Risk Everything (12 page)

“What of the guard who took coins?” Rolf raised a brow, curious as to what punishment she would mete out.

“If ye flog him with ten and five lashes, he wouldna be of use to his wife and bairns for the next fortnight. Did he for certes take the money to aid his family, then he should be put to tasks for a fortnight to earn his needs.”

Still thinking, she squinted her eyes. “On Saturdays, he will carry his family’s clothin’ to the laundress and help her wash them.” Hearing the shocked mutters of the warriors, she glared them to silence and took an aggressive stance, legs spread wide. “Each weekday after his warrior’s practice, I ken the cook could use his help preparin’ the noon meal. In return, she will give him an extra crock of food to take to his family.”

Garith snickered and brought a hand up to cover the sound.

When Rolf spied his man’s eyes bugged wide and his head shaking as if to deny what he had heard, he held back the beginning of a smile. Humiliation was a deadly penance. Were his own plans for Connor not built on such?

Forgetful of the bruises there, Meghan tapped her finger to her cheek, then winced. “Ye have a weaving hut, do ye not?”

He nodded and waited, more curious now to hear what Meghan would devise for the rest of the discipline. He soon found out. She looked up at him and continued.

“At Blackthorn, a man of advanced years works with the looms and helps with the weavin’. I see no reason this man canna do the same. Late in the day from Monday through Fri-day, he will make any repairs on the structure or looms, clean the floors, and carry the completed cloth to the storage room.

On the hours he is doin’ these chores for them, the women will work on weavin’ blankets and cloth for his wife and children.”

“You forgot Sundays,
Sir
Meghan.” Rolf kept his face iron hard, though he longed to laugh aloud. The men’s eyes beseeched him to take the whip to their backs. By the devil’s

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tarse! Not one of his warriors would e’er dare incur his wrath while Meghan of Blackthorn was about.

Meghan looked at him and huffed. “Why, he will attend mass, of course, to give prayers of thanks for yer sparin’ his life. Wounds from the whip often fester. He could verra well succumb from infections after a lashin’.”

“So be it,” Rolf decreed. He walked over to stand in front of the two guards. “You will start your duties this next morn.

Until then, think long and hard on this. My first intent was to turn you from my service after the whippings. Know you this!

Should you ever fail me so again, that will be your fate.”

Seeing the men blanch satisfied him.

“Come.” He motioned to all around him. “Our meal will soon be cold if we dinna soon sit to it.”

As Meghan started to limp away with Ede, he moved close and offered his arm. She looked down at it but did not place her hand there. He straightened his arm and held it in front of her, halting her. His eyes told her she would not move another step until she accepted his proffered courtesy.

“I dinna need yer escort,” she grumbled.

“E’en so, you will take it.” So light was her touch on his wrist, it held no more weight than a butterfly.

Meghan hated the way her pulse raced and her knees weakened when she felt Rolf ’s heat. He had bathed, washed his hair, and shaved all but the bristle framing his lower jaw and upper lip. The clean smell of soap scented with sandalwood drifted to her on a light breeze. Her stomach tightened and her heart skipped a beat. His clothing was clean and neat in shades of deep gray. The feel of crisp hair covering the hot flesh of his wrist felt too intimate, making her want to jerk her hand away.

“Dinna move it, Meghan of Blackthorn,” Rolf cautioned.

Ah, so he had felt her wish to put distance between them.

“You know, do you not, that after hearing of those shameful duties, they were ready to beg for my punishment?”

“Shame is a harsh master, but they will both remember this next fortnight. Ne’er again will either shirk their duties.” She

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frowned as she thought of the man’s three children. “Ye will allow the food and clothin’ for the bairns?”

“Did you think I would not?”

She shrugged and did not answer. She fixed her gaze on the ground and forced one foot in front of the other, her jaw tight against the pain. At last they entered the great hall, and he led her to a stool where she sat. Ede was to her left, Garith to her right, beside his brother. Alpin and Dougald occupied the seats on the other side of Rolf.

Savory aromas drifting from the trencher of stew placed in front of her reminded her how long she had been without an adequate meal. The men laughed and commented on the unusual morning’s events. She looked up and noted a hint of respect mingled with curiosity in some eyes. Others were wary.

All eyed her unusual clothing.

“I have heard tales that you stand atop the gatehouse and pipe the greetings and farewells with your clan piper.” Ede’s face was full of curiosity. “They said the music traveled twice the distance, sounding as an echo one to the other.”

“I enjoy the pipes, and Laird Damron doesna object.” For the first time, Meghan felt the need to defend her love of the pipes.

“I should not think he would. We laid our own piper to rest but two months past. ’Tis unfortunate none other play near to his equal.” Ede sighed.

Beneath the table came the distinct clink of an animal’s nails on the floor as it padded closer. Meghan’s nape prickled, warning her of danger. Low, rumbling growls, followed by a feral snarl sounded nearby. At her feet.

She stiffened. Had blood seeped through the heavy bandage and hose she wore? Little did it matter. The beast would smell it even had she worn stout leather boots.

“Nay,” Garith shouted as he stuck his head beneath the table. “Come, Ugsome.” He grasped a large, hairy head by the nape and coaxed the animal out into the open. “Dinna be affrighted. He will not bite unless I let him,” the young man informed her.

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Meghan clasped her hands under her chin and tried to look properly afeared. Not an easy task when she fought laughter.

She knew her face must be red with the effort to hold it in.

Mayhap they would account it to fright.

“I approve of the name for your dog,” Meghan gasped.

“His ugliness makes him mighty fearsome. Why, he must have been in many a battle and won out, what with half an ear on one side and the other so battle scarred.”

“Aye. He has known many battles. Like a true warrior, is he not?” Garith’s chest puffed up with pride for his dog.

“Aye. Indeed.”

She looked the dog over, noting his other features. A long scar ran from his left eye to his jaw, causing his face to look lopsided. His tail lacked hair, the skin there ravaged from burns. When he bared his teeth and growled at her again, her eyes widened in surprise. She covered her mouth. The act would doubtless make her appear witless with terror. God’s truth, it was the only way she could hold back loud, boisterous laughter. The “fearsome” creature lacked three upper front teeth.

“Ye willna let him attack me, will ye, Garith?” She kept her voice a solemn plea.

Rolf, about to leave the room, stopped and watched the ex-change between her and his brother. He rubbed his chin for a moment before he returned to them.

“Lady Meghan, you may move about within the castle, but dinna think to escape. Ugsome willna allow you past the front door. A guard will be close by.” He turned to the dog, pointed his finger at Meghan, and issued a stern order. “Stay. She isna to leave.” He watched as Ugsome snapped his teeth, growled, and stalked close to her side.

Ede gasped and backed away from the creature.

Rolf motioned his brother forward. “Come, Garith. Father Mark awaits at the chapel to teach you your letters.”

As they left, Meghan walked close to the hearth. The dog growled and snapped his teeth at her heels.

“I dread to leave you alone with this monster of a dog,” Ede

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said as she trailed after Meghan, “but last eve Rolf requested a special meal for this night. I must plan with the cook.”

“Nay, Ede. Have no fear. Ugsome and I will deal well together.”

“Deal well? Mayhap if you sit very still and cause him no alarm, he will leave you be.” Seeing the cook waiting for her, she cast Meghan a sympathetic smile and hurried to him.

Meghan spent an interesting afternoon testing the dog. She hid her grins, though, for she knew not who watched. Blackthorn had their own four-legged guard. His name was Guardian, a very beautiful and very large gray and white wolf. The difference between the two was striking. Guardian had not one hair of bluster on his whole body. He was every inch a menace to anyone threatening his adored Brianna and Damron or to the rest of the family as well. One fateful day, he had torn the throat from a man who had harmed Brianna.

Nay. Beneath this dog’s scruffy exterior lay a lonesome soul begging for love. She kept her body between Ugsome and the door so she could work with him. When no one watched, she had pocketed choice bits of meat from her trencher. With a few soft commands and lavish praise, coupled with a treat from her pocket, he soon responded to a few hand signals. Firm but friendly strokes on his head showed the dog she did not fear him.

To test how well they understood each other, she stood. Her right forefinger lifted to touch her chin. Ugsome rose and followed her. She ignored the man set to watch her at the door to the great room. As if warding off a cry of fear, she placed two fingers to her lips. The beast growled and acted fearsome.

Rushes stirred with each step she took. Thanks be to the saints, they were clean and not fouled with debris from dogs and men alike. ’Twould do her harm if they soiled her bandages. As she neared the stairway leading above, she felt eyes following her every movement. Her flesh tingled and heated.

Someone stripped her flesh bare with his eyes.

Someone teased that flesh with his carnal thoughts as surely as if hot, callused hands stroked every inch of her.

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Meghan did not turn, didna acknowledge he stood there.

She would not give him the satisfaction of knowing she felt fear.

Not fear of Ugsome. Not fear of his men.

Fear of him—of what was in his thoughts.

Rolf. She sensed what he planned for her.

She, too, wished he had lashed her at the stake and been done with it.

Chapter 10

Heat infused Rolf as he watched Meghan, graceful despite her bruises and cuts. Hers was the fluid grace of a woman born to tease a man with every move of her body. He lost himself in the sway of her limbs, as he envisioned stripping her clothing away, baring her pliant, gleaming flesh to his eyes.

Eager, his tarse stirred beneath his trews, and the thought of his hand on that sweetly curved arse made every inch of him restless with anticipation.

Ugsome followed close at her heels, snapping and snarling.

The dog had been queerish in the head after tangling with two wolves several winters ago. A pang of guilt shot through him for setting such an unstable creature to guard Meghan. Still, he couldna back down. Meghan would see such an action as a sign of weakness.

Nor would he relent in his plans. How alike they were.

Each knew shame and humiliation as the worst of all punishments.

’Twas because of their pride, their sense of honor, of course.

The punishment she elected for his men did not shame them so much for honor as ’twas a blow to their manliness.

With the Pride of Blackthorn, his plans struck to the root of her honor. Through her, he would deliver an insult to Connor he couldna ignore. When he learned of it, he would come for her. When he did, Rolf would wreak vengeance on his family’s killer. He refused to think on what would happen to Meghan because of it.

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In 1072, he had returned to Rimsdale and found his Ingirid near death after birthing his son. The tiny bairn did not live out the day and passed just moments afore Ingirid.

Garith told him ’twas one of the men wearing a Blackthorn tartan that pushed Ingirid down the stairs. If only Alpin had arrived sooner. His friend told him the raiders fled as he and his men approached. Rolf felt some satisfaction, though. Alpin and his warriors overtook several raiders and killed them. Unfortunately, their leader escaped. When Alpin’s patrol entered Rimsdale, with wounds to prove ’twas a hard-fought battle, they brought the bloodied tartans back with them.

Nay, no vengeance was too severe for leaving his Ingirid paralyzed and unable to speak. So soon to die. He hardened his heart to images of Meghan when he was done with her.

Not until he avenged his wife and son’s deaths would his own honor settle again about his mind like the familiar cloak it had been in the past.

“Rolf, you have eyed an empty stairway nigh on minutes now,” Dougald’s harsh voice gentled with amusement.

“I have just entered.” Rolf turned to frown at his commander.

“Aye.” Dougald nodded his head solemnly. “For what reason then does a servant await your answer to a question she has thrice asked?” Dougald shook his head and clucked his tongue much like an old nursemaid, to Rolf’s way of thinking.

“Aye, lass?” The young girl’s blue eyes grew round as she looked up at him. Her red hair had come loose from a braid tied with a ragged yellow ribbon, and a lock fell over her left eye. Without conscious thought, Rolf brushed the strand back from her face. Her eyes widened and her arms quivered, almost dropping the bloodied plaids she carried. Behind her, a squire carried a hauberk, tunic, and helmet, all marked as Blackthorn’s.

“Master, what did ye want we should be doin’ with these?”

The girl’s voice squeaked out her request.

Rolf motioned over a sturdy male servant. “Attach these”—he pointed to the tartans the girl carried—“behind

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the high table and to the walls at either side. I want them visible from the doorway and from seating at the table.”