life miserable for anyone interested in his sister. Why Tadd despised her, she knew not, but only guessed his hatred was because of her cursed birthmark. His feelings for Leah were not as bitter. But then Leah had always been the kind one, the pious one, the saint in the family, and Sorcha had been a thorn in her father’s side from the day of her birth.
“Will you help me with the accounts?” Leah asked.
So simple. “Aye.”
Leah scowled darkly. “I know not why Father insists we learn the duties of the steward. All those numbers … Ah, well, if you will do the work.”
Sorcha couldn’t help but smile. The accounts were easy for her, no task at all. “ ’Tis done,” she said.
Within the hour, Leah had explained that she, too, wanted to attend mass, and Tadd, interested in a new dark-haired kitchen maid, waved her aside. With Sir Henry for protection and Leah’s maid, Gwendolyn, as companion, they rode through the forest on the main road. Once Castle Prydd was out of sight, the two sisters exchanged cloaks and horses.
“You’ll not be doing this,” Henry insisted as he began to understand that he’d been played for a fool in part of a girlish scheme.
“M’lady, please, ’tis not a good idea,” Gwendolyn agreed. A tiny woman with light hair, she worried far too much.
“ ’Tis all right.” Sorcha slipped the hood of Leah’s purple cloak over her head.
Henry reined in his horse. “No good will come of it. I forbid you—”
“ ’Tis not for you to forbid,” Sorcha cut in, and Leah stifled a giggle as she adjusted the folds of Sorcha’s crimson mantle around her slender body. “Asides, I’ll see that you get some of the baron’s best wine on our return.”
Henry’s heavy face folded upon itself. “ ’Tis not drink that I need. ’Tis assurance that you’ll be safe. With Castle Erbyn left in Sir Darton’s hands while Lord Hagan is off fighting the war, no one is safe.”
“Erbyn is far away,” Leah said, though she seemed a little anxious.
Both Hagan and Darton, the twin brothers, were harsh men who ruled with cruel hands, but Hagan, the baron, was the more levelheaded of the two, and he had once traveled to Prydd to make peace with Sorcha’s father. Sorcha had not been allowed to meet Hagan, as he was considered the enemy, but she’d hidden herself in the minstrel’s loft and gazed down upon him as he’d walked arrogantly into the great hall. A big man with dark hair the color of a falcon’s wing and eyes that were set well back in his head, he strode into the great hall and nodded curtly to her father. Hagan’s nose was not straight, but his features were bold and chiseled, and he had an air about him that caused most of the guards to keep their distance. His shoulders were wider than her father’s, and he towered above the older man. For the first time in her young life, Sorcha doubted her father’s ability to command an army against so formidable an opponent.
Commanding. Assured. As if he were ruler of Prydd, he warmed himself by the fire and spoke in low tones that Sorcha, try as she might, could not overhear. He came in the company of soldiers, all wearing the green and gold of his colors, and there was another man with him, at his right hand, who looked much like the baron, though slightly smaller in stature and not quite as handsome. His twin, no doubt. Though she was but ten at the time, she knew, as she gazed at Hagan of Erbyn, she would never see a more powerful man.
Danger seemed to radiate from him, and when he glanced up, she gasped, giving herself away. His green-gold eyes focused on her, and the lips tightened a bit as his gaze caught hers for but an instant. At that moment Sorcha gleaned what it was to be a rabbit caught in the archer’s sights.
Her little heart pounded, but rather than hide, she stood defiantly, tossing her hair off her shoulders, and met his arrogant glare with her own prideful stare.
“Who is the waif?” he asked her father, and Baron Eaton glanced upward, grunting as he recognized his daughter.
“Sorcha—get down from there!” Eaton ordered.
The twin brother eyed her with interest, but it was Hagan who said, “Sorcha? Ahh … so she does exist. I have heard of you, little one.” His eyes glinted in a kind mockery. “Some of the peasants—the people who believe in the old ways—have told me that you are to be the savior of this castle.”
Sorcha lifted a brow and shrugged, trying not to notice how handsome a man he was. “ ’Tis true,” she replied, not knowing where her courage came from, but squaring her shoulders a bit.
“ ’Tis a lie, the mutterings of a crazy old midwife who thinks she be a witch,” Tadd interjected as he hurried down the stairs, his face flushed in the seething rage that seemed to be constantly with him. Always spoiling for a fight, he eyed Hagan and the soldiers from Erbyn with obvious loathing.
Hagan ignored him and continued to stare at Sorcha. “Will you strike me dead?” he asked. Again the gentle ridicule in his voice.
“If you ever try to capture Prydd. Yes, Lord Hagan, I will cut out your black heart myself.”
He laughed then, and the harsh lines of his face disappeared. “Well, little waif, I quiver in my boots, as does the entire castle, just knowing that mayhaps your wrath will be cast in the direction of Erbyn.”
“Hush this nonsense!” her father bellowed. “Go see to your lessons, Sorcha. Lord Hagan and I have a truce to discuss. Tadd come along with us. ’Tis time you learned how to bring peace to the land …”
Sorcha had never seen the baron again. Now, as her breath steamed in the cold winter air of the forest outside of Prydd and Sir Henry looked as if he were ready to strangle her for her impudence, she wondered if Lord Hagan or his brother or their men really did consort with outlaws and thieves as was rumored.
“Worry not about Sorcha, Sir Henry. She’ll be in good company,” Leah said, her nose wrinkling as she chuckled. “Safe in the arms of—”
“Rest assured, Sir Henry, that I’ll be fine, and breathe not a word of this to a soul.” Sorcha climbed into the saddle of Leah’s bay jennet as Leah tried in vain to scramble onto Sorcha’s feisty black mare.
“This horse will be the very end of me,” Leah said as she finally settled into the saddle.