“Then Prydd is dead.”
He reached up, intending to strike her, but Darton’s sword came fast from its sheath and settled at Tadd’s throat. “Remember that the lady will be my wife.”
“Then I pity you,”
Tadd said thickly. “She’s nothing but trouble and will be your curse for as long as you live.”
“I think not.” The blade pinched a little closer to Tadd’s Adam’s apple, and Sorcha thought she would be sick.
Small dots of sweat collected on Tadd’s upper lip. “My mistake,” he said carefully, and Darton quickly sheathed his weapon.
“As long as we understand each other. As for your request,” he said, turning to face Sorcha again, “Mayhap Lady Leah would like to bathe.”
Sorcha tried to remain calm, though inside she was screaming. “Then let me talk to Bjorn.”
“The stableboy who stole the horses?” Darton shook his head slowly. “He’s been thrown in the dungeon and will stay there until he’s hanged.”
“Hanged?” Sorcha whispered, her throat catching over the horrid word. Surely he was joking. “You would not …”
Darton’s leer was as cold as a snake’s skin. “He’s a traitor, m’lady, and here at Erbyn, we hang traitors.”
Sixteen
ave you lost your mind?” Anne called after her brother. Darton seemed to have gone daft, and she wouldn’t believe a word of his nonsense. He didn’t look around at her, just kept walking through the rain to the armorer’s hut. Blast the man. Frowning at the mud, she gathered her skirts in her fingers and followed him. Rain splattered the ground and peppered her shoulders, and the hood she wore was little protection as water began to soak through the heavy wool, but she was damned if she was going to let one of her bullheaded brothers destroy the other.
In the bailey, men shouted and hammers banged. Several carts, their wheels creaking and thick with mud, rolled into the yard.
“You can’t just say that Hagan’s dead,” she insisted, catching up to Darton as she sidestepped a puddle. Her strides were as long as her brother’s, but she was still hurrying to keep pace with him.
“Hagan’s dead or dying. Either way, he deserted us.”
Had he no conscience? The castle gossip rang in her ears. “Since you sent no one to find him or his body I think you were behind the attack so that you could steal his castle!” The mud was squishing over her boots, but she didn’t care. Her heart was heavy with fear and dread. Asides, she was furious. Darton had no right, none, to attack Hagan. ’Twas against everything in which she’d placed her faith.
Anne had always known her brothers didn’t get along and had long sensed Darton’s vexation at being born just a few minutes after Hagan, but she never thought he would do anything so vile, so wicked, so utterly blackhearted as to try and overthrow Hagan. “Don’t think I don’t hear things, Darton.”
He turned on her, his eyes burning bright, his scarlet mantle swirling around him like the very cape of the devil. “What have you heard?”
“That your soldiers chased down Sorcha and Hagan, that you intended to murder him.”
Darton’s skin tightened over his face. “Anything else?”
“Yes. You’ve detained his soldiers and have kept them prisoner, and you left your own twin in the forest to die like a wounded dog.” She was furious now because he didn’t deny anything, just stared at her with his hate-filled eyes. “He’s your brother. My brother. Our brother. How could you—”
With a smack that rang through the bailey, he struck her hard in the face. She gasped and stumbled back a step, and the pounding of the hammers ceased. Her hood fell away from her hair, letting the rain pour down her neck. Tears stung her eyes. Slowly she lifted her hand to her face, holding her cheek where a welt was forming, and watched in horror as he reined in his wrath so he wouldn’t strike her again. “So ’tis true,” she said, and wondered how his brotherly rivalry had festered into a hatred so intense that he would resort to murder. As children, she and Darton had been close, sharing secrets, playing together, and excluding Hagan, who had always been groomed to be heir. Often she’d seen Darton’s face tighten as he’d fought tears when their father had ignored him in favor of his firstborn son, but Anne had never believed that his torment would lead him to such murderous deeds.
“You cannot stay on this path, Darton.”
His nostrils flared and his lips curled in disgust. “You don’t understand, Anne. I can do as I wish. No one can stop me.”
“So you would murder your own brother, and kill a stableboy for helping a woman escape?”
“Bjorn’s a traitor.”
“No, Darton, you’re the traitor. You kidnapped a noble-woman, forced her to lie with you, and she tried to free herself by taking her life. There is no betrayal in that. But you … you’ve plotted against Hagan for years, turning his own soldiers against him, and now this … this murder. What’s happened to you?” She took a step forward, and he stopped her with the fearless hatred that etched every one of his features. He looked evil and hard. No light of remorse lighted his eyes.
“Leave it be, Anne.”
She couldn’t. Her own rage was so great that she had no control of her tongue. “ ’Tis rumored that you and Tadd of Prydd have some sort of agreement to marry off Leah to Sir Marshall.” She shuddered at the thought. “Have you no conscience?”