“No need to race, lass.”
Meghan ignored him. He could hear the surprised voices of those awaiting them as they speculated on the identity of his captive.
“It canna be a lass, no’ in men’s clothing,” said a cook’s helper.
“Nay, the MacDhaidh would no’ tether a lass,” answered a washerwoman.
“Hmpf. ’Tis a lass, right eneuch. Did I no’ tell ye the girl rode and fought like a mon?” This came from a warrior who had been with Rolf outside Blackthorn.
“Aye. Too shapely fer a lad. This’uns locks would tease a man’s body did she ride him.”
A loud screech floated from a tree on the land side of the bridge. Meghan stopped and turned to watch Simple fly to her.
“Ah, little feathers, ye look afrighted,” Meghan murmured, then whistled softly. “Come, ye silly creature,” she called out.
Simple slowly circled above her, and Meghan lifted her left arm in invitation.
“Dinna!” No leather band covered her wrist, and Rolf could see the red, angry flesh there. The bird’s talons would be agony.
Meghan shot him a scornful look. “She is frightened and needs me.” She squared her jaw as Simple landed. Talking and soothing the sparrowhawk, she coaxed it closer to her elbow. She continued to walk until they reached the next gatehouse.
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The guard had raised the portcullis and lowered the drawbridge. Meghan stared ahead, ignoring everything around her.
“Do ye see that? The lass has no gauntlet.” The head falconer’s voice sounded admiring.
“ ’Tis well you arrived.” Alpin MacKean glanced up at him, then he turned to glower at Meghan. He rubbed his thigh where her arrow had entered. “I see you found her.” He moved close beside her right side, peering at her as if assess-ing her physical value to a man.
Alpin’s gaze lingered far too long on the swell of Meghan’s breasts for Rolf ’s liking. His friend’s hand fondled and squeezed the lass’s bottom.
Meghan whirled and swung back at Alpin, striking him in the neck. Gasping and spluttering, he grabbed his throat.
“Why, you fashious bitch,” he shouted, and raised his hand to cuff her.