Sorcha’s heart pounded. Would Leah ever forgive her for insisting that they change places? Would she understand that she was safe now, and despite the fierce one’s plan of marrying Leah off to Darton to balm his guilt, Leah could not be forced into marrying a man she did not love? This wasn’t exactly true, of course, but Sorcha was certain she could convince her father that a marriage between the houses of Erbyn and Prydd would be a mistake of hellish proportions.
Sorcha would do anything within her power to save her sister. She stepped forward, following Darton, but Hagan’s hand restrained her. “Mayhap you should wait here,” he said, and for the first time she noticed lines of strain on his face and worry near his eyes.
“I’ll not—”
Darton walked into the chamber. “Lady, you have a visitor from Prydd. Your sister is …”
His words faded, and Sorcha could stand the suspense no longer. “Leah!” she cried, wresting her way free of Hagan and nearly tripping on Darton, who stood stock-still near the door. “Leah!
“Thank God I’ve finally found you!” she cried as her eyes adjusted to the dim light. She didn’t see her sister at first, and heard Darton’s low voice behind her as she walked to the only piece of furniture in the room—a large canopied bed. “Leah! Wake up!” she said, suddenly anxious as a cool breath of air touched the back of her neck and the wood of the canopy creaked loudly.
“Sorcha, wait,” Hagan called.
Her heart froze. Ice filled her veins as she saw the small lump that was her sister. “No!” she whispered, horrified as she saw the blood oozing from Leah’s wrists. “Merciful God, no!”
“What in the name of God?” Hagan demanded from somewhere behind her.
Sorcha stepped forward, unable to believe the truth, but in the light of the few candles still waning in their holders, she saw her sister’s face, white and unmoving, and the tiny knife that had slipped to the floor.
“By all the gods, I swear …” She reached for her dagger, but her fingers encountered only the folds of another woman’s tunic. She grabbed part of Leah’s tunic, ripped it, and quickly bound the strips of cloth to Leah’s wrists. “Please, Leah, do not die,” she whispered.
Hagan was beside her, his hand against Leah’s chest, his head bent down to her nostrils. “ ’Tis too late,” he said quietly.
“Nay!” Sorcha screamed, dropping to her knees. “Please, Leah, you cannot die. You cannot!”
A strong hand touched her on the shoulder. “Sorcha, come. There is nothing—”
Sorcha threw off Hagan’s hand and turned on him. “She will live!” she proclaimed loudly, her gaze landing on Darton. “Despite the deceit and treachery and lies that infest this castle, she will live! You,” she ordered a guard near the door. “Send word to Isolde at Prydd. She is to come here at once.” When the man didn’t move, Sorcha pointed at him with a long, condemning finger. “Unless you want to see the horrid wrath of the kiss of the moon, you will ride this night.”
“ ’Tis too late,” Hagan said again, and she whirled on him.
“This is your fault, baron, and you must do whatever it is that you can to save my sister.”
“She’s gone—”
“She’s not! Her body is warm, and I can feel the beat of her heart. Now, unless you want yet another death in the house of Prydd on your hands, you will find one of your servants who practices the old ways.”
“She speaks of sorcery,” Darton said.
“I care not what you call it, but Leah needs help.”
Hagan glared at her for a second, before telling the guard, “Take Sir Darton back to his quarters—”
Darton waved off the guard. “Hold fast. I’ll not be treated like a prisoner—”
“Take him!” Hagan said more fiercely. “Then awaken Rosemary. See that she comes up here, and … ask that she bring her daughter, Caitlin.”
“Caitlin is no
t at Erbyn this night, and … ’tis said that Caitlin practices the dark arts, m’lord—”
“If not Caitlin, then her mother, but do it. Now!” Hagan snarled, allowing Darton to stay.
Sorcha paid little heed; she was still on her knees near the bed, sometimes praying that Leah’s life be spared, other times speaking softly to her sister. “I’m here now, Leah. You’re safe; please, please, hear me.” Her heart was as heavy as if it had been weighted with stones. She placed the necklace carefully around Leah’s throat and retied the broken cords. The red string seemed the color of blood against Leah’s pale skin, and the small twigs looked frail and powerless. “Come, Leah. Live!”
She heard Hagan tell one of his men to stoke the fire and light candles before they were banished from the room. Only Darton and Hagan remained.
Darton stood as if transfixed, and Hagan paced restlessly. “This is nonsense,” he said.