Lois Greiman by The Princess, Her Pirate Read Free Book Online Page A

“I seem to have a hole in my chest, bonny Megs. That alone surely warrants hanging.”
    “Hanging!”
    “I gave you a choice.”
    “Choice.” She choked a laugh. “A choice between the impossible and—”
    “So ’tis impossible for you to share my bed.”
    “’Tis impossible for me to tell you that which I do not know.”
    He had cornered her again. Perhaps she had yet another impromptu weapon behind her back, but he found it difficult to care, for rage had spilled over his good sense. Damn her for choosing Wheaton!
    “So you would rather die than cuckold him?”
    “Who?”
    He managed a smile. “Your lover.”
    “I have no lover.”
    “So you are untried?”
    “Y—No. Of course not. I was…” Her breath was coming hard. She was pressed back against the desk, her spine bent as she tried to avoid him. “I was married.”
    “Of course.” His gut twisted. “And yet you choose the dungeon to a night with me. Not very flattering, love,” he said, and slipped his palm across her cheek.
    “Let me go.” The words were stuttered. “Please.”
    Let her go. Now there was an unexpected eventuality. Who would have expected Hoary to be a softy? Generally, he was pretty hard-edged.
    “Tell me where he is, Megs. Tell me and no harm will come to you. I promise you.”
    “I cannot,” she insisted.
    He remained as he was for a moment then straightened with an effort and nodded once. “Good luck to you then.
    “Peters,” he called.
    The door opened in an instant. Aye, Cairn had ordered him to take his meal, but perhaps the good lieutenant had no need for sustenance so long as he could serve the lord of Teleere. “You have need of me, my lord?”
    Cairn’s stomach knotted. “Aye,” he said. “Take the maid to the dungeon until she sees fit to talk.”

Chapter 4
    T he night groaned on forever. It was cold and dank in the silent darkness. Worry gnawed, and time creaked along with miserable slowness.
    Damn her! Cairn paced his chilly bedchamber yet again. Not a candle had been lit. Why wouldn’t she talk? What magic did Wheaton employ to engender such wretched loyalty? Did she know his true nature? Did she know and cherish him regardless?
    But he needn’t worry. He would know the answers soon enough. One night in Westheath’s dungeon would surely quell the girl’s spirit. But the damned night dragged on interminably, cramping old injuries and making his head ache until he could no longer bear the wait.
    The sun had not yet risen when he gave up his vigil and clattered down the stone stairs. Beneath the castle, deep in the roots of the ancient fortress, there was a hole in the earth. Rarely had it been used since Cairn’s arrival in Teleere, for there had rarely been a need. It was the place this Megs belonged, however. It was the place she would learn that hemeant what he said. She would talk, or she would suffer.
    Down another flight of stairs, around a corner. He scowled into the blackness, and found—nothing. The cell was empty, the door open.
    He cursed aloud, then spun away, taking the steps three together.
    Peters appeared in an instant, his eyes wide. Despite the hour and the fact that he should have been in the barracks long ago, every hair was in place, every garment wrinkle-free. More often than not, he slept in the hallway just down from his laird’s chambers. More often still, he didn’t sleep, but stood, fully dressed, standing guard for endless hours. “Something’s amiss, my lord?”
    Cairn grabbed the man’s pristine tunic in one fist, drawing him up close. “She’s gone!”
    Peters went pale if paler he could be. Confusion clouded his normally cool features. How had she managed to dupe him? Was it seduction? Trickery? Perhaps she truly was magical. “Who—who is gone, my lord?”
    “Who!” The girl had turned the man’s mind to mash. “Megs. The thief. She’s gone.”
    “Nay! She cannot be. I delivered her to Pikeshead myself.”
    “Pikeshead.” Cairn loosened his grip