“I’ll stand by my promises, Megan. I’ve given them to you and your father in good faith.”
She studied him. “Your honor is terribly important to ye, so it pains ye when others misunderstand your actions or judge ye unfairly.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because I suspect ’tis the truth. And because Peter told me it was so.”
Rolf smothered a half curse. “Peter has been talking with you? God’s teeth, the man is far too interested in my personal affairs.”
A soft smile touched Megan’s lips. “He cares for ye greatly. Like a father, perhaps.”
“Like an old woman who enjoys gossip.”
“I assure ye, ’twas no’ something he did lightly. He feared it would bring your wrath upon him.”
“And it might still.”
“Och, don’t cast your anger on him. He couldn’t bear the notion that I might think ill o’ ye or your actions against my people.”
“Peter has an ungainly habit of attaching too much nobleness to what I do.”
“He admires and trusts ye. I see that same admiration and respect in the eyes o’ the rest o’ the men that serve ye as well. Ye treat them justly and with honor. In our country, ’tis just the traits we look for in a laird.”
Startled by her compliment, Rolf inclined his head. “I am honored that you think so.”
He saw her cheeks flush and for some reason, it pleased him. She stood and moved toward the hearth, reaching out to touch the edge of the mantle with her fingertips. She let her hand trail lightly across the dusty surface.
“Did ye know that the MacLeods have been living at Castle Kilcraig for o’er three hundred years? ’Twas my grandfather’s home, his father’s before that, and so on for centuries. Here in my da’s library, over this very mantle, hung the treasured Macleod claymore. When we were forced to leave the castle, my da bundled it up and gave it to Jamie. My brother was terribly honored to have that sword. I remember the fierce light in his eyes as it passed from my father’s hands to his own. It meant everything to him...to us. ’Twas the last symbol we had left o’ our heritage.” She paused, her blue eyes brimming with tears at the memory. “Jamie was carrying it the day he was killed by Farrington. My da buried that sword wi’ my brother. He couldn’t bear the thought that even in death, Jamie would be parted from it.”
Rolf gazed at her proud, dark profile and the unbound hair cascading down her back in long, thick waves. Coming to his feet, he reached out, taking her shoulders and turning her to face him.
“I’m truly sorry. I wish there was something I could do to change what has happened between our people.”
She tucked a strand of her loose hair behind her ear. “I suppose ye have made a start, Englishman. Mayhap ye are right and ’tis time to put aside our pride and hatred and seek a solution that will bring no more bloodshed to this land...to my people.”
Rolf nodded, his gaze sweeping across her face. Her pale cheeks were flushed from the emotion of their discussion. He longed to reach out with his fingers and touch the softness of her skin, and was suddenly aware of a strange tenderness inside him. With a jolt, he realized that he had come to care for her greatly. He didn’t know whether it was because of her unsettling loveliness or her remarkable wit and courage. Whatever the reason, he had the damnedest feeling that for once in his life he was dealing with a woman who had shown herself to be fully his equal. Yet she was also his captive. Megan MacLeod held the key to his success in the Highlands and he knew he would never leave this place without her father. He had given his word to the king that he would deliver the Black Wolf to London and he was bound by his duty and honor to that promise. But the thought of bringing harm to Megan’s father filled him with more regret than he cared to admit.
“Can we put aside our differences and try to resolve this matter together?” he asked, surprised that his words sounded almost tentative, as if he were testing the idea.
She hesitated for only a moment before nodding, her eyes filled with a mixture of pain and sorrow. “Aye, we shall try. But there are things I will no’ tell ye, Englishman, nor will I knowingly betray my people. Secrets will still remain between us. However, I’m willing to take those first steps, if we can both agree that ’twill be for peace.”
Rolf marveled that she was able to look both strong and fragile. “I’ll not ask you to divulge anything that would place your clan in greater danger. And I give you my word that no harm will come to you.”
“Don’t make promises that ye may no’ be able to keep. There is still much ye do no’ know about me.”
Seconds ticked past and they stood silently regarding each other. Finally, Megan broke the gaze and lifted her skirts, intending to move past him. Rolf raised his good hand to stop her.
“Just one more thing, Megan. I will release one of the prisoners to personally take word of your safety and my offers of pardons and land grants to your father.”
“Have ye already chosen a man?”
“The one-eyed man you call Douglas. Other than the wound to his eye, he is fit to ride.”
“What guarantees do we have that ye will no’ have him followed?”
“He’ll be released to the village. For all we know, he may send word to your father through another of the villagers. We cannot follow everyone.”
Megan nodded. “Aye, ’tis true. But I wish to speak privately wi’ him first. He’ll no’ trust your words, Englishman, but he’ll trust mine.”
Rolf regarded her intently from beneath dark brows. “You will not try to compromise my offer in any way?”
“I give ye my word.”
He was satisfied with her promise. “Then you may meet with him. But I will first make an announcement to the villagers, telling them I know of your identity but will not harm you.”
She looked at him in surprise. “What purpose do ye think that will serve?”
“I wish the villagers to know what I am offering. We both know that they look to your father for protection. When he is taken from here, I want them to know they can come to me for assistance.”
“And when ye are gone, Englishman? Who will protect them from Farrington and others like him?”
Rolf exhaled. “I will insist on provisions that will keep Farrington’s actions limited when it comes to the villagers.”
She thought for a moment. “’Tis generous, but I don’t believe that is the only reason for your announcement to the villagers. I think ye hope to put additional pressure on my father by adding the villagers’ voices to those who might wish him to accept your offer.”
The corner of Rolf’s mouth twitched into a smile. “You are indeed a worthy opponent, Megan. Yes, I do admit to hoping the villagers will help convince your father to accept my offer. But it is not so simple. I do truly wish for everyone to clearly understand the terms of my offer.”
“I believe ye.”
The lines on Rolf’s face softened. “I’m glad.”
She tried to move past him, but he didn’t budge. She looked at him, puzzled. “Is there something else?”
Rolf hesitated, then shook his head. “No, not really. I wish only to say that I may not agree with everything you have done, but I understand it. If the truth be known, I wouldn’t have done anything differently had I been in your position. You’ve conducted yourself with a dignity befitting your people, Megan.”
“Have I?”
“You have.”
“And ye, Englishman? Have ye made your people proud?”
Rolf shrugged. “I would not presume to judge my own actions. However, I do believe it takes decent people on both sides to put a stop to senseless killing. I’d like to think that here at Castle Kilcraig, the end of this conflict started with us.”
She considered his words before nodding. “Aye, I’d like to think that too.�
�
After a moment, Rolf stepped aside. Megan moved past him, opening the door. “Good night, Englishman.”
“Good night, Megan.”
After she left, Rolf stood at the open window, welcoming the cool breeze. After some time, he extinguished the lamp and left the library, returning to his bedchamber. Once there, he cast off his clothes and stretched out on the bed. He did not embrace sleep at once. Instead he let his thoughts drift back through his conversation with Megan.
From the first moment he had found her in the forest wrapped in the pelt of the Black Wolf, he had sensed something unique about her. Nonetheless, he had never expected such deep emotional feelings to surface concerning her. As astonishing as it was, for the first time in his life, he had met a woman who matched him in intelligence, spirit and passion. And in spite of everything he had done, who he represented, and all the rumors of his misdeeds and his crippling injury, she still did not fear him. Instead, Megan MacLeod was a special and rare woman, drawing her own conclusions, looking beneath the surface and judging him for the man he really was. In doing so, she had somehow awakened a fierce desire within him to know her intimately and gain her confidence and friendship. Never before had he sought such things from any woman, even his first wife. That he would wish for them now, and with the daughter of his sworn enemy, was both astonishing and ironic.
Murmuring a curse, Rolf rolled over to his stomach, ignoring a painful twist in his gut. He had to remind himself that this would soon be over. If all worked out as planned, he would ride away from Castle Kilcraig, leaving Megan MacLeod far behind him. He closed his eyes, commanding himself to sleep. But slumber eluded him and instead, visions of a spirited Scottish lass filled his thoughts until dawn.
Rolf knew it was hopeless. He couldn’t stop thinking about her.
Chapter Fifteen
Two weeks passed at Castle Kilcraig with little incident. Rolf and his men spent most of their time at the village, helping people rebuild their homes. Megan was not permitted to accompany them. Instead, she watched each morning from her small window seat as he and the others rode out of the courtyard, not returning until long after dusk. Occasionally she was allowed to take a walk about the gardens with Andrew, who had obviously been instructed to keep a close eye on her. She was also permitted to treat her injured clansmen, but a guard was always present, preventing them from talking.
Rolf avoided her for most of that time, until one night he appeared at her door with a chessboard beneath his arm. Megan looked at him with surprise, but after a moment permitted him entrance. Without speaking, he set up the chessboard on a small table near the fire.
When all was prepared, he motioned with his hand, inviting her to sit. They played only one game before Rolf took his leave, the two of them saying almost nothing to each other.
In this non-threatening manner, they began a nightly custom. As the evenings flew past, Megan felt herself became more accustomed, more comfortable with him. As players, they were evenly matched, although her daring and reckless moves kept him unbalanced and challenged. More than once, she managed to lure him into a foolish move, causing him to lose the game. Rolf told her he admired her unorthodox and spirited style.
During their games, Rolf never spoke of the Wolf or of his efforts to find her father. Their conversation instead drifted to neutral subjects such as art, literature and science. Rolf admitted that he was astonished by her intelligence and delighted by the knowledge that she even spoke a little French. After some encouragement, she conversed with him in the language. Rolf told her he could not help but wonder how she had become so well educated.
“’Twas all the fault o’ Jamie. I adored my brother and followed him about from the time I was a wee bairn. Whatever Jamie did, I wanted to do, too, only better. My mother indulged me while I was young, but after she died, there was no one to guide me toward more womanly pursuits. ’Tis no’ to say that no one tried. Poor Janet Glennie spent two years teaching me embroidery and weaving. But even she lost patience, throwing her hands up in despair and telling my da that I had more talent wi’ horses and the sword than I did wi’ a thread and needle. She was right at that. ’Twas much more fun to be riding outdoors wi’ Jamie than staying inside wi’ a group o’ somber women who did little other than complain o’ their ailments and gossip about the servants. Nay, that was no’ the life for me.”
Rolf smiled. “So your father permitted you to study with your brother.”
Megan nodded, reaching up to finger a strand of her long dark hair. “Aye, but ’twas an awful scandal. My da forbade it at first and Jamie thought I had gone completely daft. Ye see, Jamie didn’t take to learning too well. But I told my da that I would just listen verra quiet and no’ interfere wi’ Jamie’s studies. He wasna too keen on the idea but he finally permitted me.”
“But you just didn’t sit there quietly, did you?” he inquired, leaning back in his chair.
“Och, ’twasn’t hard to win o’er our tutor, old Francis Tosh. He didn’t have many friends o’ his own as Francis was a Lowlander. Many o’ our clansmen believed he was too friendly wi’ the English because he had studied in Edinburgh under the tutelage o’ an Englishman.” She shrugged, her hand dropping to her lap. “But he taught us our lessons well, so the clan tolerated him. And my da paid him well, so he tolerated us. All in all, ’twas a satisfactory arrangement.”
“And you excelled in your studies.”
She laughed. “Jamie used to get so angry wi’ me. He didn’t care much for science or geography. He was much more interested in history and military strategy. But I liked those subjects too. We spent many fruitful hours in front o’ this very fireplace discussing politics and law. Jamie always had a keen sense o’ what was right. He would have made a good laird o’ the MacLeod clan. He was sometimes a hothead and a wee bit reckless, but one of the kindest and fairest persons I ever knew. I loved him wi’ all my heart.” Her voice caught slightly with emotion and she leaned over the board, picking up one of her chess pieces, clutching it in her hand. “I miss him terribly.”
After a moment of silence, Rolf leaned across the board, placing his hand over her fist. “I’m sorry, Megan.”
To his astonishment, a tear slipped down her cheek. “Damn ye English. How could ye take the life o’ a young man so full o’ life and passion?”
“I wish I could have met him.”
Megan drew her hand away from his, dashing the tears from her cheeks, embarrassed she had let the Englishman glimpse her pain. “He would have killed ye on the spot. He did no’ have much o’ a fondness for the English.”
“Hatred can be overcome.”
Megan permitted herself a small laugh. “Ye didn’t know my brother. ’Twouldn’t have been that easy, Englishman.”
“I didn’t say it would be easy.”
Megan unclenched her fist, studying the board and then placing her piece down. “Have ye any brothers or sisters o’ your own?”
Rolf studied the board for a moment, analyzing her move before making his own. “No,” he said, setting down his own piece. “After my mother died, my father never remarried. It wasn’t necessary as he already had a legitimate heir to the St. James estate. Besides, he knew well that a mistress is far less trouble than a wife.”
Megan lifted her head in surprise at the note of bitterness in his voice. “Ye don’t sound as if ye have much respect for the union of matrimony.”
“I’m afraid my experience with this matter has been less than satisfactory.”
“So I’ve heard,” she said, the words slipping from her mouth before she could stop them.
There was a moment of strained silence before Rolf spoke, his voice sounding cool and aloof. “And what exactly did you hear, Megan? That I rid myself of my wife?”
She met his cold gaze. “Did ye?”
Rolf laughed, but Megan saw no humor gr
ace his eyes. “Well, it makes for a magnificent tale and did wonders for my reputation. The ladies of the court found it titillating gossip, indeed. The men, on the other hand, secretly feared me, wondering what kind of man would murder his wife and be damned with the consequences.”
“Ye didn’t answer my question, Englishman. Did ye do it?”
Rolf’s eyes hardened. “Would you believe my answer if it were no?”
She thought a moment before nodding. “Aye, I think I would. I’ve seen how kindly ye’ve treated the bairns and women o’ the village. And ye’ve raised no hand in violence against me, though ye’ve had plenty an opportunity.”
He cocked a dark eyebrow. “I admit your evaluation of my character surprises me. Am I not a detestable Englishman capable of nothing more than murder and deceit?”
“Ye may be many things, Englishman, but I don’t see ye as a man who would knowingly murder his own wife.”
“Well, I’m afraid you are wrong about me, Megan. I did kill my wife.” Pushing himself up from the chair, Rolf stood in front of mantle, his back to her. “Caroline was very young when I married her. Naive, fragile and beautiful. She needed a husband, not a soldier who was rarely home. One summer when I returned to London after more than a year on campaign, I found her five months with child. She’d had an affair, numerous affairs, to be exact. I don’t know who the child belonged to...I don’t know if she even knew. She confessed everything, overcome with guilt and heartache. To say the least, I was furious, enraged. I accused her of shaming our family and making a mockery of our marriage. I swore to banish the bastard child from our estate forever.”
He turned to face her, the look in his eyes dark and tormented. “That same night, she went to the lake and jumped in. She couldn’t swim.”
“Oh, nay.” Megan clasped a hand over her mouth in horror.
“I killed her and the babe as surely as if I had drowned them myself.”
The Thorn & the Thistle Page 15
