Risk Everything (10 page)

“You think naught but an image put the wound in my thigh?” Alpin shouted. He purpled as it dawned on him how foolish he was to remind them the lass had bested him.

“Why did ye no’ use yer own
weapon
?” A man cackled with glee. “ ’Tis the proper one to use on a lass, if ye want her soft and pliant.”

“Mayhap he did, and the lass found his tarse wanting.” A

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burly man with a great red beard and but a few strands of red still gracing his shiny dome, slapped his leg with glee.

“Should she be beneath me, the lass willna find my tarse wanting. I warrant Rolf will have gold aplenty when he sells her back to Blackthorn.” Alpin hastened to steer the discus-sion away from his nether parts. “ ’Tis said they call her the

‘Warrior Woman—the Pride of Blackthorn.’ Let us see how much they will pay to have their Pride restored to them.”

“Eneuch!” Rolf ’s blood boiled at the image of Meghan beneath Alpin. Beneath any man, for that matter. “When we sit for the evening meal, ye will all know full well why I have brought the lass here. Until then, I suggest ye all get about yer duties.”

The warriors stirred, some not moving fast enough for his liking. He shoved his fists on his hips and glared at them.

“If ye dinna have enough duties to occupy yer time, I think ye might find cleaning the cesspit a worthy chore.”

None lingered a moment longer but scrambled out the door. So fast did they leave, the door fair hit the last man on his arse when he scurried through. Alpin and Dougald grinned watching the men’s hasty departure.

Rolf ’s young brother Garith sat on the floor in front of the fireplace. The fingers of his weakened right hand stroked the long, scarred ears of the most fearsome, ugly dog ever to click toes against Rimsdale’s floors.

Meghan had taken him to task for his mount’s lack of a proper name. When she dubbed his steed Luath, he had to admit she did right by the horse, though he hated to admit it even to himself. Simple was also an apt name. Secreted high atop a tree, he had watched Meghan when she accompanied Blackthorn’s hunters, her guards trailing her. He could still hear her bubbling laughter at the bird’s hapless antics. She did not bring the bird to hunt food, for her bow and arrow did an admirable job of providing meat for the cook pots. Simple was her pet.

Days later, when he waited for Meghan to feel safe hiding in the cave, the hawk flew low overhead. He watched as the

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bird swooped down, her talons grabbing a large hare by the hind end. As she labored to fly away, so absorbed was she with keeping her struggling, coveted meal, she neglected to notice a tree in her path. She met its trunk. Head on. When she plopped down, near senseless, her prey darted away. The sparrowhawk wobbled about as if she had been tipping one ale too many.

Aye, Simple was a proper name for the bird.

Meghan would have to admit that “Ugsome” was also a fitting name for the hapless dog.

“What has brought a smile to your face for the first time in many moons? Is it thinkin’ on your revenge? What do you plan to do with Meghan of Blackthorn?” Alpin, his pale hair gleaming about his face, sat with one hip on the end of a table. Angry still, his knuckles whitened as he gripped a cup of ale.

“Ye will know when I announce it to one and all this eve.”

Rolf did not hold back a frown. Alpin presumed on their friendship if he thought he would be privy to Rolf ’s plans.

Especially to this plan.

“Come, Dougald. ’Tis time to find who battered the Pride of Blackthorn.”

“Aye.” The big man scratched his head and cursed beneath his breath as they crossed the bailey. “I chose my best men to guard the lass. Each denies any knowledge of the lady’s mis-treatment. Until this morn, I ne’er had reason to doubt any one of them.”

Rolf was determined to punish the man who had defied his orders and accosted Meghan. The men stood, heads close together. Did they hatch excuses to give him? His anger mounted as his mind flashed back to the dark bruise beside her split lips and the torn shirt that had barely covered her.

When he had turned her back to him so he could release her arms, his gaze wandered over her shoulders and spied two lovely, firm breasts. Breasts not pale but as golden brown as Meghan’s face and arms.

Sweet Jesus! How came she by the color?

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His lips pressed together. How much more of her flesh had seen the sun? Far more disturbing was, who had seen her when she bared herself to its heated rays?

“Rolf ?” Dougald looked puzzled. “Is aught amiss?”

How long had they stood there? Rolf realized his teeth were grinding together and tried to relax his jaw.

“Nay.” Mayhap it was good he had stopped, for now the men awaiting him appeared even more anxious to prove their loyalty to him.

He walked closer and hesitated in front of each man in turn. Silently, he watched their expressions. All would need strong ale when he was done, by the looks of them. Never had he seen that knot of cartilage in a man’s throat bob so often as his men now swallowed.

Slowly circling them, he studied each in turn. He had assigned guards to change at every hour of the Divine Offices, one at the stable door opening and one at the rear. At Vespers when the sun set, at Compline when everyone else sought their pallets, at Vigils marking the end of one day and the beginning of another, and at Matins as dawn broke.

Eight men in all.

Rolf ordered them to stand in line according to the time each man began his watch. They fidgeted even more. He moved ten paces away and called two men at a time to come to him. He didna want them knowing what the others said.

The men from Matins were first, for ’twas when they discovered his captive’s bruises. He dismissed them both since they had been new on the watch. They wasted no time in leaving.

He motioned forward the two men from Vespers, the beginning of the watch. His eyes narrowed and hardened as he demanded an accounting for every hour the men stood duty. He queried each whether the man had left his post unguarded, perhaps to piss. Both swore they had no need to leave. The grass around the stable provided what was necessary. He next asked whether they had checked their captive at the end of their shift.

Satisfied with each man’s answers, he released them.

Rolf felt an uneasy presence and turned slightly. Alpin and

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his man Fergus stood there. Alpin appeared normal enough, but Fergus stared, his eyes squinted and mean, at the guards he had yet to question. Rolf couldna tell who drew Fergus’s feral regard. Suspicious, he shifted to keep both him and his men in sight.

Next came the men from Compline. Both denied leaving their post. The front door guard confirmed the lass looked none the worse when he had cracked open the door to check she was there.

Rolf watched Fergus. The man didna change his attention to the men from Compline but stared at the remaining men assigned for the hour of Vigils. Rolf motioned to the men he had just questioned and bid them return to their training.

The man assigned to guard the back door of the stable darted glances at his partner, then stared at the dirt at his feet.

His shoulders hunched. Wary eyes on Fergus, the other man approached Rolf with lagging feet.

Aye, both hid somethin’. Rolf spread his legs wide, folded his arms across his chest to keep from lashing out at them, and glared at each one in turn.

“Two of ye together and still ye were no’ able to best the lass?” He slowly walked around them, his muscles tensed with the need to pummel them. “One puny young lass with her arms tied behind her? Her neck tethered to a ring in the wall?” He watched Fergus. The man didna take his glare from the front door guard. So, why did the back door guard also look afrighted? He stopped in front of this man.

And waited, silent.

“I didna think the lass could escape. I but closed my eyes to rest them,” he blurted. “The next thing I knew, someone hurtled out the door, his booted foot landin’ on me chest.” He pulled up his shirt to reveal bruised ribs. “I thought ’twas the girl. I started after her, but then clouds moved from the moon and showed it were a man. He got away.”

“Did you go inside to check on the lass?” Though Rolf wanted to shout, he kept his voice quiet. As quiet as a soft breeze.

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His head bobbed. “She leaned against the wall. The lass didna cry out. I thought ’twas but a curious intruder who wanted to see Blackthorn’s Warrior Woman up close.”

Rolf clenched his hands and turned to the last guard. Sweat beaded the man’s face. His gaze met his master’s. Disgrace and guilt lay like a heavy blanket, weighing his shoulders down.

“I be the man ye should punish, Lord Rolf. Me wife be sickly, and her due with her fourth birthing.” He raised shame-filled eyes and straightened his back. “When offered the coins, I kenned it would pay for help with the birthing and caring of the other bairns. He said he wouldna harm her. She gave no outcry. I heard him leave soon after he entered.”

Reaching in the pocket of his trews, he pulled out three pence and threw them at Fergus’s feet.

Fergus flew at him. His hands grasped the guard’s neck, and they toppled to the ground. Astride him now, Fergus tried to throttle him. “Ye stupid, whining fool.” The words erupted from deep in his throat. His lips lifted in a snarl. “ ’Tis yer word against mine. None can prove ’twas me.”

Alpin fisted his hands together and slammed them into Fergus’s head, knocking him near senseless.

Rolf studied Alpin and rubbed his jaw. “Mayhap the lass will know if ’twas him that struck her or no’.” He motioned to several warriors who ran to them. “Take Fergus to the dungeon.”

Rolf glared at his own two guards.

“Ye will be whipped. I will wait to have the punishment settled until I have spoken with Meghan of Blackthorn.” His eyes narrowed. He must needs know what had happened to her last eve afore he decided the severity of the lashing.

“After a good soakin’, Ede, I will be glad of yer help to tend my wounds.” Meghan stood beside the bed and looked down at her dirty clothing. Her family had long formed the habit of a bath when possible. “We have learned at Blackthorn that wounds dinna fester if kept clean.”

She stripped, quick and efficient, dropping her clothes in a

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heap on the floor beside the tub. She stepped into the hot water and steeled herself not to cry out.

Bruises covered the bottom of her feet, and her heels wept with blisters. Her shoulders and arms screamed from being held at such an odd angle all the night. Merged with the burns, raw spots ringed her wrists where the rope had rubbed her flesh.

’Twas not all of her problems. It did not include her rope-burned neck, swollen jaw, and split lips or the scratches on her chest where the man’s nails had dug when he tore open her blouse.

She was a mess.

Meghan’s smile held a touch of irony. If her family could see her now, she would be in for one of Damron’s furious lectures and Mereck’s quiet scolding that meant even more. Not to mention Connor’s livid curses and threats of the dire beating he’d ask Damron to administer on her posterior because she had put herself in harm’s way. He couldna bear to do it himself. She shrugged, then winced for the effort.

The picture of Damron, Mereck, and Connor’s wives filled her thoughts. She would get no screaming and posturing from them. They would put their heads together with her and help her plan a means to retaliate for each ache. One ache she savored. The back of her head where she cracked it against the bastard’s nose.

“Please. Let me help?”

Meghan looked at Ede and saw nothing but kindness on her plump face. When she nodded, the woman smiled and started to wash Meghan’s hair. Oh, it felt so good to get the grime off.

’Twas much more than she had ever had on her body, thanks to Rolf cramming her into the dirt at every chance.

“How come you by such beautiful coloring o’er your body, Meghan?” Ede’s voice was shy.

“I dinna hide from the sun.” Meghan shrugged.

“Are you not afeared the sun will blemish your skin?”

“Nay. What matter if it did?” She looked up and frowned.

“I am more than just a body. My worth is not in my skin. ’Tis in my honor. My mind. My skills.”

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Ede had finished rinsing Meghan’s hair and helped her finish her bath. When done, she poured warm rinse water over her. She held up a huge drying cloth, and Meghan wrapped herself in it.

“I will bring fresh clothing of my own for you once we have tended your wounds,” Ede told her.

“Nay, thank ye, Ede. I will wear my own.” Meghan’s chin lifted proudly.

“But dirt covers them, and your shirt is torn. The laundress will wash and return them to you. We will mend them together. You canna go about in a drying cloth.” Ede looked serious, then giggled. “Though ’twould cause an uproar fit to bring down the walls if you did.”

How could Meghan escape if hampered with yards of cloth tripping her at every turn? “Then I would ask for breeches.”

As Ede tended Meghan’s wounds, they slid into an easy, yet tentative, peace.

After she was done, Meghan pulled the heavy chair closer to the window. Hearing men yell and scuffle about in the bailey, she stood cautiously on her bandaged feet, clutched the cloth tight to her breasts, and stared out the window.

“Ye should not be standing,” Ede scolded as she looked over Meghan’s shoulder. “ ’Tis good Rolf hasna Beast at his hip or blood would flow, from the looks of him. See. His hands keep fisting like he yearns to throttle the men. Mayhap we will learn why at the noon meal.”

Meghan stared hard at the warriors. After they had hauled up the knave who tried to throttle the other, she caught sight of the knave’s swollen nose. She reached up and rubbed the back of her head, tender still from crashing it against her as-sailant last night. She smiled. She had spied the man this morn but wanted to be certain. Now she had no doubt. She would recognize his face until Hades turned cold as a loch in winter.