Heart of the Highlands: The Wolf (Protectors of the Crown Book 2)

by April Holthaus

  “Can we get this o’er wit’?” Rylan loudly asked. His booming voice hushed the crowd and silence fell upon the room.

  “Very well,” the elderly man replied. “You are Rylan Arnett also known as The Wolf. You have been charged by our court for murdering Jamie Penwick, nephew to the Sherriff of Yorkshire and Lord of Rotherham. Do you agree to these said charges?”

  “Nay.”

  The crowd began to murmur.

  “I beg your pardon. Are you denying these charges or are you admitting that you did indeed kill Jamie Penwick?”

  “He was no’ the Lord of Rotherham when he died. He was nothing more than a squire at the time,” Rylan smugly corrected him.

  A few of the onlookers chuckled as Rylan made the man look like a fool.

  “Enough of this nonsense,” Nathanial stood and shouted. “It matters not who Jamie was or wasn’t. The fact of the matter is, you killed him in cold blood.” Addressing the crowd, Nathanial continued, “The man standing before you is nothing more than a bastard. For years, we have spent cowering at his name when we heard stories about the infamous Wolf. But here, standing before you today is just a man. Not some immortal beast. A man, who has taken enjoyment in killing your brothers, your fathers, and your sons, and I say he should be the first to hang!”

  Moved by his speech, the crowd chanted in response. For a moment, time stood still as Rylan looked around at their angered faces, unmoved by their display of hatred.

  “So, tell us and be done with it. Did you or did you not kill Jamie Penwick.”

  “Ye are bloody right I killed him, and I’d take pride in killing e’ery one o’ ye as well!”

  The guards watched the rowdy crowd, paying little attention to Rylan’s scheme. This moment was his only window of opportunity. Taking a sharp breath, Rylan leapt over the wooden platform, up onto the dais and pulled Nathanial off his chair. He weighed no more than a sack of grain as Rylan pulled him across the table and tossed him onto the ground.

  Wrestling on top of him, Rylan could feel the crack along his ribs as Nathanial made contact with his side with one mighty blow. The contact caused searing pain to radiate up his arm, but the pain subsided when Nathanial stood. Advancing forward, he tackled Rylan back to the ground. The guards stood back.

  Like two hounds, they wrestled upon the floor. Blow after blow, Rylan could not stop his assault. Suddenly Nathanial’s dagger flew from his pocket onto the floor catching Rylan’s attention and Nathanial’s as well. Both men crawled toward it like two starving men chasing a rabbit. The victor would make the kill.

  With the tip of his finger, Rylan reached for the blade. Only one inch further.

  Rylan stretched his arm as far as he could, but it was too late.

  Nathanial lunged on top of Rylan, forcing his hand away and snatching up the dagger. With a clean swipe, Nathanial plunged the blade deep into Rylan’s side.

  Rylan bellowed out in pain. The crowd silently watched. He could feel the blade sear his innards as Nathanial violently yanked the steel back out and leaned back onto his knees. Rylan’s hand instantly flew to his side, pressing it hard against the opened wound and cradled himself like a babe.

  Nathanial sat on the ground, catching his breath.

  The foolish bastard. Dinna he know that if ye are going to kill a mon ye should make sure the mon is dead first before ye remove the dagger?

  Focusing on eluding the pain, Rylan buried every thought, feeling and emotion deep down to the pit of his very core. Instead of surrendering to it, he used it to fuel his rage and anger and allowed it to take over.

  It took mere seconds for Rylan to flip over and lung toward Nathanial. Ripping the dagger from his hand, Rylan backhandedly sliced the blade across Nathanial’s throat.

  Many of the women in the crowd fainted at the sight of blood while others gawked in awe at what had just transpired. And there where Rylan had taken their father’s life, Nathanial collapsed on the floor. It was like reliving a memory, only this time, Rylan was not dreaming, and he was no longer the small boy who took his first kill.

  Gasps sounded from high above him. Looking up, Rylan saw one of the magistrates staring down in horror.

  “Ye have killed our young Lord!” the man shouted from high upon the mezzanine. “Guards!”

  Six of Nathanial’s soldiers marched forward, as two of them pulled Rylan to his feet. His wound tore open further as they stretched his torso by tearing at his arms. Looking down at Nathanial’s lifeless body, one of them shuddered. Rylan could feel the man’s body tremble.

  Scurrying down the stairs, the magistrate who witnessed the crime stepped forward, breathing heavily as he scampered down two flights of stairs.

  “You will get no trial here, you savage lout. T’will be right to the gallows for you!” the magistrate said. “Shackle him and take him to the gallows with the others,” he ordered.

  Calmly, without a fight, Rylan allowed the men to take him. He had accepted his fate and finally accepted himself for what he was. An English bastard.

  Chapter 17

  The dry, late summer heat caused beads of sweat to trickle down the front of Fallon’s dress where her skin was exposed to the sun. The dress she wore was not suitable for riding such long distances. The material was too thin under her sore bottom. The rough ride started to cause her rump to ache and her toes to tingle until she could no longer feel any sensation in them. Even her hands were sore from squeezing the pommel, keeping her steady atop the horse.

  With little tree coverage, they were out in the open and fully exposed. Making the sign of the cross, Fallon sent up a small prayer for safe travels. She was grateful for Aldy’s patience with her and for allowing her to travel with him. He was a quiet man who kept to himself and did not say very much. When they stopped to rest or relieve themselves, he would go about his business and return to his horse, never once engaging in conversation. Fallon thought it would be nice to know at least a little of her travel companion.

  “Do ye have business in Falstone? Is that why ye were traveling there?” she asked.

  Aldy slowed his horse to a trot, and rode closer to her.

  “Of sorts. Ye mentioned a mon’s life was in danger. Whom were ye referring to? Yer husband?”

  “Nay. A verra honorable mon whose only crime was protecting me,” she explained, hearing the guilty pitch in her own voice.

  “How do ye know he is still alive? The English are no’ known to waste their time wit’ trials when it comes to us Scots.”

  “I dinna know. I would never forgive myself if I did not at least try to save him.”

  “He must have made quite an impression on ye if ye are willing to risk yer own life by saving his.”

  “He has,” she replied, thinking of him fondly. “But he is no’ the only reason. They took my son as well.”

  “My apologies, my lady. So, what is this hero’s name that is deemed so worthy of yer affection?”

  “Rylan. His name is Rylan.”

  “Of what clan?”

  “Clan MacKay. But he calls himself the Wolf, though to be honest; it really is a silly nickname if ye ask me. Wolves are said to run in packs, and he clearly belongs with none.”

  “The Wolf, ye say? I have heard many things about the infamous warrior, though honorable would no’ be one of them.”

  “Well he is, and I will no’ hear otherwise. He is a good mon. Perhaps he is just…misunderstood.”

  Aldy smirked. It was clear that Rylan had made quite a reputation for himself, and not a very good one at that. If what Aldy said was true, she did not even know if they would make it to Castle Falstone in time to still find Rylan alive and retrieve her son. But she had hope. And as powerless as she was, hope was all she had left.

  Aldy and Fallon stopped just outside the gates of Falstone Castle. As Fallon dismounted, her backside felt numb. She walked around, stretching her legs. She felt ready to bolt through the gates like a battering ram, but Aldy convinced her otherwise.

  �
�Patience, lass,” he reminded her as Fallon kept a watchful eye on the guards marching back and forth along the ramparts on top of the castle wall. “Here, put this on,” he said, handing her his brown cloak.

  “What is this for?” she asked.

  “To help ye blend in.”

  Cloaked in a shaggy, brown shawl, Fallon made her way through the mass of people standing near the gates and blended with the crowd just as Aldy had said. Racing to the bailey to find Rylan and her son, Fallon stopped her pursuit at the sight of the platform near the keep with five nooses dangling from the beam. Was she too late?

  The number of visitors had quickly seemed to double as people filtered into the courtyard. Rumors of the castle’s infamous prisoner had swept across the crowd and brought people both near and far to witness the event. Hearing the blasphemies they shouted around her made Fallon sick to her stomach. Could they honestly be talking about him? But when the rumor spread throughout the castle and buzzed within the crowd of Lord Nathanial Blackwell’s demise only hours earlier, Fallon knew it was true.

  Deep down, Rylan was a mysterious man and though she had witnessed herself his cold, callous transgression when he killed Everett, he’d done it to protect her. That did not make him a ruthless murderer, even if he had killed Nathanial. The bloody bastard deserved it.

  Fallon did not grieve over Nathanial’s death. With Nathanial gone, Fallon and Braeden would be able to live out their lives in peace. And that would have never been possible had Rylan not intervened.

  “Do ye believe the allegations against him?” she asked turning her attention to Aldy.

  “There is truth behind every story, every fable and tale ever told. What matters lass, is what ye believe to be true. Do no’ let the faulty ideas of men sculpt what ye believe for we be no more than sheep within the herd.”

  “How can ye condemn a man who fights for his honor?”

  “Dinna be so foolish lass. Tis no honor that drives that man. Tis his hatred that has caused his undoing. He may be as loyal as they come, but the Wolf within him makes him a dangerous man. Even a Scot would offer their first born for the bounty on his head.”

  “Then why does he fight? Why did he no’ just leave?”

  “Because he fights for what is right. Even if that means his death.”

  “It seems so unfair.”

  “Life is only what ye make of it, lass. Ye have fallen for him, haven’t ye?”

  Fallon’s eyes widened at his assumption.

  “Dinna deny it lass. I see the way ye look when ye speak of him. Just know this lassie, a man who hates himself can no love another and ye would be on a foolish quest if ye think ye can change him. Ye see lass, that man there has the devil’s blood burning in his veins. And I have never met me a mon who welcomes death as much as he does.”

  “Devil’s blood?”

  “English, lass. He be the bastard son of an Englishman.”

  Was that it? Was that why he had made this sacrifice? Fallon soon realized the bond he shared with Braeden. Caught in two worlds, neither of them belonged in either one. Was this to become Braeden’s fate as well? Would be grow to be a man with so much hatred in his heart? Fallon knew that would not be true, because she had seen Rylan’s fierce passion in the way he kissed her.

  Rylan’s heart was not all stone as the man made it out to be. There was softness there, if only one would embrace it. Was there no one that had ever been kind to him that earned his trust? And now, there he stood moments from death without a care in the world, believing there was nothing to live for. Believing that he was incapable of love and being loved in return. It was heartbreaking, and she wanted now more than ever to wrap her arms around him and hold him close. At least then, he would know that he was not alone.

  The drums sounded. Whispers grew to a loud buzz. Fallon felt her chest constrict as tears burned in her eyes and she scanned the crowd back and forth for any sign of him. The motion of the sadistic audience racing toward the gallows for a closer viewing made Fallon dizzy as they pushed passed her, like children to a pastry jar.

  Both Scots and English alike chanted for the Wolf to hang. They were too late. Fallon turned to Aldy, but he had disappeared within the crowd. Fallon’s teeth clenched and the hair raised on her arm as a cold sweat caused her to shiver. The moment Rylan came into view, the chanting stopped.

  What had they done to him? Tears filled her eyes. His clothes were bloodied and torn and bruises covered his arms and legs. The damage to his clothes and person looked more like a week’s work than a mere two days.

  Oh, Rylan.

  As guards made their way from the gatehouse toward the gallows, they firmly held the chains around his wrists. Behind him, two other prisoners followed Rylan up to the platform.

  Fallon’s eyes locked on Rylan, though she did not believe he could see her where she stood, hidden within the crowd. Holding his head high, he did not look remorseful or frightened. Fallon began to panic as if it were she up there instead. This could not be happening.

  Fallon’s knees trembled, and the hollowness of her chest left her numb. She had to force herself to breath. The pain in her heart so agonizing she felt weak. Fear and sorrow consumed her and the only strength she had, she drew from Rylan. She may not be able to save him, but it would be a bloody day in hell that she was going to let him die believing he was alone.

  “Rylan,” she cried out breathlessly over the howls of the chattering crowd. “Rylan!”

  Hearing Fallon’s sweet voice was like heaven opening a door to him. Frantically, Rylan searched the crowd until he found her. She looked even more beautiful now than she ever had. A sweet angel to free his soul.

  Rylan’s ever-growing need to touch her intensified. With a mighty tug, Rylan pulled himself out of the guard’s grasp. Lurching forward off the platform, Rylan ran toward Fallon, leaving the guards to chase him. The moment she was within reach, he firmly placed his hands on both sides of her face and pulled her into him in a demanding, forceful kiss.

  There was no holding back. Every emotion, every sensation he felt went into this kiss. If he was going to die, then by God, he was not going to leave his world with regret.

  For an instant, he held her in his arms, and the world was theirs. His heart burned with emotion as if he had been jabbed in the chest with a hot poker.

  Rylan felt no fear of death, nor fear of what came beyond death. His only regret now was knowing that had things been different, Fallon would have been his. Rylan would have given everything up; his hatred, his revenge, everything for a chance to win her heart. And though their time together was short, the connection he felt for her was real and strong enough to pass through two lifetimes.

  Rylan was brought back to the present as he felt the strong grip on his arms. Two guards forcefully ripped him and Fallon apart. The guard to his left pushed Fallon out of the way, causing her to stumble to the ground. Like a raging bull, Rylan tightened his right fist, yanked it out of the other guard’s hold, and swung it upward hitting the guard so hard on the jaw the man fell over. Within moments, Rylan was tackled to the ground, the breath almost completely knocked out of him as the guard dug his knee into his back, leaving him no choice but to surrender.

  Fallon’s deafening cry caused Rylan to lie still. He would not fight. He did not wish for Fallon to see him like this. It was foolish to attack the guard, but he was not going to allow anything to happen to Fallon. It was a promise he swore to keep until his dying breath.

  Pulling him up from the ground, the men-at-arms dragged Rylan back toward the gallows and up onto the platform.

  The executioner was not gentle as he put the rope over Rylan’s head and pulled it tight around his neck. The braided twine burned against his skin.

  Nearly fifty pairs of English eyes stared at him; devoid of emotion. As for Fallon, her eyes were kept firmly to the ground. Rylan could not blame her. This was not the last memory he wanted her to have of him.

  As the knot was tightened, a sharp thrust of th
e executioner’s fist plunged into his stomach. Rylan lost his balance wanting to drop to his knees, but the rope around of his neck tightened, restricting his air and left him dangling in place.

  “Nay!” Fallon cried out.

  Rylan steadied himself on his feet. Shame and sorrow was all he felt, but he was not going to cower; not in front of Fallon. He was going to stay strong, for her.

  “Do ye have any last words?” the executioner taunted.

  “Go to hell!”

  With each strike of the drum, Fallon’s heart beat harder in her chest. The thrumming snare resonated in her head, over and over, causing her head to pound as if a large hammer were beating down on her. Why must they play them in the first place? Was it meant to mimic the prisoner’s heartbeat as it raced with fear and then all of a sudden stopped?

  Even the crowd seemed moved by the somber cadence; as if death had its own choreographed dance. Each prisoner walked forward. The drums rolled. The crowd chanted. The noise stopped.

  And then…silence.

  With a hard kick to his back, Rylan was kicked off the platform.

  It happened so fast, it was almost magical. The moment she heard the battle cry, and the flaming arrows whizzing through the air, she had run as fast as her feet could carry her. She did not know who the men were or what sort of trouble they were stirring, but staying to find out was not an option.

  The English, too distracted by the oncoming threat, paid little attention to Rylan whose body thrashed about as he struggled for air.

  A sudden spontaneous surge of energy coursed through her as if she had been struck by lightning.

  Fallon pushed through the crowd, her legs pumping as fast as they could towards Rylan. There was still time to save him.

  People around her scattered in fear as an army of warriors filtered through the gates. Weaving and dodging through them became nearly impossible as swords were drawn. With her face toward the ground, Fallon looked up and was momentarily blinded by the reflection of sunlight glimmering off steal.