Risk Everything (9 page)

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sweat and urine from his unwashed body choked her. Though she twisted and jerked like a wild woman, she did not scream.

’Twould shame her more to have another see her so helpless.

His sex hardened. Hard, cruel lips clamped down on hers, grinding against her softness until their teeth clashed together.

A beefy hand on her jaw forced her mouth to open, and his thick tongue plunged deep, gagging her. She bit down. Hard.

Then let go. He gasped, released her, and swung a fist up to cuff her across her lower cheek. The blow split her lip.

Still silent, he spun her round to face the wall.

What did he want now
?

His clothing rustled, then one arm looped around her waist and pulled her against his naked sex. He forced her right hand around a shaft as hard and as hot as steel warmed o’er a fire.

She tried to open her fingers, but he didna let her. He dragged her imprisoned hand up and down his shaft.

Meghan relaxed. Let the accursed dimwit think she savored it. He was but a hand taller than she. She snuggled herself to him, and he reached up to rip her shirt open and fondle her breast. She bent her head forward till her chin touched her chest, then whipped it back as fast as she could to crack it against his face. Ah, the sweet sound of a pummeled nose.

“Lucifer’s bitch!”

Footsteps sounded in the gravel leading to the door. He slung her against the wall and lumbered down the dark row of stalls. As she slid against the rough wood planking and landed on the pallet, she heard him wrench open the back door and flee into the night.

“No needs to check the lass. She couldna move from where Lord Rolf tethered her,” she heard the guard say.

“Since when have we no’ checked what we guard at the beginnin’ of a shift?” his replacement replied.

The door creaked open, and a man entered holding a rushlight high above his head. Meghan, silent still, kept her back to him. He stood there a moment, then left, taking care to close the door quietly.

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She sat against the wall for the rest of the night. Her heart raced at each sound, and she dared not sleep.

As the faint light of dawn filtered between the cracks of the barn door, the relief guard entered and held his rushlight close to peer at Meghan. After one quick look, he jerked back and yelled loud and furious, “Get Lord Rolf and be quick about it.”

From the open door, Meghan saw dawn’s golden light beginning to creep over the tops of the castle walls. Blessed saints, she was tired. She guessed she looked a fright. Ha! As if she hadna already appeared like a badgered hound.

The guard hesitated, then reached out a hand. She couldna stop herself from flinching away from it.

“Nay, lass, ’twas only to steady ye,” he told her.

Heavy footsteps pounded outside.

“What goes here?” Rolf ’s harsh voice demanded as he burst through the doorway.

She forced her chin up and glared at him. ’Twas Rolf ’s fault. All of it. Had he not treated her as an animal, his man wouldna have thought her fair game.

Rolf ’s gut lurched with a sickening feeling. Meghan leaned back against the wall, looking weary but ready to fight. If looks could kill a man, he would soon bleed from wounds aplenty.

Her lips were swollen, split on the left where her face darkened from a bruise. Her torn shirt barely concealed her breast.

His gaze swept over her. Her breeches were intact. Whoever had dared enter to batter her had been frightened off.

“Who allowed this?” His shout was not meant for her but at the men who were set to guard her. He wanted to pummel someone.

“Ye did, gowk,” Meghan answered, daring to call him fool.

“What did ye expect? That yer men would treat me with kindness when ye set my value as less than the horses in yer stable, the pigs in yer pens?” She turned away, refusing to look at him.

Rolf reached out and stroked her swollen jaw. Anger and

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regret roiled through him in hot seething waves. She jerked her face away from him. He didna blame her.

Careful not to scrape her neck, he loosened the strap and eased it off her neck. The sight of her flesh, raw and sore as her wrists, made bile surge to his mouth.

“Every last man who guarded Meghan of Blackthorn is to report to me.” His cold voice was quiet, lethal, as he spoke to the men around him. “You had best be prepared to account for yourselves.”

When he grasped her shoulders, she stiffened. As he turned her back to him, she struggled.

“Easy, lass. I want only to free yer arms.” Her flesh quivered beneath his touch. Freed at last, he turned her to him to pull her shirt together. She leaned away from his hands.

“Come.” He stepped back and offered his arm for support.

She ignored him. His arms ached to carry her, but he knew

’twas best to leave her be.

They entered the bailey, and Meghan spied the crowd gathered there to see why their lord had been in such haste. She halted. Not for long. With each slow step she took, Rolf ’s heart lurched, knowing he was the hateful churl she so oft named him.

Alpin stared, aghast at her swollen lips and bruised cheek as he fell in step with them. Rolf glanced at his lifetime friend, whose icy blue eyes showed shock that anyone would dare usurp Rolf ’s authority and touch the woman.

Fergus, Alpin’s man, lagged close at his heels. His face didna show sympathy. His hand stole up and felt his nose. It was swollen and red. The common warriors were forever brawling over the favors of a wench. Forsooth, this one couldna long stay from fighting.

Would they never cross the bailey and reach the doorway into the main castle building? Never had the distance seemed so long as it did now as Rolf watched each painful step Meghan took. Why had he not bid Ede to tend her feet? No doubt blisters burst with each footfall. Whene’er she faltered

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and he reached to help her, she spit nay at him with such loathing he held back.

How came a lass by such pride? Pride belonged to a man.

’Twas hard earned in battle with deeds of bravery. What reason had a woman to hold herself so high?

Garith interrupted his thoughts when he ran up to him.

“Best ye hurry if ye dinna want a soakin’,” he said as he pointed behind them.

Rolf had no need to look. Fat drops of rain plopped into the dust of the bailey, forming tiny mountains with craters filled with water that rapidly seeped through the earth below.

He scooped Meghan up into his arms, ignoring her protests.

They didna last long. She looked at his face and must have read his determination there, for she kept her tongue behind her teeth. Would that she kept it there more often.

They reached the protection of the castle nary a moment too soon, for the heavens opened with a vengeance.

“Ede, our
guest
has needs of your skills. Fetch your healing herbs.” He hurried past everyone and took two steps at a time up the stairway to the floor above, barking orders to the servants gawking at him. “Bring hot water and clean cloths to my solar.”

Someone had already set flint to a peat fire in the room.

The meager flames fought to dry the damp air. Tallow candles, so wide around they held four wicks, chased the shadows from the corners.

“Put me down, drat ye.” Meghan pounded her fist on his shoulder. “I can verra well walk the length of this room.”

Rolf ignored her as if she were a bundle of dirty linens he carried. The thing was, he was very much aware the bundle in his arms was not something he could disregard. The feel of her woman-soft flesh and a whiff of heather teased his senses.

She kicked her legs and pounded her fists against his chest.

He staggered and bumped into a large war chest to the right of the door and all but toppled the frame holding his chain mail and helmet standing next to it. He stomped past his

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worktable and a carved wooden chair that occupied the space beside the window.

“Be you still or I will put you down right enough. Out yon window,” he grumbled. His stride was determined as he headed toward his bed. It sat far enough from the warm fire that he was ne’er hot of a night.

“If ye dinna heed me, I will let loose a bloodcurdling scream that will have yer men thinkin’ ’tis a banshee ye brought to yer solar.”

He looked down to see her face set, ready to let loose a vigorous scream. He raised her high in his arms. And dropped her.

Onto his bed.

“Umpf!” She sank into the pallet filled with down, her arms and legs grasping about.

“Bloodcurdlin’? A banshee?” His eyes gleamed as he lifted one brow. “Garith’s birthing cry would be more impressive.”

Meghan sucked in air to fill her lungs, closed her eyes, and let loose a scream fit to raise chill bumps on a man’s nape.

The solar door slammed shut with a loud bang. It muffled her scream. She opened her eyes and frowned. Ede, her face scrunched tight and hands clasped over her ears, stood at the foot of the bed.

“Wretched hound from hell,” Meghan muttered as she glared at the door. “He scampered off afore he could lose an argument.“

Chapter 8

Mereck, Damron’s bastard half brother, was commander over Blackthorn’s warriors. The castle baileys swarmed with patrols coming and going, the men looking like ants scurrying over an oatcake slathered in honey and left in the sun.

“Mereck has returned. By the set of his face, he knows who has taken Meghan.” Damron’s deep voice was calm as he peered out his solar window to the ground below.

He watched as Mereck dismounted, stretched his neck, and rolled his shoulders to rid himself of tension building there.

All who were familiar with him realized Mereck held himself in check, for when he loosened his temper, he became the berserk warrior that had earned him the name
Baresark
among his enemies.

“The MacDhaidh has taken the lass,” Damron murmured.

“He left warnin’s aplenty of what he intended.”

“When I get my hands on Meghan,” Connor shouted as he paced the solar floor, “she’ll soon find herself wed to a man who will beat her each morn for the things she but thinks to do that day.”

Both men spun around as Mereck strode through the doorway.

“Do ye think beatings would stop Meghan?” Mereck asked, his expression wry. “Rolf rode her to ground. She took refuge in the cave at Beinn Stumanadh.”

“What happened there?” Fear of Mereck’s answer caused Connor’s voice to quaver at the last word.

“I found Storm’s prints and a few of Simple’s feathers.

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’Twas proof she was there. Her short sword was on the ground, deep in the shadows.”

Mereck did not tell them he had seen where Rolf had pressed her face against the soft earth of the cave, for as he had sifted through the soil, strands of dark brown hair clung to his finger.

He placed her sword on the oak table in front of the window.

The noonday sun shone in and glinted on a small crystal set low on the handle. ’Twas Meghan’s only concession to an adorn-ment. Connor put his hand on the blade, his face stricken.

“I dinna think Rolf will harm her.” Damron grasped his cousin’s shoulder, comforting him. “The mon has been dafty o’er her since she was a wee’un. He was ever ridin’ over on some unlikely excuse. Didna ye note his eyes sought her out?”

“Aye, but that was afore some varlet caused Rolf to believe me responsible for his tragedy.” Bitterness rang in Connor’s voice. “Do I but find that man, he will breathe his last.”

“By the timin’ of it, ’twas likely the treachery of Rollo, Eric MacLaren’s man. Didna we find he had stolen yer garments to pose as ye on raids?” Damron clasped his hands behind his back as he paced the sunlit room.

“Aye. Guardian made quick work of him when he harmed your Brianna,” Mereck said. “The man didna have time to scream afore the wolf ’s great jaws clamped his throat.”

“No note for ransom has arrived,” Connor interrupted as he resumed pacing. He ran agitated fingers through brown hair so like his sister’s.

“I dinna think ’twas for ransom he stole her.” Damron eyed Connor before continuing. “Mayhap he knew Meghan wouldna forgive him for not askin’ Grandda for her hand instead of weddin’ another. She wouldna go with him easily now.”

Mereck kept silent. Rolf had not behaved as a lover would when he forced Meghan’s face in the dirt. Damron had ordered Connor to remain in Blackthorn, for his wife, Elise, carried their first bairn. She was a timid woman, though Meghan had done much to strengthen the Saxon girl’s character.

Of a sudden, Mereck smiled. Bairns. The castle nursery was

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filling with babes since the three of them had married. His little Donald had arrived at the end of 1073, and one month later, Brianna birthed Douglas. With little Serena, the child many believed Damron fathered on his leman, that made three wee ones. Now Elise looked forward to her own babe.

“I have ordered another foray into MacDhaidh lands. ’Tis time we learn what he demands.” Mereck ran a hand over his unshaven jaw and frowned. “Damron, ’tis best the missive comes from you as laird of Blackthorn.”

“Aye. I expected to do such.” He handed a small parchment to Mereck. He had prepared the note earlier, even as far as addressing it to the MacDhaidh of Rimsdale.

Not many heartbeats after Mereck left the room with the message, a dozen warriors galloped through the barbican and headed into the woods toward their southeastern borders.

A savage-looking Mereck rode at their head.

As Rolf entered the great hall at Rimsdale, he was certain the people gathered there didna expect him. His warriors had turned into quarrelsome, clacking women.

All because of Meghan of Blackthorn.

The men who had gone with him in his abduction of her were the most vocal. Alpin urged that Rolf toss Meghan in the dungeon, arguing they had seen firsthand how the woman was as skilled as any one of them.

“Are ye daft, Alpin?” A battle-scarred man laughed. “No lass could ride a horse like a seasoned warrior and disappear into the mist as ye say. Ye must have been tippin’ from a keg to break yer fast.”