Read Online What A Scoundrel Wants by Carrie Lofty - Free Book Online Page A

Hugo and his rabble.

Chapter Seven
    But back again he shall be led,
    And fast bound shall he be,
    To see if you will have him slain,
    Or hanged on a tree.
    “Robin Hood and the Beggar, II”
Folk ballad, seventeenth century
    Buzzing, angry voices like a nest of hornets pricked at Will’s ears, each calling for his head. Unarmed, tugged by the rope around his neck, he trudged across the small clearing known as Rutfield Glade. Clusters of peasants dotted the open space, gathered around fires, belongings, and crude shelters constructed of sticks, waddle, and draped blankets. Younger children chased each other in wild games, oblivious to the parade of woodsmen dragging two prisoners toward their deaths.
    “This is your doing,” snarled the armored man, bound and stripped of his helmet.
    “You’re supposed to be the Earl of Whitstowe’s son. Get us clear of this.”
    “Enough, both of you,” said their leader, the man named Hugo. “You there, bring that log around.”
    David Fuller, an ally from outlaw days with Robin, helped angle a substantial log to rest under a bare birch tree. Betrayal pinched at Will’s temples, bringing a ferocious headache. “Fuller! You’re helping him do this? I’ve done nothing wrong!”
    The short, thickset farmer shook his head against Will’s outrage. “It matters not. Nottingham’s soldiers have been searching the forest for you, bullying and making arrests. We’ll not go back to the days when the sheriff can toss apart our homes, when Robin isn’t here to stand for us.”
    His pride shriveled like an apple left in the sun. Shortcomings dogged his every step, especially when faced with men who yet compared him to Robin. He needed no such reminders.
    “And we know of your work for the sheriff, arresting simple folk in the markets,” said Hugo. “Most of us have been itching to get a rope around your neck for weeks.”
    He yanked hard. Will lunged forward and caught his balance, coughing as the noose bit into his windpipe. Bright stars flashed across his line of sight.
    “But I have done nothing,” said the captive swordsman. “I am Geoffrey Dryden, heir to the Earl of Whitstowe. I demand you release me at once.”
    Some in the glade exchanged worried glances, and although it did him little good, Will relished their hesitation. He saw reflected in their expressions the same uncertainty he had known at the roadside, faced with the prospect of doing murder. But Hugo persisted, stringing both ropes over a low-hanging branch. A sword at Will’s back urged him to step onto the log. Dryden joined him.
    “We don’t know you, milord.” Hugo’s oily voice and patronizing smile spoiled his dashing looks. “Nor do we trust you. A shame we found you in this one’s company.”
    “I was fighting him!”
    “You should’ve let me win,” said Will, grinning. “Though beaten and humiliated, you would’ve been safe from my taint.”
    “Quiet, you!”
    “Or what, Hugo? You’ll hang him?”
    Heads turned toward the far edge of the glade, searching for the robust woman who dared mock the proceedings and Hugo in particular. Meg stood holding a walking stick and the arm of a young man with black hair. At his feet sat a massive dog, restrained only by a cord of braided leather that did not appear up to its task.
    The sarcastic grin he offered Dryden stretched wider across Will’s face. Never had he been on the receiving end of such a strange and fortuitous distraction. But his initial reaction was quickly supplanted by conflicting torments: She had healed him, seduced him, poisoned him. Although he had not been prepared to die by hanging, he craved his freedom all the more, if only to confront Meg and wring from her an explanation.
    She released the young man’s arm and walked into the clearing. The foremost folk backed away in concert with her steps, once, and again, while behind his back, Will worked to loosen the length of hide at his wrists. He concentrated on Hugo’s