Oh, Lord, no! How could he have seen her? Her heart pounded so loudly, she was certain he could hear it.
“ ’Tis me, m’lord,” Bjorn said suddenly, the hand around her arm tight.
“No—” she cried, but he clamped his hand across her mouth.
“Come forward. Outside.”
Bjorn pressed her back against the wall, silently telling her to remain hidden. “Be still,” he whispered against the shell of her ear. “I am used to his punishments.” He left suddenly, following Hagan, and Sorcha drew in a long, shaky breath. True, it would be less suspicious if Hagan didn’t find her, but he’d already seen her enter the stables, and she couldn’t let Bjorn take the brunt of the baron’s wrath.
Squaring her shoulders, she followed Bjorn. At the doorway, he turned and hissed, “Stay,” but she didn’t heed his command.
They both ventured out of the darkness of the stables, and their eyes adjusted to the weak light cast by a shadowed moon.
Hagan struck fear in her heart. Taller than Bjorn and much broader, he seemed to tower over the stableboy. In the dim light she could barely make out his features, but they were hard and set, his anger visible in his stance. “What kind of treachery goes on here?” he demanded.
“I could not sleep,” Sorcha said.
“So you sneaked past the guards and ended up here.”
“Aye, to see about McBannon.”
“In the middle of the night?” he said with a disbelieving sneer. “Why not wait until morn?”
“As I said, I couldn’t sleep and needed to get some fresh air.”
“Did you tell the guards?”
“I bothered no one.”
“Had you plans to leave?”
“As you pointed out, m’lord, ’tis the middle of the night. I doubt the tower guard would let me pass.”
“You’ve done it before,” he said, deep, angry grooves surrounding his mouth. “And you—stableboy, what of you?”
“He was guarding the steed,” Sorcha said before Bjorn could answer.
“I sleep in the stables and heard her enter.”
“And what did you tell her?”
“To go back to the keep,” Sorcha answered again, too quickly.
“The boy has a tongue, does he not? Let him speak for himself.” Hagan didn’t bother to hide his irritation.
Bjorn stiffened, his eyes slitting in hatred. “ ’Tis as the lady says. I told her I would look after her horse and that ’twould be best if she returned to her chamber.”
Hagan looked from one to the other and finally grabbed Sorcha by the arm. “Make sure no one disturbs the animals,” he said to Bjorn. “I’ll see to it that the stable master knows what happened.”
Pulling hard on Sorcha’s elbow, he started back to the keep. His blood was on fire, his pulse thundering in his brain. Did she think he was stupid enough to believe her lie? She’d either been plotting her escape or she’d taken a fancy to the handsome stableboy. Either way, ’twas trouble. In truth, he’d rather think she was trying to find a means to leave Erbyn, but he doubted she would risk escape while her sister was still ill. No, but if not for the horse, then why? For the boy. They’d been speaking in whispers when he’d thrown open the stable door, and Hagan felt jealousy course through his blood.
How could he have been so blind? Bjorn was handsome and had a way with horses as well as women. Many a young maid had dallied near the stables, hoping to draw his attention. Rumor had it that he claimed a birthright to nobility or royalty from the heathens of the North, but until now, Hagan had thought the gossip just the idle dreams of a poor stableboy.
But Sorcha had gone to him in the middle of the night, risking her very life to be with him. Hagan’s teeth ground together and his fingers tightened over the muscles of her arm.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded as she trotted beside him.
“Taking you back where you belong. ’Tis not safe for you to be out here at dark.”