Mischief gleamed in her eyes as she pried loose a section of bark from the tree and then hurled it at him. The chip struck a lower branch and dropped to the ground a few feet behind him. She saw him start and whirl about at the sound. Suppressing a giggle, she pulled lose a second strip. Her second throw found its mark in the center of his chest. His yelp of surprise set free the amusement she had been repressing.
Startled, Revelin glanced up as the sound of impish laughter issued from the treetop. “You are up there! Come down this instant!”
Meghan quickly crouched down again, her laughter smothered by her hand.
“Meghan? Come down!”
The command made her shiver, and yet she felt compelled to answer, “No!”
Revelin’s jaw dropped. “Are you afraid of me?”
“No.”
“Then you’ll climb down?”
“No!”
Revelin did not stop to think about what he was doing; he was too irritated by her refusal to obey him. She must have only half the wits he credited her with if she felt it necessary to hide in trees. The prospect of retrieving her from a different tree every morning was not encouraging.
Meghan waited in trembling anticipation. The excitement pulsing in her throat was laced about a knot of fear. Why, oh why had she not simply let him leave? What on earth had she hoped to achieve by encouraging him?
The tree trembled and swayed with his climbing and then it stopped. After several long moments she opened her eyes.
He sat in a fork of the tree, his head even with her bare feet as she crouched above him. His back was pressed against the trunk, his long legs stretched out, his booted feet crossed at the ankles; and when her gaze came back to his face she saw that he was smiling.
From her tense posture, Revelin recognized that she was terrified. She was crouched in a tight ball with her arms wrapped about her legs and her chin resting on her knees. Her hair had fallen forward like a protective curtain and the curled ends drifted in the breeze. He casually lifted a strand caught on the bark and rubbed it between his fingers. “You are feeling better, I see.”
Meghan could think of nothing to say; her gaze remained on him, waiting, watching, afraid.
“Why did you come here?” he asked in his kindest voice. He did not look up, thinking that perhaps she would feel safer if she did not have to respond to his stare.
Meghan shook her head. “’Tis only that I—I…”
Revelin combed his fingers through more locks of her hair, enjoying the cool silkiness. “Tell me, Meghan.”
She shrugged, a frown drawing delicate lines on her brow. How could she explain what Una had called foolish notions?
“Being atop the world makes you feel powerful and special,” Revelin supplied.
Meghan looked at him in surprise. “Ye feel it, too?”
Revelin nodded. Strangely, he did. The pleasure of bouncing on a supple branch was a long-forgotten pastime of his childhood.
“How do ye know my name?” she questioned.
“Your mother told me.”
“Una was not me mother,” Meghan answered.
“Who were your parents?”
Meghan’s gaze slipped away from him. Una had called her a changeling, a child of the fairies left in place of a kidnapped human babe.
A by-blow, Revelin decided. Perhaps an O’Neill clansman’s bastard, for Una had told him that Meghan belonged to that Ulster Clan. “Why did you run away?”
A moment passed while Meghan searched for words to fit her feelings. She was accustomed to explaining what her actions were, not the reasons behind them. Unconsciously her left hand stole upward. “Because I’m ugly. It frightens folk.”
Pity stirred in Revelin as he said in all honesty, “You do not frighten me, Meghan.” He reached out and gently caressed her bare foot. She was female, after all, and deserving of a little flattery. As long as he kept his emotions under control, they both were safe.
Meghan gazed thoughtfully at the hand resting on her foot. It was broad and tan, the fingers long and blunt tipped. But it was his warmth that made her uncomfortable. It communicated itself through her skin, making her vividly aware of how cold she was in every other part of her body. Shyly she asked, “Do ye not fear me?” It was spoken with the candor of a child.
Revelin mastered his smile. “I find you beautiful,” he replied, and wondered why it made his voice unsteady to say so.
Meghan gazed at him, aware again of the pleasure that gazing upon him gave her. “Nae, ’tis ye who are beautiful.”
Revelin looked up from his play.
She was silhouetted against the shifting pattern of green leaves, her hair a black silky halo shot through with rose and gold from the dawn’s light. The light breeze molded her leine to her body, outlining perfectly the generous fullnesses and slender hollows of her young body. A jolt of pure delight tightened the muscles of his lower belly. She was born to give pleasure, he thought fleetingly. The response took him by surprise, and he quickly lifted his hand and looked away before the betraying passion could light his eyes.
Meghan’s smile dissolved. Humiliation shriveled her momentary happiness into a tight knot of shame. He had looked her full in the face and had not been able to stop himself from retreating at the sight. She should have expected nothing more. She had momentarily forgotten that she was bad luck.
With her free hand she clutched the bark of the trunk until it bit deeply into her palm. “I’ll be going me own way. ’Tis not for ye to be worrying about me.”
In looking away Revelin had missed her reaction. He glanced back now in surprise. “Go your own way? Faith! You can’t seriously be considering living”—he waved his arm about—“here?”
Meghan hung her head in silence, and the realization that she meant to do exactly that nonplused him. Conversing with her was like stumbling down a London alley after dark—he never knew what to expect next.
She was only a simple soul, he reminded himself. He should not fault her for balking at the idea of going anywhere with strangers. What could he say to persuade her otherwise? A moment’s thought came to his rescue. “I pledged to your aunt that I would see you kept safe. Would you have me break that promise?”
Meghan considered his words as she watched the passage of an ant along a strip of bark. “I cannot ask ye to break an oath,” she said slowly, “but I’ll have a pledge from ye, meself. I’ll not have ye gawking at me ever again.”
Revelin’s brows shot up, and then he remembered that she believed herself to be ugly. He schooled his features as best he could. “Aye, ’tis a great concern to me, also,” he answered, mimicking her thick accent. “I’ll be doing meself a favor not to be so easily distracted by a bonny lass the likes of Meghan O’Neill.”
Meghan furrowed her brow in confusion. She did not know what to make of his teasing. Una had never spoken to her in cross-purposes that made her want to smile. “Ye’re a fey man,” she said simply.
Thinking that he would do better to leave well enough alone, Revelin turned and began climbing down.
Meghan followed reluctantly. When he leaped from the lowest branch, she would have followed had he not immediately turned and raised his arms to her.
“Jump and I’ll catch you!”
Meghan stood on the branch for a moment, wondering if she should trust him, and then jumped.
Revelin caught her by the hips, but her leine slipped over her body like a loose skin and she slid past his grasp, the momentum overbalancing the pair and sending them onto the mossy floor of the forest.
His body cushioned Meghan’s fall as she landed atop his chest. With a toss of her head to bring the hair forward over her face, she looked down at the man beneath her with misgiving tugging at her lips. There was a strange light in his eyes, halfway between pain and pleasure.
“Well, lass, get up,” he growled in mock indignation.
Revelin grasped her by the waist to heave her off, but his hands stilled as they encountered the bare sati
ny warmth of her skin. Her tunic had slid up past her waist, and along either side of his waist her long slim legs were bared to his inspection.
As she shifted her weight slightly he realized that the moist heat of her bare loins was pressed against his belly. She moved again, unconsciously increasing the intimate contact, and his hands curled tighter on her waist. It took the full force of his will not to arch under her weight and press himself against her.
Unaware of the cause of his distress but strangely excited by their contact, Meghan reluctantly began to rise. As she did, Revelin was treated to a vision so tantalizing that he groaned aloud.
“Ye’re hurt!” Meghan exclaimed anxiously as she knelt beside him.
Not trusting what his next sight of her might be, Revelin waved her away. “No. I’m not hurt. You go back to camp. I’ll be along…in a minute.”
John was noisily sucking the juice from a handful of berries he had found growing at the base of a boulder when he spied Meghan returning from the forest.
“Well now. The day offers all manner of juicy delights,” he said with a smug smile. He met Robin’s gaze and deliberately licked the last of the rich red juice from his hand before nodding in Meghan’s direction. “Methinks Butler’s been at a sweeter fruit than I. He’s had her to himself for two days. Will he share, do you think?”
Robin glanced back over his shoulder and saw Revelin emerge from the forest a few paces behind Meghan. John needed little excuse to square off against Butler, since it was Revelin’s fault that they had tarried a full week.
“With Rev’s puppy prancing about, I’d think twice about pressing the matter, were I you.”
John’s dark eyes registered for the first time Ualter pacing docilely at the girl’s side. “There’s ways of dealing with that!” he pronounced and rose suddenly to his feet. He reached down and rubbed his groin. “Once she’s had a taste, she’ll come begging for it.”
Robin’s mild blue eyes were full of mirth as John strode across the clearing. Despite his lewd talk, Reade did not approach the girl. Doubtless he was afraid of Ualter!
“You’ve left little, I see,” Revelin said when he reached Robin. He had ignored Meghan when she paused just outside the circle of tents, walking past her without comment.
“Appetites vary, Rev. I have mine.” Robin gazed speculatively at Meghan. “And you have yours.”
Revelin leaned forward, his chin thrust out in challenge. “She’s no whore. Any man who tries to change that will answer to me.”
“Your piece, understood,” Robin replied with a wink.
“No—man’s—piece,” Revelin answered, punctuating each word with a finger poked at Robin’s chest. “Understood?”
Robin considered this bit of information and found his curiosity unsatisfied. “You dragged her off before day to show her a bit of the countryside?”
Revelin straightened. “As it happens, she ran away.”
“Faith!”
“I found her in a tree.”
“Even better. I’ve always fancied a dalliance with a wood nymph.”
“Keep your hands off her,” Revelin said, and reached for a cold pheasant leg and bit into it.
“John says we ride north this day,” Robin offered into the lull of the conversation.
Revelin shook his head. “The girl must be made safe. Four days is all it will take. John will see reason.”
Robin studiously ignored this request for backing.
“Watch her,” Revelin said curtly as he turned and walked away.
Curious despite his discomfort whenever he was in her presence, Robin reached for a strip of meat, laid it on the last slice of stale bread, and started toward the girl.
With trepidation, Meghan watched the ginger-bearded man approach, her hand covering her cheek. Ualter, who lay at her feet, sat up.
“You must be hungry,” Robin said in English and held out the food. “Come, be a good girl and eat,” he coaxed, waving his offering under her nose.
The aroma of food filled her nostrils and Meghan’s mouth watered with anticipation. She licked her lips, eyes wide and wary on the man before her, but she did not reach for the food.
Robin shrugged. “Then have it your way, darling.” Bending down, he placed the food before her.
A shudder passed through Meghan as she saw the dog lightly sniff what was meant for her. Hunger wrenched her stomach and a sigh passed her lips. In an instant she was on her knees, snatching the food from under Ualter’s open jaws and stuffing it into her mouth. Ualter growled, baring his teeth, but Meghan merely cuffed him aside with her right hand, and he subsided docilely beside her.
“What madness!” Robin cried in amazement. Ualter raised his head, and Robin took a hasty step backward. “There’s a bit more, I’m certain. Let me see what I can find,” he continued, taking a backward step with each word.
“Unreasonable, am I? Damn you for a prig!”
Both Meghan and Robin jumped at the sound of John’s bellow.
John and Revelin faced each other, their bodies taut and inclined forward, each with a hand on the weapon at his waist.
“God above!” Robin murmured as he ran toward the pair. Whoever drew blood would wish it were his own when the queen learned of their conduct. It was not bravery but sheer fear for all their lives that made him throw himself between them. “John! Rev!” he cried, facing each in turn. “For the love of God, have a care!”
“Out of my way!” John bellowed. “No son of an Irish whore calls me a fool and lives to tell of it!”
“Base-born Englishman that you are, you should be accustomed to insult,” Revelin returned, anger glittering in his eyes.
John lifted his sword partway from his scabbard. “Let’s see you repeat that, minus your pretty head!”
Revelin reached for his dagger, seeming unconcerned that it was a poor match for John’s four-foot double-edged blade. His voice was calm, self-assured, and patient as he said, “You have my permission to try.”
Reassured by Revelin’s self-command, Robin flung himself on his friend and clasped him in a surprisingly powerful embrace. “Don’t be rash, Rev! You stand to lose all for a moment’s folly.”
“He stands to lose all, regardless!” John jeered and bared his blade.
Forgotten by the three men, Meghan rose from her knees.
She could not understand the shouted insults but she understood a drawn sword. A fierce protective instinct reared up within her as she realized that Revelin was in danger. She ran pell-mell across the grass and leaped upon the black-haired man’s shoulders.
The unexpected impact from behind toppled John headfirst into the grass. Badly startled, he cried out, expecting at any second to feel two rows of inch-long teeth ripping into his shoulder or neck. Instead, his neck and head were plummeted with hard little fists as his ears filled with a girl’s cries: “No! No! Ye must not harm him!”
Revelin’s amazement was no less than John’s. In the split second before her attack, he had glimpsed her racing toward them, but his heart had nearly stopped when she leaped upon the man twice her size. Amazement and rage vied for the upper hand as he broke free of Robin’s embrace and reached out to snatch Meghan from John’s prone body. “God’s body! You might have been killed, you little wretch!”
John rolled over and heaved himself to his feet with a gnarl of rage. His narrowed gaze moved from the girl beside him to Revelin and back, and his eyes widened. “You?” Before Revelin could move, John reached out and gripped Meghan’s chin. “Let’s have a look at the doxy Butler’s so willing to spill his blood for! You’re a—Bloody Christ! She bears the mark of Satan!”
Meghan recoiled as he pushed her away. A deep tremor began within her. She had seen wolves before. They roamed the twilight underworld of the forest, low-slung skulking figures snatching creatures too young or too weak to defend themselves. As she gazed, locked in the vision, the features of the black-haired man changed. A snout appeared where his broad, broken nose had been. His che
eks grayed, and his beard increased until his face was furred. Only his silver eyes did not change and in them she saw single-minded deadly purpose. He was a predator. Who was his prey?
It was over in an instant and then she heard voices conversing as though nothing had occurred.
“…John. She’s only a child,” Robin argued, hanging back even though his desire was to interject himself between John and the girl. “She didn’t know what she was doing. She—”
“Shut up, Robin,” Revelin inserted flatly into the speech. He reached down and picked up John’s sword, wiped it against his canions, and offered it, hilt first, to the soldier. “Another occasion, perhaps.”
John hesitated long enough to mutter, “Anytime will serve me,” and then took his weapon and sheathed it. He wiped the sweat from his brow and then bared his teeth. “I still command. You will ride to Ulster, Butler, or the queen shall hear of it. I know a little of the Tower’s amenities. The rack is worst for a man of good constitution. You’re young and strong. You might linger for days.”
His gaze darted to Meghan, and she shrank back until she met the wall of Revelin’s body and his hands closed over her shoulders. “The bitch is cursed. Keep her out of my path or I’ll not answer for the consequences. We ride in a quarter-hour’s time.”
After a moment Revelin looked down at Meghan. He did not doubt John’s threat or the verdict if he knowingly disobeyed the queen’s command. And then there was his uncle’s request. He could not take her to safety, or, as matters stood, could he leave her behind. “I must journey to Ulster. Will you come with me?”
He noticed that John swung around in startled interest at the sound of his Gaelic speech, but he did not look up.
Meghan gazed up into Revelin’s stern face. Clearly he had not shared her vision, and she dared not speak of it. But he was in danger. The fear she felt was not for herself. She had protected him once. Perhaps she could do so again.
“I will come.”
Chapter Six
Revelin stretched out for what he decided, with a lazy smile, would be the best sleep of his life. He had agreed with John’s assessment that they must stop using their tents once they crossed the boundary of Louth and entered Ulster; pitching them was time-consuming and they were likely to attract the curious eyes of the Irish. In the relentless war that had never been declared, every Englishman who dared to cross into Ulster was fair game for the clans of the north.
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