Ruthless (39 page)

She shuddered.

Sweyn came to put an apple, a hunk of cheese
and brown bread on her lap then sat a pewter cup of cold water
beside her leg. She drank the water but ignored the food. Why eat
to keep her body alive when she would hang in a sennight or so?

She stared off into the bushes, watching the
birds, squirrels and wildlife flitting from one tree to another.
They looked so carefree she envied them. She spied a fat hare
behind the two men, his body still and scrunched down to avoid
notice. At any other time, she would have used her bow and arrow to
supplement their food. Now she kept silent, hoping the creature
could slip away unharmed.

o0o

"She's nae eating, Magnus," Sweyn said the
following evening.

"When she gets hungry enough, she will."

Magnus couldn't help glancing at Muriele. Her
face was thinner than it had been. Her shorter hair suited her.
Where it was wavy before, now it was curling at the tips. A frisky
breeze blew a wispy ringlet to tease her eye. When her arm lifted
to shove it aside, her flesh was all sleek muscle.

"She hasn't said more than a few words."
Sweyn looked at him from the corner of his eye. "I thought she
would plead her case with you. Did she say aught all day?"

"Nay. Not one word. She avoids even looking
at me. I have asked her repeatedly why she killed Esa and Feradoch.
She stiffens and ignores me. No matter what I ask her, or how I ask
her, she looks away."

"Huh! Can you blame her? I think you should
hear her side of the story. Graemme believes Feradoch wasn't as he
appeared."

"My foster brother was a good warrior. He
enjoyed a battle and didn't mind a little bloodshed."

"Aye. Graemme talked to me many times on our
visits. He told me of his doubts. Feradoch did like battles, but he
also liked battles with his bed sport. He becomes passionate only
when he inflicts torment on his partner."

Magnus shook his head. "Esa has been his
leman for many years. Do ye think she would have allowed such?"

"What choice did she have? Have you never
wondered why she kept to her bedchamber for a sennight each time he
returned to Clibrick?"

"She grieved over his leaving."

"You're blind, man. Grunda made frequent
trips to her rooms with unguents. When she walked by me, I could
tell her pockets were full."

"Ye are yammering. The simple fact is Muriele
killed them both. If he'd treated Esa ill, she'd not have let
Muriele handfast with him."

He bolted to his feet, and while Sweyn
replaced the food in the bag, he readied the horses. Thinking of
her in Feradoch's arms sent harsh streaks of anger shooting through
his mind.

Muriele sat quietly, ignoring them. He noted
she finished the water, but she'd not taken a bite of food.

"Do ye want to take the apple with ye?"

She shook her head but didn't deign to look
at him. She wanted to pout. Let her. Afore evening fell, she'd be
asking for food. When he lifted the food off her lap, he felt her
body heat through her clothing. Remembered passion went from his
brain to his stones.

After the horses made one last trip to the
stream for water, Magnus untied her waist from the tree. She held
out her wrists and waited. The rope burns looked angrier than ever.
He hesitated then bound her more loosely. Once they were farther
away, he would have to allow her to pick herbs or find whatever she
needed to make a healing paste for them.

"Sweyn, may I ride the spare horse?"

"Ye may not," Magnus interrupted, "until we
reach the Highlands."

He mounted the second horse, and before she
could take another breath, he again held her firmly across his
thighs. His arm didn't clamp around her as tight as before. Holding
herself as straight as possible, she avoided leaning against his
massive body.

He did not intend to stop to sleep for the
night. The full moon was bright, and he planned to make good use of
it to speed their travel. When they reached the Highlands, they
would need to move slower over the high mountains where a horse
could easily place one hoof too near the edge and topple it and the
rider over a cliff.

For two days, they traveled near full time.
He continued to question Muriele. She continued to treat him as if
he was invisible. During the middle of the night, they stopped to
tend and rest the horses and eat whatever game Sweyn happened to
bring down with his bow during the day. A small fire late into the
night would go unnoticed.

Magnus again tied her to a tree while they
tended the horses and prepared food. She drank only water and
ignored the grouse Sweyn cooked on a spit. When Magnus saw she
intended to go hungry the first two nights, it didn't faze him. He
offered her food to Sweyn and, when he declined, ate it
himself.

They banked the fire and took turns sleeping.
Magnus untied Muriele and had her stretch out beside him, a rope
around her ankle tied to his wrist. She shrugged away when he
attempted to cover her with her cape and did it herself. If she so
much as moved in her sleep, he felt it.

They were up and riding again long before
dawn broke.

Muriele was bone tired and hungry, but she
could put up with it. When she'd fled Kinbrace, she'd been much
more tired and hungry. She got used to it then, and she'd get used
to it now.

When Sweyn took her up on his horse, she
relaxed more. Leaning against him to rest wasn't repugnant to her.
The only problem was he also tried to get her to talk. How
insulting! They thought she'd callously murdered Feradoch for
having a leman. And to blame her for Esa's death was more than she
could stand.

Even if Magnus knew the reason she'd stabbed
Feradoch, he still wouldn't change his vow. The pig-headed fool.
How did he think she had the strength to strangle a woman as tall
as Esa and murder Feradoch at the same time? Hadn't they reasoned
that while she tried to kill one, the other would have stopped
her?

She'd believed she loved Magnus until he'd
proved he'd thought so little of her he'd not told her of his
father's plans. Had he explained, mayhap she would have understood.
She'd have gone on with her life and not been easy prey to
Feradoch, who treated her the way knights at Blackbriar used to
treat her. He'd even courted her by entertaining her and giving her
small gifts of flowers and such.

After Baldor, Magnus and Feradoch, she'd be a
fool to trust any man. Even Sweyn. When he asked questions and
tried to get her to speak about her life after they'd left
Kinbrace, she turned her face away and kept her thoughts
hidden.

On the fifth night, the men did as usual.
When Sweyn took watch and Magnus slept, clouds rolled in, masking
the moon. Muriele had twisted and turned each night on purpose to
accustom Magnus to feeling the tug on his wrist. At first, he
jolted awake and stayed alert, watching her 'sleep.' Each time she
deliberately moved, he startled less. Finally, this eve he did no
more than grunt.

She'd studied the knots for three days and
knew with any luck at all, she could untie her end. Feverishly, she
set to work on freeing herself. Her fingers were sore from digging
at the knot, the flesh scraping off now and then. She was in the
shadows of a tree, and Sweyn's back was to them as he sat watching
the dark woods between them and the road. He didn't notice when she
reached out to gather wet leaves and bunched them beneath her
robe.

Silently, she slipped away. In the safety of
the dark woods, she glanced back to see her robe looked like she
still slept beneath it. She knew Magnus would awaken when it began
to rain and they'd find her missing. They wouldn't look for her
close by, but would spread out.

Careful not to leave a trail, she went a
short way until she found a perfect tree to climb. Pulling the back
of her skirts forward between her legs, she tied them around her
waist with the ribbon she'd taken from the cloak's neck. She was up
and near the top of the tree with time to spare before the rain
started.

When it did, it didn't start easily, but in a
downpour. She hugged the big trunk, her legs wrapped tightly around
it when it began to sway with the wind. She heard Magnus and Sweyn
calling her name and thrashing through the woods. When they didn't
find her right away, they returned for the horses.

Dratted Satin's evil eyes! She'd hoped they'd
walk in ever-widening circles long enough to put distance between
them and the horses. Then she could race back, take one horse,
saddle the other and lead it. She'd carry the saddle and trappings
of the third horse, leaving it bare.

She soon heard hoof beats and knew they'd
decided to hunt her ahorse. Now the bastards worked in two widening
circles. Sweyn started before Magnus. If Sweyn missed spotting her,
'twas a chance Magnus would see her on his turn in the same
area.

Muriele grappled with the tree swaying in the
wind. She hugged it for all she was worth as Sweyn rode beneath
her. He was very thorough, his eyes constantly looking around for
her.

"Lass, you'll freeze out here alone," Sweyn
called.

He rode a little farther.

"You have no weapons, no food. Come out from
your hiding place," he called again.

She kept her lips clamped shut. She'd sooner
die in the woods than hang by the hands of a man she'd thought she
loved!

When he widened his circle, she near sighed
for there was quiet for a while. Then Magnus came close. The rain
had slowed, but the wind had picked up. It tore at her hair, her
clothes.

The wet droplets crawling down her back
against the ridges of her scars felt like creeping spiders.
Shuddering, she tried not to think about it for spiders were the
one thing she dreaded most. Once, playing hide and find with a
friend, she'd gone below in the dungeons of Blackbriar. Her friend
wouldn't think to find her there! She'd no need to. When Muriele
had spied the spiders looking like they were starting to scamper
toward her, intent on eating her flesh, she had screamed so loud
she'd alerted the whole keep.

Hearing Magnus stop below her, she bit her
lip to keep silent. Cautiously moving her head only enough to look
below, she watched him back up his horse and stare at a limb close
to the ground. Something bright fluttered from amongst the wet
leaves. He leaned over on his saddle to pluck it off.

The tie she'd used on her skirts! When had it
come lose? She'd been so conscious of hanging on to the tree and
trying to keep her clothes from flapping, she'd not even realized
it had come free.

He held still. Looked all around him. He
studied the ground and thought. She could imagine his frown when he
bent his head.

God no! He looked up at the closest trees.
Watching. Turned in his saddle and studied those behind him.

He straightened and sat rock still.

"Come down, Muriele."

His rough voice said her name like it was a
curse. She didn't answer. Mayhap he was only hoping she was
somewhere close.

When he slowly raised his head, he dashed her
hopes to Hades and back. He must have the sight of an eagle to find
her in the heavy canopy, for his cold, black gaze stared into her
eyes.

When she didn't move, he put his fingers in
his lips and whistled for Sweyn. In a short time, he arrived towing
the extra horse as if it was an extension of his arm.

"You found her?"

For answer, Magnus looked back up at her.

"Come down," he demanded.

When she again didn't answer or move, he
sighed. Handing his reigns to Sweyn he spoke loud enough for her to
hear.

"I have half a mind to shake the tree till
she falls like a ripe apple. It would save me the trouble of taking
her to Kinbrace."

"Ye can't do that!" Sweyn sounded shocked at
the suggestion. "The tree is the tallest in the forest! She'd fall
to her death."

"Then, if she falls when I pry her arms
loose, catch her or not. It's up to ye."

He hoisted himself to stand on his saddle
then swung up to the closest branch. Rather than have him touch
her, Muriele gave in.

"Sweyn, tell the ruthless bastard to
wait."

"For what? For ye to grow wings and fly into
the sky?" Magnus said with contempt.

He stood on a branch close to the trunk,
tested his weight on it and moved up to the next.

Muriele's legs near cramped when she released
the trunk. She unclasped her arms and pulled her skirts free.
'Twould be cumbersome climbing down with their weight clinging to
the branches, but she had no choice. She put her foot on the limb
below her, and then the next, and the next, slowly making her way
down. She was ready to go to the branches above and to the left of
Magnus when she heard a sharp crack.

Of a sudden, the footing beneath her was
gone. She grabbed for something to hold onto but missed. Broken
limbs tore at her body in all directions.

By the Saints, she hurt. She was afire from
the scratches and scrapes. Even her cheeks felt torn. She hit the
back of her head on a thick branch, making her eyes blur.

Her clothing snagged and ripped, but nothing
slowed her descent—until she slammed against something hard as
steel.

'Twas the last she knew for a while.

Magnus's breath caught and his heart halted
when Muriele started falling. She was too high and out of his reach
for him to aid her. He grabbed a limb and clenched his fist around
it; put his left foot on another spot to his left. Leaning out as
far as he could, he snatched her plummeting body out of the
air.

He swayed and near lost his balance. The tree
branch groaned.

Taking deep breaths, he listened as Sweyn
directed him where to place his feet the rest of the way down to
Odin.

Muriele was so limp, he feared she'd broken
her neck when she'd hit her head. He felt Sweyn's hands on his
booted feet, guiding them to the saddle.