Without another word, they hastened up the stairs. At the door, Wolf motioned for everyone to wait. He stepped into the moon-washed bailey first, the guard’s sword at ready. As his foot touched the ground outside, he whirled lithely, but no one accosted him, and aside for a few sentries positioned as they ever were in the watchtowers, the castle was quiet.
Was it possible? Could Holt be dead, slain by his wife, and no one in the keep be aware of his death? His heart leapt at the thought, for finally he and Megan could be together—as man and wife. If she were widowed, he could surely ask for her hand. Though she had killed Holt, Wolf was certain Megan would be acquitted of any crime and he … he would give up living as a criminal in the forest, if only she would be at his side.
He motioned to Jagger and the prisoners split into two groups. Jagger, Jack, and Robin, pressed close to the stones of the bailey wall, hid in the shadows as they hurried toward the gatehouse. Megan, Tom, and Wolf crept into the stables and, sliding through the half-open door, spoke softly to the animals as they chose six swift horses.
Despite their caution, several nervous stallions whinnied noisily. “Damn it all to hell,” Wolf muttered under his breath.
A bleary-eyed stableboy opened the door. Wolf set upon him, his sword at the lad’s throat. “You’ll say nothing,” Wolf commanded in an authoritative whisper.
“Nay, nay, nothing!” The boy gulped. “Wolf, is it?” Even in the partial darkness, Wolf noticed the youth’s face lit in admiration. “Can I come with ye? I’ve fancied meself an outlaw for a long time now.”
“ ’Tis not as glorious as you may think,” Wolf said, hoping to discourage the lad. How many boys had he met like this one who thought living the life of a criminal and outrunning the law was a grand adventure? Had he not thought the very same?
His attempts to dissuade the boy were in vain.
“I’d be a good thief,” the lad insisted.
“We must be off,” Tom said, but the stableboy wasn’t finished.
“Ian’s me name, and I’ve stolen from the baker and armorer and poached in the baron’s woods and not been caught,” he boasted.
Foolish youth! Wolf remembered the guard who had complained of his son getting into trouble. ’Twould be better if he left the boy here, but he had no time to argue. “I wouldn’t be bragging of your crimes,” he reprimanded. “Now, hush. Come with us if ye will, but understand that if ye be caught, ye’ll hang.”
“I won’t be,” he said with the confidence of youth.
“Then keep these beasts quiet and come along!”
They led the horses from the stables, and with Ian along, the horses quieted and were less nervous. Wolf’s heart was drumming, his nerves stretched tighter than a dying man on the rack, dread inching up his spine. Surely their escape wouldn’t come so easily. Everyone in the castle had suffered Holt’s wrath when Cayley and Bjorn had stolen their freedom, and certainly the guards would be doubly vigilant, on the lookout for another attempted break from the dungeons, rather than feel the sting of Holt’s anger.
The wind was chill and moist, promising rain, though no clouds blocked the moon, the castle silent except for their muffled tread. Their breath fogged in the night. Freedom was so close . . .
Silently they approached the gate, but the portcullis hadn’t been lifted.
Wolf sensed trouble. There had been more than ample time to winch up the iron gate. Holding Megan’s small hand in one of his, he silently prayed. The fingers of his other hand tightened around the hilt of his sword. Something was wrong. Looking upward, he scoured the battlements and towers, but nothing appeared amiss.
Come on, come on! Jagger and Jack were strong men; winching up the gate would be no trouble.
Unless they’d been caught.
Unless even now they’d been taken prisoner again.
Dread thudded through his brain.
“Well, well, well.” Holt’s voice, deep and foreboding, rang through the bailey.
For the love of God, no! Whirling, sword ready to cleave anyone who should try to thwart him, Wolf found his old nemesis, not dead as Megan had vowed, but very much alive and standing proudly upon the gallows as he glared pointedly at Wolf and Megan. His voi
ce was deadly as he said to the sleeping castle at large, “If it isn’t my murdering wife and her outlaw of a lover trying to flee!”
Sixteen
ow, Wolf, outlaw of the forest, you die,” Holt announced with some difficulty, and Megan’s heart turned to stone. They were doomed, and the glint in her husband’s eyes warned her that he would extract his revenge upon each and every one of them. Absently, she touched her abdomen, to the low spot where her baby was growing—so innocent, so perfect. She could not endanger this fragile life.
“Let’s kill him,” Tom muttered under his breath.
“Aye,” Ian said.
Wolf shook his head. “Not yet.”