The Thorn & the Thistle

by Julie Moffett

  Rolf slid off the horse. “Then I stand corrected. I won’t deny he’s been an excellent mount.” Stretching out his good hand, he helped her out of the saddle.

  Megan dismounted, her gown bunching up around her thighs. When she saw him staring at her legs, color flooded to her face.

  “I’m no’ used to wearing such a fine a gown when I ride.” She brushed down her skirts. “I forgot how clumsy I am.”

  “You are anything but clumsy.” Turning, he opened the leather pack on his saddle and pulled out a large sack.

  Megan glanced up. “What’s that?”

  “Food, among other things.” He gave her a mysterious smile and indicated with a quick jerk of his head that she was to follow him.

  Puzzled, Megan set out after him, stepping in the holes his boots made in the snow. She watched as Rolf approached a large tree and pulled a blanket from the sack. As he unrolled it and laid it down on top of the snow, Megan stared in disbelief.

  “Have ye lost your mind or is this some kind o’ odd English tradition? A picnic in the middle o’ winter?”

  Rolf grinned. “Why not?”

  “Well, because it’s daft.”

  He laughed. “I do admit to having an ulterior motive. I brought you here this afternoon to suggest a temporary truce. For the time we spend here, I’ll ask you no questions about the Wolf or his activities.” Rolf sat down, opening the sack and rummaging around in it. After a moment, he looked up as if surprised she had not yet joined him.

  “Is my offer of a truce accepted?”

  Mistrustful of his intentions, Megan opened her mouth to answer in the negative, but he flashed her a smile so boyishly winsome that she felt her suspicion melt beneath its warmth.

  “No questions about the Wolf at all?”

  “I give you my word.”

  She studied his face, searching for a hint of deception. When she could find none, she sighed. “All right. I accept your offer o’ a truce. But just for now.”

  “I assure you, I wouldn’t dare to ask for more.”

  Megan seated herself on the far side of the blanket, carefully arranging her skirts. Despite the feeling that she was participating in something absolutely ridiculous, she could not shake the lighthearted feeling that was taking root within her. A picnic in the middle of winter? Why it was outrageous, silly and...and a welcome change.

  In fact, Megan could not stop smiling as Rolf reached into the bag, tossing a flask of wine, legs of chicken and several oatmeal cakes onto the blanket. She scrambled to catch everything he cast out, giggling at their silliness. Rolf joined her, his own laugh deep, warm and rich. The food was wonderful and Megan feasted on it with unabashed enthusiasm. She noticed that Rolf, too, seemed to be enjoying himself, eating steadily through a pile of chicken legs and washing it down with wine. She could not help but tease him when he ate seven oatcakes in a row.

  “Do all Englishmen eat like ye?”

  “Oh, I’ve never suffered from a lack of appetite.” He patted his stomach. “Unfortunately, I’m not always able to eat this well. Today, however, all of this fresh air and stimulating conversation has made me famished.”

  “Aye, there’s naught else like the air o’ the Highlands, especially wi’ the breath o’ spring so close. And when spring does come, the whole glen comes alive with the blooming o’ the gorse brush, yellow buttercups and purple heather. There’s no place in the world as beautiful as the glen in spring.” Realizing how enthusiastic her voice sounded, she looked over at him embarrassed. “I should warn ye that ’tis a folly to ask a Scot about his home for he’ll speak on and on without end.”

  “There is no need to apologize. I find your description of Scotland to be refreshing. It is quite unlike most descriptions usually given of London.”

  “What is your home like?”

  Rolf reached out and took the flask. “Frankly, I don’t spend much time at my estate. I am a soldier by training, as my father was before me. I used to visit home when my father was still alive because I enjoyed his company. But after his death, I found it difficult to return. The estate is mine now, of course, but I still find myself looking over my shoulder as if my father were still there. Without him, the castle seems to have little life of its own.”

  “Were ye close to your father?”

  “I admired and respected him greatly. However, as a child, I saw very little of him. My mother died when I was three. The servants and an army of tutors raised me. They ingrained in me the importance of education and training so that the only heir to the St. James estate would be fully capable of serving his sovereign. I know you would dare to disagree with me, but King George is a good man. In all his dealings with others and me in the court, he has always been fair and generous. I owe him a debt of gratitude for that.”

  “Do ye have many responsibilities at the court?”

  Rolf grimaced, lifting the flask to his lips. After taking a drink, he set the bottle aside, his fingers resting around the neck. “Unfortunately, when I am in residence, I do have responsibilities there. To be truthful, I find it rather unpleasant. The court is filled with a plethora of sanctimonious fools pretending an interest in politics while really plotting ways to undermine the king. Then, when those activities bore them, they gossip incessantly and devise outrageous methods to bed each other’s wives. I much rather prefer the military, where a soldier’s life is based on a sense of honor and duty.”

  “Really?”

  Rolf sighed. “Forgive me, Megan. Had you wished for me to tell you of the dazzling jewels, expensive gowns and extravagant balls?”

  “Nay, I’m just surprised. I expected ye to boast o’ your friendship wi’ the king and those at court. I thought something like that would be important to ye.”

  Rolf leaned over close to her, a lock of his black hair falling across his forehead. “Make no mistake of it, Megan. I do value my friendship with the king. But other than the king, I have few friends at court. Most of the time, I despise my social obligations. People can be terribly cruel about things they know nothing about.”

  Megan thought of the stories she had heard of him, including those that he was the Devil incarnate—a man who enjoyed torturing and crippling his enemies, beating women and small children, and who had even murdered his own wife. At this point, these stories contradicted everything she had seen of him. So far, he had not employed violence against her or her clansmen, although he’d had ample opportunity and cause. Mayhap she had been wrong to judge him.

  “It sounds like a lonely place, this London o’ yours.”

  Rolf grunted, taking another sip of the wine, while Megan gathered the remains of their lunch, returning them to the pack. When she was done, she settled back on the blanket, looking up at the sky.

  “’Tis beautiful here,” she commented.

  Rolf rolled to his side, propping his head up with his hand. “You are beautiful.”

  Color streaked across her cheeks. “Why did ye really bring me here? ’Twas no’ just for a picnic, was it?”

  “Not entirely. I needed time away from the pressure of hunting the Wolf. And truthfully, I find your company quite enjoyable.”

  “Imagine that. My company enjoyable to an Englishman.”

  “Not only enjoyable, Megan. I find myself very attracted to you.”

  “I don’t know what ye mean.”

  “I think you do.”

  She fell silent, watching the drifting clouds begin to partially conceal the sun. Raising a hand to her brow, she inhaled a deep breath. “Ye know, when I was a bairn, I used to sit in this meadow and dream. As a young lass I had so many hopes for the future. My mother used to tease me about all my grand plans. But ’twas from her that I learned to dream, and ’twas she who told me that dreams bloom like flowers in the heart. When I sat here amid the most beautiful flowers in the world,
I had a heart full o’ dreams.”

  “Was your life as a child so difficult that you sought refuge in dreams?”

  She frowned. “Nay, I had a loving family. But our life was no’ without strife and dying. When I was eight, my mother died. ’Twas the fever that took her, but my da always said ’twas brought on by her grief o’er the loss o’ her younger sister. Her name was Ellen and the Chisholms killed her during a raid. ’Twas all a horrible misunderstanding in the first place, but it started a feud between our clans that went on for five years. Many o’ the people I knew were slain. Thomas, a cousin o’ mine, was felled when he was but twelve. I found the body when I went to the forest seeking herbs. At first I thought he was sleeping. I shook his arm trying to wake him, thinking he was teasing me. I even laughed.” The hand on her brow trembled. “But when I rolled him over, I saw the blood. He wasn’t sleeping.”

  “Christ’s wounds. I’m sorry.”

  “Och, ’twas just the first time I saw death, but ’Twould no’ be the last.”

  “So, how do you do it?” Rolf asked.

  She rolled her head to look at him. “Do what?”

  “Suffer so much heartache and yet keep your pride and dignity intact?”

  “’Tis all I have left. But ’tis hard to live on.”

  He fell quiet for a moment. “Do you still come here to dream?”

  “’Tis little opportunity for dreams now. But once these dreams were everything to me.”

  “I understand. I’ve had dreams of my own like that.”

  Megan blinked in disbelief. “Ye have?”

  “I have. I’ve been a solider most of my life, but sometimes even I weary of the killing and seek a place where I can find peace.”

  “But your battles have brought ye wealth and glory. Ye mean to say ’tis no’ enough for ye?”

  “Would it be enough for you?”

  “Nay, but I’m no’ English. Surely the titles and estates piled upon ye by the king do much to soothe your conscience.”

  “It helps. But it is not always enough.”

  Curious, Megan rolled to her stomach. “Do I detect a hint o’ a conscience?”

  A dry smile touched Rolf’s lips. “Perhaps. Are you so surprised?”

  “Aye. I never thought it possible for an Englishman.”

  “What exactly do you know of Englishmen, Megan?”

  She hesitated for a moment. “Well, I know they are cold, arrogant and cruel to women and bairns. Certainly none have a conscience.”

  Rolf’s eyebrow raised several inches. “I see. I presume you’ve met many Englishmen on which to base this conclusion.”

  “Well, no’ many, but I’ve heard tales from those who know your kind well.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t put much stock in gossip.” He sat up, reaching across the blanket and capturing her fingers with his good hand. “And you shouldn’t either.” He pulled her hand to his lips and pressed a warm kiss on the pulse point of her wrist.

  “What are ye doing?” Megan snatched her hand away and pressed it against her breast. She was shocked by his boldness, but even more disturbed by the way her traitorous body leapt to respond to his touch.

  “I’m proving a point. Give me your hand, Megan. I promise that I’ll not harm you.”

  She frowned, but placed her hand in his. Smiling, he turned it over. As she watched in fascination, his tongue grazed across her knuckles one by one. Megan drew in a breath and held it as her pulse skittered.

  “Is that the touch of a cold Englishman?”

  She let out a shaky breath. “Nay. But I also said ye were arrogant.”

  He chuckled, pressing her hand against his cheek. “Do you really think me arrogant?”

  The feel of his rough whiskers beneath her fingertips was so pleasurable that Megan feared it a secret method of English torture.

  “I do.” Her heart was hammering in her chest, her flesh tingling. “For I have no’ given ye permission for such liberties.”

  His dark eyes burned into hers. “Do you wish me to stop? Because if you do, all you must do is say so.”

  Megan hesitated. Saints help her, but she really didn’t want him to stop. It was a dangerous proposition, permitting him to kiss her, but for once she longed to cast propriety to the wind and do something reckless, something wild. Perhaps it was just the beautiful day, the wine, or the warm sun. “Nay. I don’t want ye to stop.”

  “Good.” Closing his eyes, he leaned forward, lowering his mouth. She shuddered in pleasure as his lips settled against hers. He kissed her softly, almost tenderly.

  “God, Megan, you are so sweet.”

  Megan had no idea what made her yield to the Englishman’s caress. It was only that it felt so right. Her body seemed to be made of half ice and half flame as his mouth moved across hers with such sweetness and yearning that she felt like weeping. The intoxicating scents of leather, smoke and wine thrilled her as his tongue slid across her mouth, coaxing and requesting access. When she finally granted it, his tongue plunged inside with such possessiveness and familiarity that Megan felt faint from the sensual sensations pulsing through her veins.

  Welcoming him to her, she wrapped her arms around his neck, her lips clinging to his. Dimly, she realized that he was unfastening her cloak, but could not find it within herself to protest. As it fell open to his hands, she shivered from the cool air.

  He moved to warm her, pressing her down against the blanket. His mouth slid down her cheek and jaw, caressing the skin along the neckline of her gown. The first daring dip of his fingers beneath the material sent desire streaking through her. She clutched his arm as he slid his hand lower to cup one of her breasts. He circled and kneaded the soft mound until she arched beneath him, her breath coming in short gasps.

  He slid the palm of his hand upward from her breasts, across her neck and shoulders, until it came to a halt beneath her chin. As she trembled in anticipation, he again lowered his mouth to hers. Heat seared through her veins as she clung to him, sighing in pleasure. He intensified the kiss, his hands roaming across her body, exploring the soft curves and hollows.

  “My lord?” A voice called out from nearby.

  Rolf jerked his head up swearing, looking around to see from where the voice came. “Lord Almighty, can a man not have a moment of peace?”

  Megan blinked in a daze. Her cheeks felt hot, her lips swollen from their kiss. She started as Rolf reached over and adjusted the bodice of her gown. She emitted a small cry and fumbled for her cloak, pulling it about her shoulders.

  Seeing her distress, Rolf gripped her chin between his fingers, forcing her to look at him. “Don’t you dare be ashamed for what happened. We did nothing wrong to seek a little pleasure amidst the madness.”

  Megan could not meet his eyes. “I almost gave my body to an Englishman. To my enemy. And ye tell me to have no shame.”

  “I’m not your enemy, Megan, and you know it.”

  “Ye were seducing me. ’Tis why ye brought me on this picnic, was it no’?”

  “I’ll not deny that I want you. But in all truth, had I wanted just your body, I could have taken it long ago. However, I want more than that and I think you do too.”

  “My God.” Her shoulders started to tremble. “What have I done?”

  “No regrets. You’ve no cause to be ashamed. Mark my words, we will finish this later.” With those words, Rolf stood and walked away toward the lake.

  Andrew saw him and waved, running toward them. “My lord, I’m sorry to disturb you.”

  “It had better be damn good, Andrew. For if your words do not stir me, I will take immense pleasure in strangling you with my one good hand.”

  “F-forgive me, my lord,” he stammered. “I would not have dared to bother you but the other men insisted that I fetch you at once.”
>
  Rolf’s frown faded, concern softening his rugged features. “What is it, lad?”

  “The Scots’ village, my lord. It’s burning to the ground.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “Ye must let me accompany ye,” Megan said, running to keep up with Rolf as he strode toward their horses.

  “No.”

  “But ye must.” She pleaded with him now.

  He stopped, his hand closing over hers. “It’s too dangerous.”

  “Dangerous or no’, ye need my help. The villagers will be frightened and ye do no’ speak their language. ’Twill only make matters worse if ye and your men go charging in there. Permit me to accompany ye. I’ll tell the villagers that ye have come to help, no’ to harm them.”

  Rolf remained silent, considering her words. As Andrew and several other men came riding up, Rolf swung up onto his horse. “Agreed, but only if you stay behind me and follow my orders without question. Do I have your word?”

  Megan nodded as she pulled herself up into the saddle. Giving a sharp command, Rolf slapped the reins on his stallion’s neck, leading the group forward. As they neared the top of a nearby hill, Megan could see thick black smoke rising into the air. Her heart quickened with fear.

  “Blessed saints.” Horrified shock filled her as she looked down on the village below. Fires raged across thatched roofs, and people and livestock ran screaming and shouting between the huts.

  Rolf’s face turned black with fury as he kicked his heels into the side of his horse, racing down the hill, the others following. When he reached the center of the village, Rolf dismounted, grabbing Megan’s reins as she rode in behind him.

  “See what you can do to stop the fires,” Rolf ordered his men over the din. They scattered to do his bidding.

  Rolf reached up, helping Megan from the saddle. “Stay by my side.” He griped her hand.

  Black, acrid smoke stung Megan’s eyes and throat, causing her to cover her mouth and nostrils. She could hardly see where she was going, but Rolf led her toward a cottage where one fire had already been extinguished. Flames had ravaged most of the roof and one side of the dwelling. Smoldering wisps rose from the wet timber of the door, which had burned but was still intact.