by Lisa Jackson
At first Sorcha was stiff and unyielding in his arms, dancing as if her legs were made of wood, but soon she could not help herself and her bones seemed to melt against him. He held her as if she were a priceless possession that he wouldn’t give up, and through her clothes she felt his heat.
He didn’t say a word, and yet, when his gaze touched hers, she heard a stirring deep in her soul, and in her mind she saw him as he had been in the forest.
Her breathing became difficult. When he took her by the arm and led her away from the great hall and through the door to the bailey, she didn’t protest, didn’t make a sound.
Outside, the night was clear, and the moon cast thin silver shadows upon the ground. Her breath fogged in the air as they hurried to a corner near the chapel.
He stopped near the silversmith’s hut and turned her in to his arms. She lifted her face to the moon, and he pressed hot, anxious lips to hers. His hands spanned her small waist, dragging her close, forcing her hips against the swelling that was so ripe in his.
She opened her mouth and felt his tongue touch and quiver against hers, and all her doubts seemed to flee into the darkness. She kissed him hungrily and felt his hands move upward to hold her breast and rub long fingers over the silky fabric of her dress.
“What kind of woman are you?” he asked when he finally lifted his head. “A lady? A girl? Or a savior?”
She laughed at the question. “What kind of man are you? Baron? Friend? Or enemy?” Her eyes shined in the pale light of the moon. “We are all many things, Hagan, and those things change.”
“So now you’re a prophet?” He kissed her again and sighed loudly. “I have told myself that I should lock you in your room, bar the door, and let you sit there until I deal with your brother.”
She nearly gasped. Not now! Not after all her plans were in place.
“But instead I find ways to be alone with you, and I cannot seem to stop myself.”
“Nor can I,” she admitted when he kissed her again, and his hands slipped the buttons of her dress open and cool air drifted across her skin.
His lips found hers again as he shoved the dress over her shoulder. Bending lower, he kissed her milky white skin, the back of her nape, his tongue rimming the damned birthmark.
“Ooh,” she groaned as his mouth slid lower, over the mound of her breast … searching. Deep inside she began to ache and throb for the want of him. She sucked in her breath as he took her nipple into his mouth and teased the bud. Her fingers cradled his head, holding him close, and she bowed her back so that he could take more of her into his sensual mouth. Lips teased and nipped, teeth scraped, and he growled against her, his hands twining in the thick curls of her hair.
“Hagan?” Anne’s voice swept across the night.
Sorcha froze. Hagan groaned deep in his throat.
“Are you out here?” Again the horridly sweet voice.
A near-silent curse escaped Hagan’s lips. Sorcha, dying a thousand deaths, scrambled into her dress and prayed that she wouldn’t be seen.
“I must see what she wants,” he said. “Wait for me.”
“Nay, you go in first. I’ll follow.”
“But—”
“Please, m’lord. For my dignity,” she whispered.
His eyes narrowed a fraction and he grabbed her and kissed her so fiercely, she turned to liquid heat inside, then he released her and turned to disappear around the corner near the great hall.
Though she felt a jab of guilt, Sorcha wasted no time. Gathering her skirts, she ran across the bailey and along the path leading to the stables. She wanted to shout to Bjorn, for she didn’t have much time, but she held her tongue, in fear that Roy would be about. Though he usually drank himself into a sound sleep by this time of night, she couldn’t be certain that he wasn’t lurking in the shadows.
“You’ve come.” Bjorn’s voice was soft, his footsteps muffled in the straw. She couldn’t see him in the darkness but felt his presence.
“I have not much time, but I have a bargain for you, Bjorn, a bargain for your freedom. Along with that freedom, I will give you my brother’s favorite stallion.”
His intake of breath was swift. “Go on.”
“I must leave Erbyn tonight, and I need your help.”
When he didn’t say anything, she told him of her plan.
“You need clothing and a way out of the castle?”
“Aye. When you take the horses out to run and graze in the meadow, that is when we will escape,” she said, anxious for his response.
“And for this you will give me the horse?”
“Yes, yes! McBannon. Now, what say you?” she asked breathlessly as her heart hammered in her chest. “I have not much time.”
He hesitated, blew out a long breath, then said, “I will have the clothes put in your room—”
“And my sister’s.”
“Yes. You must meet me here before the first light of dawn.”
She didn’t pause for any further conversation, and though she thought she saw a movement on the other side of the hayrick, she convinced herself she was jumping at shadows, that she and Bjorn had been alone, their words heard by no one.
Holding her skirt high, she dashed across the bailey to the other side of the keep. Music and laughter still filtered through the open windows, and Sorcha hurried up the steps and slid through the door. The noise inside was great, the flames of a thousand candles bright against her eyes. She smoothed her hair and took long breaths, to calm herself. Then, wiping her sweating palms on her skirt, she entered the great hall. Within a few hours she would be free of Erbyn and Hagan forever.
The moon had settled low over the hills when the castle was finally asleep. Sorcha tightened her belt over the baggy clothes Bjorn had stolen from some of the stableboys. The leggings were too long and the hooded tunic would have held two of her, but she couldn’t complain. At least ’twas a disguise, she thought as she moved swiftly along the hallways, stopping only at Leah’s door and slipping quietly inside.
“Thank God you’ve come,” Leah whispered, her voice shaking. “I don’t know if I can do this.” She, too, was wearing the scratchy and smelly clothes that Bjorn had somehow sneaked into her room.
“Of course you can.”
“But if we’re caught—”
“We won’t be.”
Together, without another word between them, they hurried silently along the corridors to the back staircase. Sorcha was tempted to pause at Hagan’s door and slide it open a crack. Would he be sleeping? Or making love to a kitchen wench? That thought was decidedly painful, but not as frightening as the idea that he might not be in his bed at all, but somewhere in the castle, waiting for her. Her throat felt suddenly filled with sand, and the skin at the back of her scalp crinkled in fear. Hagan didn’t trust her and would expect her to flee. But it was too late to change her mind.
Leah tugged on her sister’s hand, silently urging Sorcha forward. Biting her lip, she stayed near the wall and walked quickly down the stairs and into the kitchen, where the banked fires gave off a thin smell of smoke and a hazy red glow. From the darkness a sleeping cat stirred and hissed, sending goose bumps racing up Sorcha’s arm, but she walked carefully along the wall, banging her toe on a basket of apples before she shouldered open the door and the rush of cold air caused the embers to glow with fiery sparks.
“This is madness!” Leah whispered, but her voice had an odd edge of excitement to it as they hurried into the baily.
“Would you rather stay here, with Darton, waiting for Tadd to free us?”
Leah shuddered. “Nay.”
“Then come on.” They kept close to the wall surrounding the bailey, walking quickly in the shadows until they reached the stables. Their plan was simple. At the crack of dawn, Bjorn would talk to the porter, who would open the gate as he did sometimes to let the horses graze on the grass on the other side of the bridge. Often Roy or Bjorn would exercise the horses outside the castle walls early in the morning, and it was then that So
rcha hoped to leave, when the darkness and dawn had not yet split and they could disappear into the forest.
Sorcha knew that Leah was worried about riding the horses without saddles, but she was willing to chance escape rather than stay any longer in a castle with Darton. Sorcha suspected that Leah had not told her all of the evils Darton had forced upon her, preferring to keep those dark secrets to herself. Sorcha knew enough of the horrors that Darton had inflicted. Leah’s torment had been no less than walking through the ghastly gates of hell. For his sins, Darton would be forced to pay. Once they were back at Prydd and Leah was assured of her safety, Sorcha would find a way to make Darton atone for Leah’s torment and the deaths of Keane, Henry, and Gwendolyn, if indeed it had been his men who had killed them.
But what of Hagan? Surely if Darton was made to pay for his sins, his brother would be involved. Mayhaps Hagan had been right when he suggested that there would be war between the two castles.
As they sat in the stables waiting for dawn, Leah prayed silently and Bjorn stood at the window, studying the night sky, waiting for the right moment, while Sorcha thought of Prydd and returning home.
Hagan would be furious, but by the time he discovered her missing, she would be far ahead of him. She wondered if he would follow after her and decided it didn’t matter. If he chased her, ’twould be because of his great pride and nothing more. He felt naught for her but simple, ugly lust.
“ ’Tis time,” Bjorn said suddenly, though Sorcha could see no difference in the dark, star-studded sky. “The guards have changed and Sir Nolan is at the gate.”
Sorcha peered through the window. Though darkness still prevailed, somewhere in the distance a cock crowed loudly, anticipating the dawn. A few candles offered light in two of the huts, and the kitchen fires were being rekindled. Young boys ran through the darkened bailey carrying kindling and firewood, and a girl was out early gathering eggs.
“Wait.” He rummaged in his pouch. “Here.” He pressed a fine dagger with a sharp, curved blade into Sorcha’s palm.
“How…?”
Bjorn’s smile flashed white in the darkness. “A gift from the tanner.”
“You stole this—”
“ ’Tis nothing compared to the horses.”
“I know, but—”
“You needs protect yourself. You, too …” He tried to give a knife to Leah, but she recoiled.
“I would not,” she whispered.
“No? What if Darton comes searching for you? Would you not like a weapon?” Sorcha asked, irritated a bit at her sister’s disapproval.
Swallowing hard, Leah took the knife.
“Come. We waste time.” Bjorn handed each woman the reins of two horses. “Just follow me.” One after the other they walked into the bailey, heading slowly toward the main gate.
“Halt!” a young voice called from the tower.
“ ’Tis only me, Nolan,” Bjorn replied. “With Tom and Jack and Lady Anne’s jennet and a few other animals that need grazing.”
“You usually go alone.”
“But there are outlaws about, and Roy thought it best to have more men to protect the animals, just as there are more guards in the ramparts.”
“I was not told—”
“I’m telling you now.” Bjorn’s voice rang with annoyance. “Would you like me to wake Baron Hagan or Anne or maybe the stable master …?”
There was a moment’s hesitation, and Sorcha felt a drizzle of sweat slide down her spine. Though it was cold enough for mist to rise from the ground, she was nervous, her fingers slick around the leather reins.
“As you wish,” Bjorn said, his voice filled with misgiving as he clucked his tongue and, to Sorcha’s horror, turned his two horses back to the stables. “But Hagan does not like to be disturbed, nor does Darton. If they be with women, they will want to take their wrath out on someone, and I assure you, Nolan, ’twill not be my hide that will be strung from the towers. Hagan, he fancies the Lady Sorcha, the one who calls up the storms and furies and some say is a witch—”
Sorcha drew in her breath.
“Enough!” Nolan said quickly, his voice faltering a little. “Do not disturb him. Gatekeeper—let the stableboys pass.” With a shriek of metal on metal, the portcullis slowly opened. Leah and Sorcha kept their horses between themselves and the guards as they began to move. Sorcha’s heart was galloping as she kept her eyes downcast and her fingers tight over the reins.
Leah’s animals shied and reared for a moment, sending the gatekeeper into the tower. Sorcha’s heart dived. She was certain all was lost.
“Here!” Bjorn, still holding two destriers, grabbed the reins. “Be strong with the horses, Tom,” he reprimanded Leah, his voice harsh. “How many times do I have to tell you!” He smacked the reins back into Leah’s hands and continued through the gate.
Hooves echoed dully on the bridge as they led the horses to the green in front of the forest. To the east, the sky was turning a lighter shade, and the mists that crept along the ground swirled around their feet. Sorcha heard the sound of the huge gate being lowered again, and when they were finally near the woods, she let out her breath.
They didn’t say a word until they were at the edge of the forest, and Erbyn, the sleeping dragon, was still lifeless as it loomed at their backs. “ ’Tis time,” Bjorn said, climbing astride McBannon. “Within the hour Roy will discover me gone, and the guards will notice that there are but three horses still grazing here, with no one watching over them. Baron Hagan will surely follow us.”
They had planned to ride together for several miles, then split up, Bjorn heading north, and Leah and Sorcha taking the road to Prydd. Sorcha helped Leah onto Lady Anne’s bay jennet, then she climbed onto the sleek back of a white palfrey.
Leaving three horses grazing in the meadow, they rode carefully into the forest as the early light had barely pierced the woods.
Slowly night became day and they turned onto a little-used road and let out the reins. “I can’t believe we’re doing this!” Leah said as they galloped easily, putting much-needed distance between their horses and Erbyn.
The plan had been simple, but Sorcha felt pleased with herself. Bjorn had proved a worthy ally, not only in providing their disguises and weapons, but in his knowledge of the area. It was he who had come up with the route to Prydd and had handled the guard at the gate as if he’d been lying to sentries all his life. He’d earned his compensation, and though Sorcha would miss McBannon, Bjorn would treat the horse well.
As the sun climbed in the sky, it was partially hidden by clouds, but the mists parted and it was soon easy to see far ahead. The horses loped until they were breathing hard, and Bjorn signaled for them to slow.
Sorcha didn’t question him, for her palfrey was laboring and flecks of lather stood out on McBannon’s dark coat. She noticed the lines of strain surrounding Bjorn’s face and knew that the ride was difficult for him. His ribs, though healing, were still not knit, and the jarring ride was surely painful.
“If you want to rest—” she offered, but he shook his head.
“ ’Twould be death to stop.”
Sorcha agreed. “I want to thank you for helping us.”
“Wait until you’re safely back to Prydd,” he said without a trace of humor. “Then you may thank me.”
Prydd. She smiled as she thought of her home and the happy memories of her childhood. Absently patting the mare’s white neck, she considered the conversation she would have with Tadd. He would be furious with her for eluding him, and his temper would grow black when he heard that she’d given McBannon to a stableboy. But he would be pleased that she had freed Leah, tricked Hagan, and come away with two fine horses. They were not nearly as valuable as McBannon, of course, but they were worth much. And they are stolen. Do you think Hagan will not track you down and demand them back? She couldn’t think of Hagan, not now. Her images of him were too confused. One second she thought of him as Hagan the Horrible, the beast of Erbyn, her sworn enemy. The ne
xt moment she was remembering the way he smiled at her, or the feel of his arms around her when they danced, or the tingle of excitement that slid down her spine when he slowly removed her clothes. Oh, she was a hopeless wanton, fantasizing about a man who no doubt, at this moment, would like to strangle her.
They had just turned a sharp corner in the old road when Bjorn pulled up. McBannon’s ears twitched nervously, and Sorcha’s heart leaped to her throat.
Bjorn’s eyes were trained on the road, and he slowly urged his mount forward until he came to a fork in the path. He hopped lithely to the ground and studied the animal tracks, as if reading his future in the trampled grass and mud.
“What is it?” Leah asked, but the cutting glance he sent her stopped further questions.
Kneeling, he touched the cold earth, and Sorcha, who couldn’t stand the suspense a second longer, dismounted and followed him. She saw the curved impressions of horses’ hooves along with tracks of roe deer and boar. A badger had passed this way, as well. She knew, for she could read tracks as well as any page. Years before, her father had shown her the footprints of the forest creatures, and she’d placed them unerringly in her memory. Also, wheel marks, as if from a very heavy cart that had passed, were carved into the mud.
Several piles of dung littered the road. “Many horses have passed this way, and recently,” he said, his frown deepening. “The tracks and dung are fresh.”
“So?”
He rocked back on his heels. “An army?”
Sorcha’s throat closed in on itself. “Mayhap just a party going from one castle to the next for the revels.”
“Mayhap,” he said, but a smile didn’t touch his eyes. “But these tracks, they come from the direction of Prydd.”
She’d already thought of that and wondered if her brother had finally come to free her.
They climbed back on their horses.
“What is it?” Leah demanded as they rode into a shadowy thicket of oak.
“We don’t know. Maybe an army. Maybe guests for—”
An arrow hissed, splitting the air and burying deep in Bjorn’s shoulder. “Son of a dog!” he growled, sucking in his breath as he nearly toppled off his horse. He managed to turn McBannon away from the attack. “Run!” he yelled through gritted teeth.
