The Knight and the Dove (8 page)

With tremendous ground-covering strides, Arik started after the group. It wasn’t long before he had to shorten his steps in an effort not to overtake them. A woman in an ancient cloak stood out to him, but he made sure to watch each one. With an occasional glance to the rear, Arik walked on. If Megan was in this group, he would not let her from his sight.

Bracken found that animals had already been at the dead bodies of Vincent’s men. He eyed the scene with a combination of remorse and anger. He was sorry for such a brutal loss of life, but his anger stemmed from the fact that Vincent had sent only three men to escort his daughter to Hawkings Crest. From the letter, Bracken had been expecting a most cherished young woman, but this act on Vincent’s part would speak otherwise.

At least he knew she had been telling the truth about the attack. Bracken began to wonder whom he’d seen at court so many years ago. Surely the blonde was not now a redhead. Bracken shook his head. Not even with the dirt removed would Megan match the beauty of the other girl. His own eyes told him that.

Bracken suddenly ground his teeth. A redhead! Since talking to his aunt he had been picturing a beautiful blonde, but the woman who had stood before him was most definitely a redhead. Bracken was not
pleased. He had not liked red hair since a young vassal had come to Hawkings Crest many years earlier to serve under his father. The boy had had a shock of red hair almost orange in color, and by the time he’d returned to his family, Bracken was more than relieved to see him go.

Bracken realized that Megan’s hair was not orange, but he had never found redheaded women attractive. And why had she been dressed like a beggar and working in his keep like a serf? Bracken’s frown was so fierce that one of his men, approaching with Megan’s trunk, hesitated in his stride.

“What is it?” Bracken asked calmly, having accurately read the other man’s thoughts and quickly schooled his features.

“A small trunk. It’s almost empty, but the trunk itself is not damaged.”

Bracken lifted the lid and pulled out a garment. It appeared to be much like the one Megan had been wearing when she had come to the war room. Bracken suddenly understood. These were clothes from the abbey. One more dig into the trunk and Bracken found another dress. This was cut from fine cloth, but it was not overly fancy. Again Bracken frowned. He would have thought Vincent could have done better for the girl. Maybe he expected Bracken to dress her. The thought did not please him. Bracken was not a miserly man, but he did not know this girl and seriously doubted at the moment if she truly was Vincent’s daughter. That being the case, there would be no wedding, at least not before he had some answers.

Bracken shook his head to dispel his tempestuous thoughts. Right now he needed to return to Hawkings Crest. Men needed to be sent to bury these guards, as well as the dead thieves, and someone must be sent to London for Aunt Louisa. Megan may not be who she claimed to be, but if she
was
the daughter of a duke, things were looking bad, very bad indeed.

From his place behind the travelers, Arik watched the “old woman” drop farther and farther back. She still hobbled along, but when the last of the group turned at a small bend in the road, she suddenly darted into the trees. Arik came to a swift halt before taking his own place in the foliage.

He stood patiently and was not disappointed. That red head poked out after just a few minutes, and with a glance in all directions, Bracken’s lady started back down the path, this time with the cloak thrown over her arm, her back straight and feet swift.

Arik moved out to follow her, but it was many yards before she noticed him. She came to such a sudden halt when she did that she nearly fell over.

Megan’s heart plummeted at the sight of the giant man, but she was determined to go home and
no one,
not even this Goliath, was going to stop her.

“There is no need to follow me,” she spoke from a distance, her voice uncompromising. “I don’t know why you pursue me, but I wish to be left alone.”

Megan, used to having her orders followed, turned on her heel and walked away. It didn’t take long before she realized she had not been heeded. This time she decided to ignore him. It was only minutes after she’d made this resolve that she heard the riders.

There was no place to hide on this section of road, or Megan would have made herself scarce. She was quite sure it would be Bracken and his men, but she continued on her course, refusing to even glance at the horses when they came into view.

She would have learned something of Bracken’s men had she looked. The men did not take her presence as calmly as she took theirs. They stared in horror at how far out on the road this young noblewoman had come without an escort. That she did not desire Arik’s protection was obvious, and this concerned them as well.

Megan glanced back to see that the men had come abreast of the giant and were speaking to him. Seeing the giant idle, she picked up her pace but still heard Lord Bracken’s words.

“Bring her.”

Megan waited only a moment before she began to run. Even with the sound of her own feet pounding in her ears and the horses’ hooves receding behind her, it became obvious to her that she was not being pursued by a rider, only an enormous man. He caught her in ten yards.

Arik took care not to harm her, but with the ease of snaring a hare he captured her wrist and turned her back to Hawkings Crest.

“Let me go,” Megan ordered and found herself ignored. “My father will have your head for this, do you hear me?”

Arik continued to walk.

Megan tried digging her heels in, but it was of no use. Arik only walked on, and Megan was forced to follow or be dragged. She did follow but began to work on the hand holding her wrist. She tried prying his fingers up and, when she couldn’t manage that, tried biting him. Nothing worked.

“You’re hurting me,” Megan said, changing tactics. It didn’t work. Arik walked on. Megan was feeling positively violent just then, but thought better of kicking the man or lashing out with her small fists. She opened her mouth to offer the threat of violence, but Arik came to an abrupt halt. Thinking she had gone too far, Megan’s heart slammed against her ribs as he turned and looked at her, but a glance behind him showed that they were already back at the castle.

Megan’s heart calmed when she understood his intent. He was giving her the option of walking into the inner courtyard on her own. Something in her face must have indicated her willingness, because Arik dropped her wrist and stood back for her to precede him. Megan did just that, Arik falling into a respectful pace behind.

It never occurred to Megan to enter the castle through anything but the main door, but the guards had other ideas. She was stopped like a common serf, humiliation covering her until Arik evidently signaled from his lofty position. Megan wasn’t sure what he did, and she was too upset to look, but the eyes watching her changed from aversion to speculation and the way was made clear.

Once inside the great hall, Megan held her head high with an effort. The room seemed to be teeming with people, and in the midst of them was Bracken, his size and look as ferocious as a great beast.

Why,
Megan asked herself,
did I not notice how dark and menacing he is?

“Come here,” Bracken ordered before Megan could form an answer. Megan, as much as she wanted to run, felt her feet propel her forward.

Megan of Stone Lake was afraid of no one. At least this had been true up to now, but this man caused her to tremble with dread. She wanted to run home, throw herself into her father’s arms, and cry her heart out, something she hadn’t wanted to do in years.

Fortunately for Megan, none of her thoughts showed on her face. She stood before her betrothed, back straight and head high, and told
Bracken in that instant that she was no commoner. However, this revelation did not soften Bracken’s heart. There were too many unanswered questions for him to be at ease.

“I wish to have some answers from you.” Bracken turned away then and spoke over his shoulder. “Come here and sit down.”

“No.”

The word was not spoken loudly or with much force, but it stopped the young lord in his tracks. Megan’s trembling increased when he turned slowly and pierced her with his eyes, but she kept her head high when she spoke.

“I have not eaten since last evening, and I wish to bathe.”

“And I wish to question you.” Bracken’s voice told Megan that this was the end of the argument.

“Is this the hospitality I am to expect from Hawkings Crest? You give no thought to my well-being in your desire for an inquisition.”

Megan had unwittingly hit the mark. Hawkings Crest was known for its hospitality, something in which Bracken took great pride. Megan couldn’t have chosen more appropriate words.

“Lyndon,” Bracken spoke without ever taking his eyes from the scruffy woman in his midst.

“Yes, my lord?”

“Bring one of the women to assist Lady Megan to a bedchamber and see to her needs.

“You have one hour,” Bracken said, turning to Megan, “to be back down here for my
inquisition.”

Bracken said the last word threateningly and a shiver raced up Megan’s spine. She positively hated to be ordered about in this fashion, but when a woman old enough to be her mother appeared at her side, she left with only a glare in the earl’s direction.

Nearly one hour later Megan finally rose from her bath. Helga, the servant assigned to her, was there with a piece of toweling, and she had finally stopped goggling. Megan was compassionate. She could almost hear the woman’s thoughts.

This is the servant who works in the creamery! The one who came this morning bearing a churn!

Sometime during Megan’s meal or bath, Helga must have realized that a mistake had been made. She had addressed Meagan as “my lady” at least 15 times.

“I’m sorry, my lady,” Helga spoke now. “I have no clothing for you.”

“’Tis all right, Helga. Just fetch me the furs from the bed and then you can do my hair.”

“Yes, my lady.” The servant was swift to obey, and in just minutes Megan sat wrapped from neck to ankle as Helga stood behind her to brush out the mass of red curls.

The action caused Megan to relax completely. She had always been a survivor, but the last week had been more than even she was accustomed to. The fight with her mother still weighed heavily on her mind, and a quick counting of the days told her that it still wasn’t time for her to have left Stone Lake, which meant that her father was probably still away.