Renegade Heart (14 page)

“W
olf? Wolf, can you hear me?”

He heard the voices calling to him, but it was too much effort to respond. His whole body ached and what didn’t ache throbbed with dull pain. All he wanted to do was sleep for a long, long time, waking only once the pain had passed. The voices had other ideas, refusing to leave him in peace.

“Wolf, its Saker. Open your eyes, son.”

“Saker?” His own voice was a parched whisper. With a great deal of effort, he peeled back his heavy eyelids, feeling strangely emotional to see his old friend leaning over him. “What happened?”

“You were wounded,” Saker explained, his rugged face filled with concern. “You lost a lot of blood.”

Wolf had not considered his wound to be that serious, but the pain in his side was there to prove him wrong. That and the fact he was lying on a cot in a makeshift infirmary with no recollection of how he got there. He had no idea how long he had been unconscious or what had happened while he was sleeping. He rolled his head from one side to other, counting two dozen beds, all of them occupied, although it was impossible to tell which of them were filled by troopers and which by renegades.

“How many of ours?”

“You might say we were lucky,” Saker told him grimly. “Fourteen injured and only three dead. It was over the moment the troopers heard Ombar was dead. I take it that was down to you?”

“It was my duty. I swore an oath to Trobard.”

“And you kept your promise well,” said Trobard, appearing at the end of the cot. “I am forever in your debt, young renegade.”

The old man’s face was etched with fatigue and sorrow, but he appeared different to the man Wolf had known in the dungeon. He had already changed into robes more befitting a King and there seemed a regal air about him that had not been there previously.

“You said three died,” Wolf said innocently. “Who?”

“Fairac, Wealo and Lark.”

“Graydor too,” Trobard added sombrely. “I sent him in search of the archer in the tower who fought so bravely. We think they both died at the hand of the trooper who wounded you.”

“I remember.” Wolf furrowed his brow, feigning concentration. “I met him on the stairs. I didn’t know about Graydor and Lark. I’m sorry.”

“You were not to blame,” Trobard said kindly. “Now get some rest, young Wolf. We will talk more in the morning.”

“I know Lark was no friend of yours…” Saker began once the King had moved away.

“But he was still a renegade,” Wolf finished for him. “And death at the hands of a trooper is not what I would have wished for him.”

His eyes drooped sleepily, prompting Saker to take his leave only after promising to return first thing in the morning. Wolf was glad to let sleep claim him. He did not want to talk anymore, did not want to pretend he was anguished at the loss of people he cared nothing for. Let the others mourn them. He could not.

Enola sat on the grassy bank by the stream, the cool water washing over her bare feet. A stray leaf stuck briefly to her toes before being swept away by the current. She wished her sorrows were so easily washed away, wished her heart did not weigh so heavy from all that happened. And from what was yet to come.

This spot beside the stream had been her favourite place since arriving in the camp. It was peaceful and calm, a small refuge from the madness of all that surrounded her. Hawk had liked to play at the water’s edge and, if she imagined hard enough, she could picture him dipping his foot into the stream when he thought she was not watching. She could hear his childish laughter when she splashed him with her hand.

She lifted her gaze to the opposite bank and in her mind’s eye she saw Lark stepping through the trees, fresh faced and innocent, shyly making those first tentative overtures of friendship. Just behind her was the bed of moss where that friendship had turned to something more and they had become lovers. They could have been happy here, the three of them together.

And then Wolf had returned and everything changed. Hawk had been missing for days and she knew in her heart she would never see him again. Lark was dead, killed in the battle for control of the castle. The renegades who returned had done so in order to collect whatever meagre belongings they possessed and break up the camp before moving on. Magnosa, heartbroken by the death of Fairac, was planning to return to the city with her girls and reopen the whore house.

It was unfair to blame Wolf, she knew, for he had not been responsible for the deaths of Hawk, Lark or Fairac. But she could not shake the feeling that things would have been different for all of them if only Wolf had stayed away.

“Enola?”

She bowed her head and breathed deeply, stealing herself to do what she must and praying she would have the strength not to fall into his arms the moment she saw him. She had known he would come for her of course, just as he had promised all those turns ago. But they were adults now, and she would not be bound by childish pledges of everlasting love any longer.

Standing, Enola turned slowly. Wolf looked tired and pale, but as handsome as ever. He held one hand to his hip, reminding her he had been seriously injured in the battle. Obviously, he was still in pain, but he was alive, which was more than could be said for Lark and Fairac.

The way he stood stirred memories of their childhood back in the orphanage. Whenever he had been caught doing something wrong, his eyes would become guarded, his expression a mixture of guilt and defiance. The difference being he was no longer playing truant from lessons or skipping prayers. These days he killed people instead, and she knew from his expression it meant absolutely nothing to him.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“I’ll live,” he replied and she wondered if he intended to be so flippant, to have so little regard for those who had died.

“You killed Ombar.”

Wolf shrugged. “He deserved to die.”

“And did Fairac deserve it too? Did Lark? Or that other man, Wealo?” The hot tears that were always so quick to form these days, pricked the back of her eyes. “And Hawk? Did he deserve to die?”

“You don’t know for sure about Hawk.”

“Yes, I do, Wolf!” The tears spilled over and poured freely down her cheeks as she clutched one hand to her chest. “I feel it in here. He was your son, Wolf. Don’t you feel it too?”

Wolf shifted uncomfortably and said nothing. That was her answer, Enola realised. He was incapable of feeling sorrow or regret even for his own child. The simple truth was, Wolf did not think or feel the same way as other people and he never would. He had never loved anybody enough to mourn their loss, not even her. She understood that now. Doubtless, he loved her in his own way, but–as with everything else in his life–it would only ever be on his terms.

Angrily, she brushed away her tears and stared up at him. He gave another awkward shuffle and avoided meeting her eyes. The fact he made no move to comfort her seemed further proof of his guilt. Enola just wished she knew what exactly what it was she thought he was guilty of.

Emotionally exhausted and defeated, she turned her thoughts to what lay ahead. “What will you do now?”

“Trobard has asked me to become his personal bodyguard. I would have my own quarters at the castle. Either that or he has offered me land in the North.” Wolf gave a wry smile. “I’d be a farmer.”

Despite her grief, Enola smiled, unable to imagine Wolf working the land. “Which will you choose?”

“I don’t know.” Wolf looked at her hopefully. “I thought you could decide. If we lived at the castle maybe you could be a seamstress just as you always wanted.”

“I’m not going with you, Wolf.”

“But…”

“I’m going back to the Walled City with Magnosa. The whore house was Hawk’s home. I want to mourn him somewhere I feel close to him.”

“We can have another child if that is what you want.”

“Oh, Wolf, you can’t just replace one child with another.”

“Why not?” he demanded, truly unable to comprehend why it should not be so. Suddenly he lunged forward and grabbed her wrist, twisting it painfully as he pulled her to him. “All that I did, I did for you. So that we could be together forever. You and me, the way it was meant to be from the beginning.”

“Let her go.”

Magnosa stepped into the clearing, a sword held out in front of her, aimed unwaveringly in Wolf’s direction.

“It’s okay,” Enola said quickly, noting the gleam in Wolf’s eyes and realising the danger in which Magnosa had unwittingly placed herself. Wolf would not hesitate to kill her as soon as he was in striking distance, and he would feel justified in doing so because Magnosa had threatened him first. “He won’t hurt me.” She raised a hand to stroke Wolf’s face, gently guiding his attention back to her. “Will you?”

Wolf released her wrist. “Never.”

“Come to the city with us,” she urged, the words leaving her lips before she had fully thought them through. She was no longer sure she wanted Wolf in her life, but she pitied him and she was forced to admit, it was hard to let go after having loved him for so long.

“It would never work.” Wolf shook his head. “The people there still think I murdered Alganoor.”

“But you would be under the King’s protection.”

“I make my own way in life,” Wolf snapped with a flash of defiance. “I neither need nor desire the protection of any man. No, it’s best I leave.”

He turned abruptly and headed back to camp, pushing Magnosa roughly aside. The older woman raised her sword half-heartedly, but let him go. Enola hesitated, torn between her desire to be free of him and the need to make sure he would be okay. With a sigh, she hurried after him.

“What will you do?” She caught up with him half way across the empty camp. “Will you go back to Barrowhearth?”

“No.” Wolf untethered his horse, a magnificent looking chestnut stallion gifted to him by Trobard, and swung himself into the saddle. “You know me better than anyone, Enola. Do you honestly think I will be able to take orders from anyone? Even from a King, however decent and fair he might be?”

“The farm then?” she asked, conceding his inability to accept being told what to do.

“I’d die of boredom before the turn was out.”

“Then where?”

“I don’t know.” Wolf gathered up his reins. “There must be some place where I can go and cause trouble.”

He spurred his mount forward and then turned, the stallion prancing impatiently on the spot. “I really do love you. I always have. And I’m sorry, sorry for all the pain I caused you. I never meant…”

He clamped his mouth shut and wheeled the stallion around, the few remaining renegades scattering in his path as he galloped out of camp. It was the first time, Enola realised, that he had left her without promising to one day return. Maybe this time it was really over, giving her one more thing to mourn.

“Did you ask him?” Magnosa appeared at her side, still clutching the sword in her hand.

“No.”

“You still don’t believe me?”

“It’s not that,” Enola said sadly. “But if he did something to hurt Hawk then I would rather not know. I don’t think I could bear it.”

Later on she might come to regret not knowing for sure if Wolf had played a part in her son’s disappearance, but, for now, she wanted to be left in peace to mourn, not just for one child, but for two. Two beautiful little boys with wild black hair and brilliant blue eyes, both of them lost forever. She would grieve for her son and for the child Wolf had once been, the child who possessed the heart and soul of a renegade long before he ran away to join them.

Enola placed her hand on her flat stomach and smiled softly. The tender breasts, the early morning nausea– she had not recognised the signs for what they were with Hawk, but this time she knew exactly what they meant.

The day she had made love with Lark and Magnosa had tried to make her drink the potion, Enola had dropped the flask in panic, the contents untouched, when the renegades had been about to flog Lark. After, whether it had been too late or simply forgotten, Enola would never know, but she would be forever thankful she had not drunk from the flask.

She meant the words she had said to Wolf. You could not replace one child with another, but you could start again. Make a new life and a new beginning, and that was what Enola intended to do. Under Trobard’s reign, this child she carried–Lark’s child–would not be hidden away from the world like its brother, or taken from her and placed in an orphanage.

Lark’s child would know what it was to play outside in the daylight. It would be free to live in the open, walk down a street with its mother and go to school like any other child. This child would have a future. And, although it no longer had Wolf in it, Enola had a future too.

She was looking forward to it.