Outlaw

by Lisa Jackson

“Just let me go. What matters it to you? You’ll get your ransom, for my father will pay it, and I’ll not have to be returned to a husband I detest.”

  “A husband who will hunt me and my men like foxes in the field for the rest of my days,” he reminded her, his voice edged in anger.

  “Would you not enjoy it? Giving chase, eluding your enemy, vexing him?”

  He searched her face for a heart-stopping instant. “Aye, ’tis true. I’d like nothing better than to cause Holt anguish and laugh at him, but there comes a time when a man must stop running.”

  As his gaze touched hers, she was suddenly lost, her anger drained away, and the cold, brittle night closed around them. A rush of wind rattled the dry leaves, sending them skittering across the snow-dusted ground. “What are you running from?”

  His smile gleamed white and wicked in the darkness. “I know not,” he said, shaking his head. “Myself, mayhap, or the mistakes of my youth.”

  “You will make another if you force me to return to Holt.”

  “Do you not want to see Dwyrain again?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “And your father?”

  “Aye. I miss him.”

  “Then you have to go to Dwyrain as Holt’s bride,” he said, but his lips barely moved. When she stared at them, that newly awakened beast of desire lying deep within her stretched its legs and unleashed its sharp claws. She could not trust this man, didn’t dare give him her heart, but the deed was already done; nothing remained but the physical act of loving him. What would be the consequences of that one, dark, unforgivable act?

  She would be condemned. For the love of Jesus, she could not, as a married woman, even consider adultery, but the strength of his arms holding her close to his chest, the thunder of his heart beating a hard cadence not unlike her own, and his eyes, hidden when a gust of wind blew his black hair before them, worked to change her mind. What would be the harm of it?

  Were she to give herself to Wolf, her marriage would certainly be annulled and she would not be forced to stay with Holt. However, her father would never forgive her for bringing shame to the house of Dwyrain. Ewan would surely disown her and mayhap banish her. Then she would lose everything.

  “Come,” he said, carrying her to his horse.

  “No!” Desperate to free herself, she pushed hard against the wall of his chest. “Let me go.”

  “I cannot.”

  “Then ’tis about money—pieces of gold and silver—nothing more!” she accused, and she felt him stiffen.

  The skin over his face tightened but he didn’t answer. As he reached for his mount’s reins, she felt his grip lessen. Using every ounce of her might, she twisted hard and kicked at the horse. With a surprised snort, the animal backed away. Muttering under his breath, Wolf tried to restrain the beast, but the destrier tossed his great head, let out a frightened neigh, and began to rear. Heavy hooves flailed, striking the air, causing Wolf to step away.

  “By the gods—”

  Megan writhed and yanked herself free, her feet touching ground as Wolf tried to soothe his horse. The mare shied and Megan took off running, heading through the bracken, her boots slipping on the snow, her face being attacked by branches and vines.

  “Megan! Holy Christ, where do you think you’ll go that I’ll not find you?” he said, and then there was silence. Her throat tightened and she knew he was stalking her through the thin, leafless trees. She ran faster and faster, intent on getting away, not because she feared him, but because she couldn’t trust herself alone with him, and if she was forced to return to the camp with him, her plan to extricate herself from her marriage would be thwarted.

  Her breath was coming in short, shallow gasps, her legs beginning to ache, her mind spinning ahead when he caught her. “Little one, stop,” he ordered and then, as if from the very soul of the forest, a hand reached forward and clamped over her arm.

  “No!” she cried, but he tugged, spinning her against him, enfolding her in his arms.

  “Shh!”

  “Leave me be, you bastard!” she half screamed, her fists raining blows on his neck and shoulders.

  “Ahh, my lady,” he said as he held her and stared into her furious eyes. “If only I could.”

  She tried to step away, but could not, and when his lips, cold with the night, found hers, she gasped. Her skin was instantly alive, her heart, already drumming, beginning to beat an erratic, wild tempo. She could not trust herself to kiss him, to touch him, to feel his body against hers, but neither could she stop.

  Inside, her bones melted as surely as a candle left too close to a flame, and a wild storm of yearning began to rage deep in her heart. As his tongue parted her lips, she opened to him, unable to resist, hot blood flowing through her veins. A primal throbbing started deep within, yearning and moist, and his mouth was savage, his tongue merciless in its assault.

  The wind swirled around them, billowing his cloak, stirring the dry leaves clinging to the branches. Moaning, desire pulsing through her body, she closed her eyes, lost in the scents of smoke, leather, and that musky odor that was only his.

  His mouth was insistent, his tongue bold, his hands possessive as the kiss deepened. Denial formed in her mind, only to skitter away like the stars fleeing the dawn. Her arms, as if they had a mind of their own, wound around his neck, and the world began to spin. She didn’t protest when he lifted her from her feet and carried her to the base of a strong fir tree with its soft carpet of needles.

  “Say no,” he begged in a deep rasp as he untied her mantle, but no words formed in her throat. “By the gods, Megan,” he insisted, his face tense, his eyes filled with a savage fire. “Stop me.”

  “I—I cannot.”

  Before the words were out, he kissed her again, his mouth warm and wet as it touched her eyes, her cheeks, her throat. He yanked the mantle over her head, and soon, her tunic as well. Her breasts, straining upward, proud nipples erect, beckoned him, and with a tortured groan of surrender, he dropped his mouth over one proud point and began to suckle.

  Megan jolted, her body arching upward, her spine bowing as she held his head close. He captured her buttock with one big hand and held her close to him, letting her feel, through the rough fabric of his breeches, his hot, swollen member. He kissed and suckled, teased and tormented, until the silk fabric was wet and cool where the wind caressed it.

  “This is wrong,” he said with a fatalistic groan. He lifted the garment over her shoulders as if it were a bridal veil.

  “Nay, ’tis right.”

  The breath of winter skimmed over her naked flesh, and Wolf stared down at her an instant, before reaching for the ties of his breeches. Slowly, he undid the knots, and Megan, watching him, lost her breath.

  Discarding cloak, mantle, and tunic, he kicked off his boots, then, with his breeches open, he guided her hand to his crotch. “This is how much I want you,” he said when she felt his hard, hot flesh. “I ache and yearn for you, and I would do anything if I could end this torment another way.”

  Leaning forward, he kissed her lips. “I planned this not,” he said, in a voice filled with conviction, as his weight carried them to the tangle of clothes that was their bed. “I wanted to hate you.”

  “Aye.” Reaching up, she touched the side of his face, feeling the stubble on his cheek against her palm. “And I wanted to detest and thwart you.”

  “Do you still?”

  She couldn’t hide the mischievous smile that played upon her lips. “Aye,” she agreed, wrapping her fingers around his neck and drawing her face close to his. “Can you not tell how much I despise you?” Laughing, she kissed him, and he groaned.

  “ ’Tis serious, I am.”

  “Then prove it, outlaw.” She held his gaze, and as he cast off his breeches, she felt only a tremor of fear. She loved this man with all her heart. ’Twould always be so. ’Twas right that they joined, as natural as the turn of the seasons.

  His lips crashed down on hers again and he covered her body wi
th his, keeping her warm as his knees pushed her legs open, and he touched her breasts with hard, eager fingers.

  “You are a virgin?” he asked, his breath a warm balm against her skin.

  “Aye.”

  “Then I will be gentle.”

  “Nay,” she said, looking up at him, feeling wild and reckless, her skin on fire, her pulse pounding. “Take me as you would to pleasure yourself, Wolf. Let me feel what it is you want.”

  With only a second’s hesitation, he wrapped his arms around her middle and splayed his fingers over the curve of her spine and the cleft of her buttocks. “We will pleasure each other, woman,” he said slowly and lifted her hips to kiss her abdomen and the thatch of curls between her legs. His fingers and tongue were magic. The world swam again and Megan let go, losing herself in the uncharted waters of desire. He touched and kissed her in the most intimate of places, teasing her, heating her blood, bringing her to the brink so that she bucked up against him, demanding more as she cried out in sweet, sweet torment.

  “In time, little one,” he promised against her thigh, and she arched upward again and again, straining for a release only he could give.

  “Please,” she begged under the gentle, relentless assault of his tongue and fingers.

  He was sweating despite the frigid air, and she saw his face, tight with restraint, as he climbed upward, spreading her legs wide. Without kissing her, he took her in one, strong swift thrust that caused her to let out a cry as raw as the night itself. A bright burst of pain knifed through her, but he held her fast, withdrawing slowly only to enter again. “ ’Twill be all right,” he assured her, and his lips found hers again.

  Desire pounded through her brain as he began to move more swiftly. His muscles strained and her fingers dug deep into his skin as he loved her, faster and faster, easing that first tiny bit of pain until she felt nothing but that same dark, dusky yearning that she experienced when he kissed her. In that sublime second, she was swept away, and the stars flashed a brilliant hue as he convulsed against her. “Megan!” he cried fiercely. “Oh, love!”

  With a triumphant yell, he fell against her, crushing her breasts, his sweat-soaked body joined with hers as she floated away on a cloud of contentment, not thinking of the morrow, not worrying about her freedom, not concerned with anything other than this one glorious man.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked, when his heart had quit beating so wildly he thought it might burst.

  “Nay.” Her breath was feather-light upon his skin, and he wrapped them both in his cloak, holding her close to him, trying to protect her from the cold winter air. Tenderly, he kissed her forehead and wondered why this woman touched him so deeply. What was it about her that had crept so easily past the barrier he’d worked years to construct, the wall that kept him from caring too deeply for anyone?

  Cayley hoped to visit the cripple again. The man, whom she’d sworn to detest, held a fascination for her. She sneaked out of her room and was halfway down the hall when she heard the laughter—a woman’s laughter, soft but distinctive—chasing down the corridors. The bolt on Holt’s door clicked loudly.

  Cayley ducked into the shadows.

  “If ye be needin’ any more favors, m’lord,” Nell, the freckled seamstress, said as she tossed her hair from her face, “let me know.”

  Holt’s voice was low. “Mayhap next time you can bring your friend, Dilys, with you?”

  The seamstress pouted. “Dilys? She’s scrawny.”

  “Ah, but she has some fine qualities. I think she could learn to pleasure a man.”

  “She’s but a lass, barely ten.” Nell shook her head. “Nay, I think not—”

  “Bring her with you tomorrow,” Holt ordered, grabbing Nell by the neck of her tunic and running his hands familiarly over her breasts. She arched her spine and purred like a cat. “You need not Dilys, m’lord,” she said, lolling her head and exposing her throat and a breast that Holt chose to bare. His fingers ran distractedly over her nipple. “I will do whatever you want.”

  “You’re but one woman, Nell, and an amply endowed one at that. But sometimes one mouth is not enough. Bring Dilys to me tomorrow.” His voice turned hard and he pinched her nipple, causing her to cry out. “And tell her not what I intend to do with her. ’Tis better when there’s a bit of surprise—aye, even fear—involved.”

  “You intend to frighten her?” Nell asked, trying to step away, but Holt wouldn’t let go.

  “Just a wee bit. ’Twill be fun. Come, Nell, be a good lass.” And with that, he covered her breast and shut the door. Nell slipped down the stairs and Cayley cringed, the contents of her stomach turning sour.

  Wolf’s gentle snoring was soft against her nape and Megan, too, wanted nothing more than to sleep with him in the waning moonlight, to cling to him and hold him forever.

  But she could not.

  They’d coupled thrice already and she tingled at the memory of each savage union, when they’d used the soft fir needles and their clothes for their bed. Finally, sated and spent, he’d fallen asleep, and now Megan had to make good her escape. Though she longed to stay with him, this was her last chance to leave. She planned to ride to Castle Erbyn and speak to Lady Sorcha. If Wolf spoke the truth about Holt, then her husband was a traitor to Dwyrain. However, Ewan would not take the word of an outlaw against that of his most trusted knight. Therefore, she must uncover the truth herself by speaking with Lady Sorcha, who was Tadd of Prydd’s sister.

  Surely Sorcha would know of Holt, had he been in Tadd’s army, thus proving Wolf to be honest or a liar of the highest order. Gently, she lifted Wolf’s arm away from her waist and slid out from under his cloak, which they’d used as a coverlet. The air was chill upon her skin as she silently pulled on breeches and tunic while forgoing her mantle, which was crumpled beneath his body. Hardly daring to breathe, she edged to the horses, tethered together in a thicket of oak. Untying the reins and rope with fumbling fingers, she sent up prayer after prayer that Wolf would sleep.

  Once the knots were free, she led both beasts away from the fir tree and deeper into the woods. She couldn’t take a chance that he might catch up with her, for if he did, every thing she’d planned would be ruined—the execution of her plan was certainly the salvation for them, each and every one.

  Nervous sweat collected on her skin as she slid a bridle over Wolf’s stallion’s head. She didn’t bother with a saddle, and shivering, she climbed onto the destrier’s broad back and held on to the reins of the smaller horse’s bridle. Guilt clung close to her as a shadow as she clucked her tongue and followed the lowering moon. He would awaken alone, without even a horse to carry him to camp. She found no satisfaction in the thought, but urged the horses forward and wondered why she didn’t feel relieved that she’d out-tricked him.

  Tears filled her eyes and she told herself their sting was from the fierce wind tearing through the hollow and had nothing to do with leaving her heart in the forest. Somewhere overhead an owl hooted, as if mocking her for her foolishness, but she stiffened her spine and refused to glance over her shoulder, didn’t notice that she was being watched, that standing deep in the shadows of the forest, the outlaw called Wolf watched her leave him, making not one single sound of protest.

  ’Twas his punishment for bedding her. Despite the demons that had screamed in his head, despite each of his promises to himself, despite the fact that she was his enemy’s wife, he’d made love to her with a passion he’d never before felt.

  Never had the earth shifted beneath him, never had he joined with such a willing, loving virgin. Never had he felt such a total release of his soul.

  His fists clenched as he hid in the night-shrouded forest and he sent up a prayer—the first in years—for her safety. The urge to chase her was strong, and he had to force himself to let her go. ’Twas what she wanted.

  Ten

  e lost ’er?” Odell repeated, eyeing Wolf as if he’d finally and truly gone daft. He pushed off his hood, though the wind was bitter cold a
s it raced and screamed through the surrounding trees. “Two ’orses gone, too, includin’ yer favorite?”

  “That’s what I said,” Wolf grumbled, meeting the gaze of each of his men with his own brutal stare. Amusement flickered in more than one pair of eyes and smiles were held in check by quivering muscles near the corners of their mouths. Apparently, they thought it great sport that their leader had finally met his comeuppance, and by a woman, no less.

  Let them think what they would. Bone-tired from a night of lovemaking and then hiking back to the camp, he wanted none of their nonsense, but understood that he would be the butt of jokes for days to come. ’Twas part and parcel to her release. At the thought of her leaving, he felt a deep emptiness, as if she’d cut a hole in his heart.

  “Christ a’mighty, what about Bjorn and Cormick? They’re going to look like bloody fools demandin’ ransom for a woman who comes dancin’ through the gatehouse with two of the finest ’orses in the land!” Odell spit disgustedly into the fire and the flames crackled and hissed. “By thunder, Wolf, sometimes I donna know what goes through that stubborn ’ead of yers!”

  “Bjorn and Cormick will return before Megan reaches Dwyrain.”

  “You ’ope; elsewise, they might be in for the fight of their lives!” Odell made a sound of disgust deep in his throat.

  “He’s right about that,” Peter agreed, his one good eye clouding with concern.

  “ ’Olt’ll torture ’em, sure as I’m an honest man.” He threw his hood over his head again.

  Jagger snorted. “We know how honest ye be, Odell.”

  The older man spit again. “ ’Olt, ’e’ll use the rack or worse. Pokers, heated in a fire, or the press, or ’eaven only knows what else. Whatever it is, ’twill be wicked.” His eyes glowed as hot as the coals in the campfire. “I’ve ’eard stories about ’im cuttin’ out men’s tongues or slicin’ off their cocks and—”

  “Enough!” Wolf commanded. He’d take a bit of ribbing—that was to be expected—but no one could accuse him of putting his men’s lives in jeopardy. Striding to the fire, he warmed his hands and feet. His toes were numb, near frozen from wading across icy streams. “We ride at dawn, Jagger and me. The rest of you will stay here and guard the camp in case Cormick and Bjorn return and somehow we miss them. If no one returns in three days, move the camp to the hills behind Prydd. I’ll find you.”