Risk Everything (5 page)

Rolf ’s scowl spread.

The cursed man expected her to obey him. She felt her flush spread from her face to her chest.

“Please, Rolf. I need some measure of privacy.”

“Privacy? You?” His brows shot up, fluttering the strands of hair falling beside his gray eyes. “This from the lass who didna give belted knights privacy?”

She glared at him. He had not forgotten that afternoon at the Norman court so many years ago. Because of him, Damron had deposited her at an abbey for the rest of the summer.

Never had she had such vile punishment.

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Mulish, she stared silently at the trees. He relented. Not wholly though, for he sucked his teeth and knotted the rope around her left ankle.

“Be quick about it.” Holding fast to the end of the tether, he walked back to the clearing.

One thing was certain. She could move swift as a deer when necessary. A scant time later, her fingers tore at the knot.

“Are you done?” His voice sounded annoyed.

Meghan tossed her head. “ ’Twas a long afternoon.”

She clutched her lower lip between her teeth and doubled her efforts. Though the knot was intricate, it was one she had learned when her grandda taught Connor the art. Almost finished. Another loop and she would be free. Gone before he had a hint she was no longer there.

“But a minute more,” she called out.

Heavy strands of hair falling around her eyes made her task more difficult. She shoved them aside.

Naught hindered her sight now. Not an arm’s length away, black boots stood. Quiet. Menacing. How in all the saints’

names could a man of his size move with such silence?

“Finish what you were about,” he ordered. His voice was silky smooth. “I wouldna want your efforts wasted.”

She swallowed. As she pulled the last bit free, he coiled the whole between his hand and elbow, watching her every twitch. Once done, he grasped her arm and led her back to camp, dropping the wound rope beside his saddle. Putting a hand on her shoulder blade, he prodded her toward the water.

She half-feared he planned to toss her in.

“Cleanse yourself.” He wrinkled his nose in distaste. “I heard the laird of Blackthorn’s lady wife had aid from the women to dunk rose-scented, soapy water over the men as they came through the barbican.” He eyed her distastefully.

“ ’Tis certain you didna join them. Is it your habit to wallow about in mud?”

Her nostrils flared and her hand itched to slap his face.

How dared he accuse her of such?

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“I had no dirt on my face until an overgrown eejit forced it there.”

“Nay? Young Douglas of Altnaharra told a different story.

He couldna run fast enough when he offered his suit and found the lady of his lustful dreams so covered in mud he was unsure of the color of her skin.”

“Ha. After two days of rain, I grew weary of the fool blethering about his great prowess with the sword. I bid him show me his clever moves.”

He looked at her as if she was beyond foolish and into the realm of brainsick. “Becoming a woman didna stop your ever wanting to best a man, hmm? How came you by the mud?”

“Best a man?” She sucked her teeth. “Only when such poor examples come struttin’ and braggin’ how great they are.

Hmpf. Did I not say it rained for two days? ’Twas not the mud he disliked. After I cut the ties holdin’ his leggin’s, they dropped about his skinny shanks and bared his nether parts.

He couldna run fast enough.”

Rolf frowned, no doubt displeased on hearing the tale. Why did men believe they were God’s chosen? If a lowly woman proved skillful, the dimwitted dolts wished to punish her for it. Not the men of her family, though. They took great pride in her skills. The fierce Blackthorn warriors treated her with respect.

This man made her feel the clumsy gowk at every turn. To Hades and back with him! No doubt he would dunk her if she said another word. Gritting her teeth, she cupped her hands to splash her flushed face and stinging wrists. She washed as much as modesty allowed and rose.

Rolf ’s hands on her shoulders forced her to sit with her back against a stately tree. He tied her around the waist, the knot out of reach on the other side of the massive trunk. Without a wasted movement, he gathered wood and kindling and prepared a fire. Dusting off his hands, he headed back to the water.

Hearing him splashing about, she envied him. In the fading light, she caught teasing glimpses of his imposing body

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between rows of spindly young trees. She swallowed. What she saw helped her piece together the whole of a picture of him. Solid. Hard muscle and golden skin formed chest and back tapering to an arse lighter than the rest of him. His legs looked hewn from trees. As did another part of his body. Her pulse quickened as she stared, wide-eyed.

A formidable male. Not a nithing. Not a braggart. She would have no easy time escaping him. Insight told her she must, for if she did not, his vengeance would destroy them both.

He returned, fully dressed. Water dripped from his face and ragged brown hair, darkening his gray tunic. Silvery gray eyes studied her, no doubt assuring himself she remained bound.

When he pulled a helmet from a large sack, she knew ’twas her own. Stuffed inside it, wrapped in oiled cloth, was meat.

“Ye took time to dress the deer?”

“Nay. Others did the chore. I cooked it while I rested.” His look was cynical. “ ’Twas best to be prepared.”

Cutting off a sizeable portion, he handed it to her. Her stomach grumbled at the aroma, for she had eaten naught since last eve. Never a fool, she didna scorn it. As they ate, her eyes strayed to the vicious-looking axe.

“You admire Beast? Best you fear him as so many hapless fools have learned.” Rolf wiped his hands on the grass as she had done earlier and bounded to his feet.

As the last rays of light faded, he spread a wool plaid on the soft ground beside the fire. Its welcome heat held off the en-croaching night chill. He brought Beast and thunked it, blade first, into the ground beside the plaid.

With slow, deliberate movements, he unclasped the large pewter pin at his shoulder. His mantle slithered to the ground at his feet. Through narrowed eyes, he studied Meghan.

Good. She looked uneasy. Best she felt fear of him, for he would soon lose patience with her headstrong nature. Not that he ever had patience aplenty. Though she would fight him every step of the way, he was determined to dominate her.

After all, she was but a woman.

“Come. ’Tis time we sought our rest. I would reach Rims-

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dale afore dusk falls on the morrow.” Crouching behind her, he untied the knot and pulled her to her feet. She dug in her heels.

“I willna be your whore,” she hissed with anger, and twisted and struggled as she tried to wrestle free of him.

“You flatter yourself. I dinna want a woman in my arms who reeks of iron and horse.” He lied. He could smell her own scent, heather and spices, beneath the other. It inflamed his blood.

Earlier in the day as he waited near the cave, he’d had every intention to use Meghan of Blackthorn in any way he desired.

Why did he hesitate? Surely not for the look in her eyes. Nor for the fatigue on her face.

He retied her wrists, leaving enough slack so the rope did not dig into her already sore flesh. The other end he tied to the leather belt at his waist.

“Sleep,” he commanded as he pushed her down on the ground. He settled her between the fire and himself with Beast on his other side. He slung his mantle over them both.

Though he pretended to sleep, he knew her every twitch.

He felt her eyes watch him. When she turned her back to him, his muscles burned, begging him to pull her tight against his heated body, her sweet female flesh handy to him. Damnation. His tarse strained and bucked, fighting his clothing to reach her.

Forcing his thoughts from his aching groin, he reminded himself why this woman was beside him. She was his vengeance. Nothing more. Connor would pay for causing Ingirid’s death and that of his newly born son. His hands clenched, wanting to strike out, remembering the desperate look of fear in Ingirid’s eyes as she lay dying.

So occupied was he with his thoughts, he near missed a smothered cry from his captive. Careful not to alert her, he sat up as silent as still water.

“Lucifer’s warts! Are you brainsick?”

Startled by his shouted words, Meghan cried out as her flesh touched the white-hot coal against which she had been

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carefully rubbing the rope. With several burns for her efforts, all but a few strands remained to keep her tied.

“Ne’er have I seen a woman so heedless of the consequences of her actions.” Rolf bolted to his feet and hauled her to the water’s edge. He grabbed her arms and plunged them in the icy water, muttering as he did so.

“Fool woman. No wonder you have yet to find a man to husband you. What eejit would seek a woman so daft she would hold her hands over burning coals? Brainless. That is what you are.”

“Let me go, dolt. I am not the brainless one here. Ye are the lackwit if ye dinna expect me to escape.”

“Eneuch! Have you not learned by now ’tis useless to try?

I will not let you go.” He shook his head in aggravation.

“Mayhap I should have trussed you like a pig after all.”

He pulled his shirttail from his breeches, thought better of it, and grasped her shirt to pull it free.

“Stop. What are you doing?” She jerked and tried to move back from the water. His hand on her shoulder kept her there.

“I am making a binding for your burns. Mayhap if we keep them soaked in cold water the heat will draw from them.”

He wet the cloths and wound them around each wrist. By the look on her face, he knew its coldness soothed her flesh.

That she would continue attempting to escape was a certainty. He must needs thwart her efforts before she did herself a serious injury. After they reached Rimsdale, he did not want to wait for her to heal.

When he brought her forward in his great hall to declare his intentions, he wanted Meghan of Blackthorn whole and hearty.

Chapter 5

Meghan gritted her teeth as she stared at the moving ground.

“Did ye happen to note I am not a sack of grain but a livin’, breathin’ woman with two good legs to walk?” Meghan snapped her words at Rolf as she squirmed and kicked.

Simple flew down to hop along beside them, her wee head cocking from side to side as she studied Meghan. If only she could command her sparrowhawk to peck at Rolf ’s head till he had but a few strands of hair left atop it.

“Aye. I notice. Still, this living, breathing woman with two good legs comes with more ease if I dinna give her the use of her feet.”

From the tone of his words, she could all but see his lips lifted in a snarl.

His arm tightened around her waist as he carried her against his left hip, dangling.

He did not drop her on the wool plaid as she expected but lowered her until she sat. Not binding her again, he pressed her down and turned her on her left side. His arm snaked around her waist and dragged her back against him, anchor-ing her there.

“ ’Tis no need for such closeness.” Meghan stiffened and edged away from him.

“Be still, else you will find yourself beneath me.”

She went as still as the skeletal trunk of a dead oak.

“Canna we declare a temporary truce? Until sunrise?”

’Twas worth a try. Anything was better than this forced closeness. “I willna attempt to escape while ye sleep.”

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His disbelieving snort answered her.

By all that is holy, ’twas worse torture than if Rolf had bound her raw wrists. His scent, so well remembered, tormented her senses. His hard body against her back tormented her memories.

She had forgotten neither over the past years. Nor did she forget he was not as he once was.

The Rolf of those yesteryears was not the man now pressed to her back. That early Rolf would never cause a woman hurt.

Would never steal a woman from her home.

Mayhap he would for love. Now that was not his reason. If anything, he hated her. She was but a means to an end. His harsh treatment. His actions. All meant to remind her why he held her.

Not for gold, he had said.

Not e’en for anything more precious than gold.

For vengeance. What form would it take? Not to kill her. If that were his purpose, he would have strung her up on a tree while close to Blackthorn. She shuddered. What horror that would have been to her family to find her dead body in the woods! Nay. Rolf would never kill a woman. Nor would he ever beat a woman.

Would he? Could he have her tied to a post and flogged?

Nay. ’Twas not possible for him to do such. Nor did he plan to wed her. She had sensed that.

The downy hair on her nape stirred from his soft breath, tickling her there. His arm tightened, and he moved against her in his sleep.

“Ingirid,” he mumbled as a calloused hand slid up to gently cup her breast.

She froze. What would he do if he awoke to find himself so aroused? She kept her breathing shallow, for every intake pushed her hardened nipple against the palm of his hand. Heat streaked down to pool between her legs, dampening her there.

Never had any man caused her body to take such interest. Only him. It had ever been thus, though he never knew of it.

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This vengeance. She could think of only one that would destroy both her and Connor. Sweat beaded her forehead.

If Rolf made her his leman.

What better revenge than to render a loving brother powerless to protect his closest blood tie? To shatter a woman’s pride.
Please, sweet Jesus
.
Not that
. Better he flay her back raw and dump her on Blackthorn grounds than break her in that way.

Meghan prayed for dawn. She had to find a means to escape.

For her sake as well as for Rolf’s. Whatever he intended would break his soul, his pride, as well and truly as it broke hers.