The Thorn & the Thistle

by Julie Moffett

  “’Twas still the work o’ an Englishman,” Megan said.

  “Not all Englishmen are alike, my lady. Rolf wishes to settle this conflict as quickly as possible. He’d not incite the villagers against him.”

  Megan’s lips formed a mirthless smile. “And why would Rolf St. James care what happens to us? As soon as he’s captured the Wolf, he’ll disappear from this place, leaving all o’ his grand promises behind.”

  Peter leaned forward, his gray scraggly eyebrows drawing together in a firm frown. “’Tis simply not true, my lady. I’ve known Rolf since he was a child and never once in all of those years have I seen him go back on his word. Whatever promises he’s given you, they’ve been offered honestly. He’d not deceive you.”

  Megan stared at Peter with a skeptical look, and the old man shook his head. “I just wanted you to know the truth, my lady. But you needn’t take only my words. I ask you to judge the man for what he has done, not what he hasn’t.” His face reddened slightly as if he’d just realized how wordy he had been. Clearing his throat, he rose and strode to the door, pausing with his hand on the latch.

  Megan stopped him. “Why do ye care what I think of Rolf St. James?”

  Peter shrugged. “Perhaps I am just a foolish old man, but I’ve seen that lad go through too many heartaches because people made false judgments about his character. I thought that perhaps once...just once...I could put a stop to it. Mayhap I was wrong to come. You’ll have to decide that for yourself, my lady.”

  Without speaking again, he opened the door and disappeared into the corridor. The door closed behind him, the sound echoing in the chamber.

  Megan sank back in her chair. The grizzled man did not seem the type to deceive her and she knew he was sincerely fond of his lord. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps she had wrongly judged Rolf St. James.

  Closing her eyes, Megan leaned back in quiet contemplation. The Englishman was not making this easy on her. Instead of acting with dishonesty and deception, he was somehow proving to be a decent, honorable enemy.

  It made her struggle against him even harder to sustain.

  * * *

  “Rolf will see you in the library now.”

  Megan nodded at Abigail before following the older woman from the bedchamber. She smoothed down her skirts and sighed deeply in resolve. Since Rolf had returned to the castle, he had not made any move to visit her or inform her of the current situation in the village. Unable to bear the wait any longer, Megan had requested audience with him. Now, one hour later, Rolf had agreed to see her.

  Megan paused in front of the carved oak door of her father’s former study, waiting as Abigail knocked. The older woman pushed open the door when she heard Rolf grant admittance, giving Megan a small push inside. Once Megan had crossed the threshold, Abigail withdrew, quietly closing the door behind her.

  Rolf was sitting at her father’s desk, papers scattered across its smooth surface. He was writing something, his right hand dipping a quill pen into an ink pot positioned to his right. The room was silent except for the scratch of the pen moving across the paper. Megan had no idea how long she stood there waiting for him to look up, but when he did, she noticed the weary lines on his face and the dark smudges of exhaustion beneath his eyes.

  “Sit down.” He motioned to a chair positioned near the hearth. Without another word, he bent over the paper and continued writing. Megan sat in the chair, watching him. He was upset about something. His hair looked as though he had dragged his fingers through it a thousand times. His mouth was set in a grim line and a muscle in his jaw twitched as his hand moved quickly across the paper. A half-filled glass of brandy sat on top of some papers and he reached for it, setting aside his pen to take a swallow as he read what he had just written.

  Megan wondered if he had discovered her true identity as the daughter of the Black Wolf. It had been a risk for her to appear in the village, and she knew it. The wives and children of the clansmen from the village had recognized her. Others knew her only as the laird’s daughter, still thinking the legendary leader was in command. As they had clamored about her, anxious for news of their loved ones and begging for help, Megan had realized that Rolf’s suspicions were growing that she was someone besides just the Wolf’s mistress. In fact, she was certain her identity would have been revealed had the villagers spoken to her in English instead of Gaelic.

  However dangerous, the visit to the village had also been useful. Megan had asked one of the women to pass on a message to Uncle Geddes, telling him that the Englishman still had no idea as to her true identity and also that she had not been harmed. The unexpected visit had also permitted her to see first-hand Rolf’s reaction to Farrington’s brutality. His behavior had been intriguing, to say the least. And again he had acted contrary to her expectations of an Englishman. This is a most curious man, Megan thought, staring at the hard, angular lines of his handsome face. Curious and puzzling.

  Rolf placed the pen aside and stood up. He moved to the front of the desk, leaning back against its solid weight. For a moment, he simply gazed at her. Then he looked away as if remembering something.

  “You wished to see me?” His voice sounded strained and tired.

  She nodded, suspecting it was more than just physical exhaustion that made him appear so tired. “Peter would no’ permit me to accompany him to distribute the medicine and supplies to the villagers. Why?”

  “He was following my orders. I told him to keep you here at the castle.”

  Megan’s eyes flashed. “For what purpose? I gave ye my word that I would no’ try to escape as long as ye permitted me to treat the wounded. Did ye no’ believe me?”

  Rolf sighed, reaching behind him for his glass. “That is not the reason I ordered him to keep you here. I did not think you would try to escape. I wished to speak with the villagers alone.”

  Megan drew in her breath. A few of the villagers spoke some English. What if he had somehow coerced them into revealing her identity?

  “Why did ye have need to speak wi’ them alone?”

  Rolf cupped the glass in his large hand. “It’s simple, really. I wanted to learn more about you.”

  A wave of apprehension swept through her and she clasped her hands tightly together in her lap. “I see. So, did ye learn more about me?”

  “No, I did not. In fact, I found the Scots quite reluctant to talk about you at all.”

  “Then mayhap ye are trying too hard. Besides, there is little of any importance to be learned about me at all.”

  Rolf’s mouth twisted into a cynical smile. “Now why don’t I believe that?”

  “Because ye’re a thickheaded Englishman?”

  He chuckled. “No. Because I sense you are hiding something.”

  Megan looked away from him and into the leaping flames of the fire. “Everyone hides something, Englishman. Sometimes, we even hide things from ourselves.”

  Rolf pushed himself off the desk and went to sit in a chair across from her. “Yes, I suppose that’s true. I don’t hold it against you, Megan. I just mean to find out what those things are.”

  “I’ll no’ tell ye.” She raised her head to meet his gaze. “No matter what games ye play wi’ me.”

  “I’ve played no games with you. Everything I’ve done or promised is the truth.”

  “Well, I’ve learned that the truth as ye English know it is much different than we Scottish perceive it.”

  Rolf didn’t answer at once, just continued staring. After a moment, he lifted his glass to his lips and took a drink of brandy. “Tonight the villagers were given food, blankets and medicine. My men and I spent several hours repairing the roofs and walls of some of the cottages to give the children a warm place to sleep. We’ll spend some more time there tomorrow, and the next day, and as many days after that until the village is back to normal. Is that truth enough f
or you, Megan?”

  Megan was surprised. “Just what do ye hope to accomplish by helping the Scottish?”

  He leaned back in the chair. “I’ve already told you that I have been instructed by the king to bring peace to this area. I intend to do just that. I hope the Wolf will be able to see for himself that I am an honorable man who will bring a peaceful resolution to this senseless conflict.”

  “But what o’ Farrington? Does he share your sentiments?”

  Rolf frowned, his eyes level under drawn brows. “I’ll manage Farrington.”

  “What he did to the village was despicable,” she argued. “The Wolf will surely seek revenge.”

  “I am well aware of that. But I have a plan.” He stood and bent to pick up the fire iron.

  “The man whom I questioned in the dungeon—the man by the name Kincaid, is he truly your father?”

  A twinge of alarm went through her. “Why are ye asking me that?”

  Rolf jabbed at the peat blocks, sending sparks hissing through the air. “My plan depends on my being able to trust you. Is he your father or not?”

  Megan swallowed hard, feeling a sweep of regret that she had to lie to him. “Aye, he is my father.”

  “His loyalty lies firmly with the Wolf?”

  “Aye.”

  “And you, Megan. Does the Wolf trust you?”

  For this question, Rolf turned around to face her. His dark eyes were hooded like those of a hawk and she could feel his gaze boring into her.

  “Aye, he trusts me.”

  Rolf studied her for a long moment before turning back to the fire. “Then I believe my plan might work.”

  Megan said nothing, only bowed her head, unable to hold his penetrating gaze. Certain the lie was evident in her eyes as well as on her face, she concentrated on her hands, which were still clasped in her lap. She felt an odd sense of shame for having lied to Rolf, but reminded herself that he was nothing more than an Englishman who had taken her prisoner and killed and wounded several of her clansmen. His good deeds for the village notwithstanding, she could ill afford to trust him. To her knowledge, the English had never in past experience proven to be trustworthy, and she could not risk the future of her people by falling so easily for the polished words of this man.

  “What do ye want from me?” she asked.

  “I’ve decided to release you if you promise to take a message to the Wolf.”

  Megan’s mouth dropped open in astonishment, unprepared for his announcement. “Release me?”

  He placed the fire iron back against the bricks and straightened, shaking the dirt from his hand. “Yes. I want you to personally present the Wolf with my offer of general amnesty to his men as long as he turns himself in to me.”

  Megan snapped her mouth shut, her mind working furiously. After a few moments she found her wits and voice. “What about your promise to offer the clansmen their own land without rent?”

  Rolf returned to his seat, stretching out his legs and bracing one boot-clad foot against the leg of her chair. “The offer stands as I stated it to you earlier.”

  Megan fell silent, thinking over his words. “What guarantee do we have that ye will no’ simply go back on your word once ye have the Wolf in your possession?”

  Rolf shrugged. “What guarantee do I have that the Wolf himself will come and not send another man in his place? Trust has to start somewhere, Megan.”

  She nodded, still absorbing the impact of his offer. For several minutes she contemplated various aspects of his words. “I believe the Wolf will take your offer under consideration. But if Farrington continues his brutal actions against the villagers, ’twill be no deal, Englishman.”

  “I am fully aware of that. In fact when you came in, I was writing a letter to the king about Farrington.”

  “Insisting that he rescind Farrington’s right to the land?”

  Rolf smiled. “One does not insist on anything with one’s sovereign. However, I am presenting facts that the king may wish to take under consideration when deciding whether or not to take action against Farrington.”

  A truce seemed to stretch between them. Rolf sat, staring into the fire, his long fingers tapping absently against his thigh. After some time had passed, he asked, “So, what conclusions have you drawn about me now?”

  “I promise to see that your offer is fairly considered by the Wolf and his men. And I will return to give ye an answer to his decision.”

  “You seem to have remarkable faith that the Wolf will let you do whatever you please,” Rolf said with a significant lifting of his brows. “How can you be so certain that he will permit you to keep your end of the bargain?”

  Megan met his questioning gaze straight on. “The Wolf is honorable. He will permit me to keep my word.”

  “That, Megan, is something that remains to be seen.”

  * * *

  As they sat in companionable silence, Rolf stroked his chin and regarded her as she stared into the fire. She had an air of dignity and self-confidence that he both liked and admired. In fact, she was the most remarkable woman he had ever met. A stab of regret passed through him when he realized that when he released her, there would be no more of their verbal and mental sparring.

  A soft knock sounded on the door, snapping Rolf out of his unsettling thoughts. Surprised, he rose from his chair. He did not expect anyone. “Enter.”

  A servant entered the room, bowing to Rolf. “A King’s messenger has arrived, my lord. He wishes to see you.”

  “Bring him to me at once.” Turning to Megan, Rolf extended a hand. She took it and he pulled her to her feet. “I apologize, but I’m afraid I need to speak with the man in private.”

  Megan smiled. “Och, I could be very quiet and just sit here in the corner. No one would even notice me.”

  Rolf chuckled, sweeping out his hand toward the door. “I’m certain you would find our conversation fascinating, Megan. But I’m equally as certain you understand my reasons for refusing your request.”

  “I suppose I do.” She sighed in resignation. She had just begun walking toward the open door when a tall, elegantly-dressed man swept into the room. He was clad in a scarlet coat with long tails made of an oatmeal-colored fabric. His close-fitting breeches and boots matched the color of the tails and his epaulettes were made of gleaming white braid. He wore a powdered wig that was curled just above his ears, and had tucked a fancy black hat beneath one arm. He bowed to Rolf and then turned his gaze to Megan. For a moment, their eyes met in shocked recognition. Megan took a step backward.

  “Well done, sir.” The messenger unbuckled the white pipe clayed belt fastened around his waist. “I can see the king has sent the right man for the odious task of settling things here in the Highlands.”

  Puzzled, Rolf looked at Megan. Her face had drained of color and she stood motionless, her eyes wide and frightened.

  “Just who in the devil are you?” Rolf asked the messenger.

  The man stiffened at the harsh tone, his shoulders snapping back. “My name is Owen Rutherford, my lord. I am His Majesty’s personal messenger and have often been sent on assignment to this godforsaken land. In fact, this is my third visit to this very castle. I’ve arrived with a message for you from the king.”

  Rolf’s fingers tightened on the back of the chair where his hands rested. Mixed feelings of dread and anger swept through him. “Do you know this woman?” He dipped his head in Megan’s direction.

  Owen’s bird-like eyes glanced at Megan again. “I most certainly do.”

  Rolf’s eyes met Megan’s and he saw a look of pleading and desperation in them. He felt his gut clench as he turned back toward the messenger.

  “Who is she?”

  Owen looked at him in surprise. “Who is she? Do you mean to say you do not know, my lord?”

 
“Damnation, man, just tell me who she is.”

  Owen shrugged. “I met the young lady on two occasions—the most recent being in this very room two years ago when I was conducting negotiations with her father, Robert MacLeod.”

  Rolf felt as though someone had hit him in the stomach. He clenched his teeth together, biting back the flood of anger that swept through him.

  Her father. Robert MacLeod. Megan’s father was the Black Wolf.

  Rolf stood very still for several moments, his harsh breathing the only sound in the room. After a moment, he strode across the room and took Megan’s elbow.

  “I’m afraid you will have to excuse us.” Rolf’s voice vibrated with anger. “I shall return to have word with you. But first, I must see Mistress MacLeod safely to her chamber.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “You lied to me.” Rolf thundered, his voice rebounding from the walls of her chamber.

  Megan fought to keep from cringing at the furious tone of his voice. “O’ course I lied. I was trying to protect myself. What did ye expect, Englishman, that I would tell ye who I was and then grovel at your feet while ye trapped my clansmen in a scheme, using me as bait?”

  Rolf slammed his fist down against a small table. An unlit candle and its metal holder fell to the floor with a crash. “You took me for a fool.” He stalked back and forth across the room like a caged beast. “And I played perfectly into your hands. To think I actually believed you had fled to Ireland. I couldn’t imagine that Robert MacLeod would permit his only daughter to live in the hills like some kind of...of...” He let his sentence trail off.

  “Animal?” Megan finished for him. “Go ahead, Englishman, say what ye mean. But don’t forget, ’tis ye who reduced us to this.”

  Rolf swore under his breath. “God’s blood, once again I underestimate the baseness of the Scots. What kind of man would let his daughter live in such conditions?”

  Megan clenched her fists at her side, her voice lashing out. “Don’t ye dare to speak so o’ my father. He wanted me to leave but I refused. Scotland is my home, too, and I would no’ leave it behind because some rapacious English King took it upon himself to steal land which had be longed to the MacLeod clan for centuries.”