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“The outlaw Tadhg.”
“Your outlaw again?” she tried to scoff. “You think I am hiding an outlaw? There is only one outlaw here, sir, and I am staring very hard at him right now.”
He smiled. “Edwin Needleman thought you two in love.”
At this proof he knew everything, that he’d been on their heel, so close, so cunning, her heart dropped and dropped and dropped, tumbling into a cold pit in her belly.
“I’d wondered if he spoke true. Did he, mistress? Were you such a fool as to fall for Tadhg?”
She kept her chin up, but turned her face away.
Sherwood’s gaze traveled down her face and neck, then arrested. He stilled, then slowly unsheathed a knife from his belt.
She stared at him. Time slowed down. The mayor’s mouth, at the doorway, moved slowly. He was making some sort of sound, talking, protesting perhaps, but it was muffled and far away as the baron reached out with the knife and gently, slowly, touched the tip of it to Magdalena’s neck.
She froze, her mouth open, chin tilted high.
He nudged the blade, using the tip to push aside loosened hair that had fallen over her shoulders, then he slid it down, folding down the top of her tunic. Then he stared at the exposed skin of her neck.
It felt tender and hot, not only because the baron’s fetid attention was riveted on it, but because it was the place where Tadhg’s mouth had bit her as he took her from behind, and in front, where he sucked on her with knee-wobbling skill. Tadhg had all but devoured her with his mouth, his teeth, his passion.
Surely it would have left a mark. A love bruise. On her neck.
Blood suffused her, a hot red flush that stained her skin.
Sherwood’s gaze followed the flush up to her eyes. “How much did he pay you, Magdalena?” he said, soft and cold. “Nothing?” He clucked his tongue softly. “Surely I could have paid you more.”
Her knees wanted to crumple. Forcing herself to stand straight, she gently extracted her collar, pressed it flat to her skin. “Get out of my house…traitor.”
Sherwood sighed. “I see Tadhg has been talking. That is too bad.”
At the door, the mayor pleaded, “Oh, sir, please—”
Sherwood pushed the door shut in the mayor’s face.
“Now, Mistress Magdalena,” he said in a soft, terrifying voice. “Why don’t you tell me where he is? We could avoid so many problems and unpleasantries.”
“I know nothing,” she spat, tripping backward to the wall.
“Your mayor said you had a tendency toward undue spirit. Do not let rear its ugly head now.” He began moving toward her. “Tell me what I wish to know, and I can make it worth your while in any number of ways.”
“No,” she whispered. “Never.”
He made a soft sound in his throat. “Never? You underestimate me, mistress.” He drew up in front of her and lifted the blade still in his hand, ran the side of its tip harmlessly down her neck. “I’m sure I could find some manner of persuasion.” Their eyes met. “At the least, I shall try.”
She shook her head, but it made no difference.
“Had you been wise, Magdalena, you would have spent the other night with me, and come away richer for your choice. But I offer the choice to you again: be good to me, tell me where the outlaw is, and I shall repay you in kind.”
She inched her head around a bare inch. “You will be good to me?”
Heat flared in eyes. “Oh yes, very.”
She smelled sweat and food and stale ale. She could hardly think, but she knew one thing for certain: Tadhg had hardly been gone long enough to walk to the quay, let alone sail away.
Nothing for it, then. Whatever was to come, would come, whether she met it willingly or no.
Head awhirl, heart pounding, she turned to the baron, her shoulders drooped and her chin down. She looked up tentatively, her eyes swimming in unshed tears. “Tadhg will be coming back very soon,” she whispered.
