“What you came here for,” he said, leaving one of her hands free so that he could work the laces of her tunic.
“No!” she cried, realizing that he meant to take her. “You can’t do this, you can’t!” she hissed, throwing all her weight into the useless task of trying to push him off her. She pounded at his shoulders, his ribs, wherever she could hit him, and the beast had the audacity to laugh and grab her hand, binding it with the other over her head as she writhed beneath him.
“Come on, Bliss, Darton told me of you.”
Darton! “But you are—” She knew her mistake instantly as she stared up at his visage. A strong face, intelligent deep-set eyes, muscles that were strident and lean. “Lord Hagan,” she said, her voice nearly failing her.
His lips curved in amusement, as if she were a diverting toy. “Aye, and you’re Bliss, the wench sent to serve me.”
“Nay!” she cried, struggling harder and watching as his eyes glinted in anticipation.
“Then who be ye?”
It was no use. She had to tell him the truth. To save herself. To save Leah. Only then would he stop this torturous game. Oh, Leah, I fear I have failed you. “I’m Sorcha.”
“Sorcha?”
“Of Prydd. I’ve come for my sister.”
His muscles tensed and flexed. His eyes sharpened as if he remembered seeing the girl years before. He let out a harsh bark of laughter. “So you’re the savior of Prydd, are ye?” he teased, his voice low and rumbling, his lips twitching at her proclamation. In the firelight, with red and gold shadows playing upon his muscles, he looked like the very son of the devil. Sorcha’s lungs constricted as he studied her. With his free hand he trailed a finger along her jaw, shoving a wayward curl from her cheek. “Why, then, be ye here? At Erbyn?”
Was he deaf? “I told you! For Leah. Darton’s captured my sister and brought her here, and I’ve come to ensure her safe return.”
“By warming my bed?”
“By killing you if needs be,” she said, breathing deeply. Nervous sweat collected on the small of her back. She knew Hagan to be a fairer man than his brother, but she also believed that he was a great warrior, a fearless fighter, a man who had no qualms about taking any woman in the kingdom and having his way with her. Through her rough clothing she felt his hard muscles, and as she looked up at his face, she saw the determined gleam in his golden eyes.
“You had your chance for that,” he said, lowering his head to nuzzle her neck. She twisted away, then, to make her point, bit his cheek hard. With a yelp he drew back, never releasing her, his eyes flashing fire as a ring of teeth marks showed against his freshly shaved skin. “So that’s what you want,” he whispered hoarsely.
“All I want is my sister freed! I knew not ’twas you in this chamber, Lord Hagan. I was told that Sir Darton would be resting here while you were off fighting the Scots.”
He paused for a second, his dark brows drawing into a thick, harsh line. “You truly expected Darton?”
“Aye!”
“Did you not know that I had returned?”
“How could I?”
His eyes narrowed to suspicious slits. “You talk in circles, Savior,” he muttered, allowing his finger to dip lower along the neckline of her tunic. He hesitated just a second, looked into her eyes, and frowned.
“I tell the truth. Ask Darton!”
“Sorcha of Prydd is a child. I’ve met her once.”
“Aye, years ago!” she cried. “I was in the minstrel’s balcony at the castle when you came for the truce!”
He hesitated a second. “Everyone in Erbyn knows of that.”
“Then call Darton!” she insisted.
“And he will tell me of your sister’s fate.”
“Aye.” But she knew it was a lie. If Hagan had returned and already spoken to his brother, why did Hagan not know of Leah? Because Darton had held the truth from him. Anxiety curdled her stomach. Leah might already be dead. She squirmed. “We must save her.”
“You lie. And you call my brother here just to make sport of me.”
“No!” What did it take to make him believe her?