“She tricked the cook,” Rosemary said, and Hagan found it difficult to believe how fast gossip could race through the keep. “She must be clever as a fox.”
“Just tend to her; I’ll not be gone long,” Hagan said, glancing down at the tangle of black hair that framed a small, white face as beautiful as any he’d ever seen. Sleeping, she looked peaceful and small and vulnerable, though he knew differently. The pain in his shoulder was witness to how deadly she could become, and what he’d witnessed as she’d kept her vigil with her sister was mind-numbing.
“Is it true she is the savior of Prydd?” the nursemaid asked, her lips trembling slightly.
“Of course not. You’re a Christian woman, Rosemary. Surely you don’t believe in such old wives’ tales.” He glared at her, daring her to defy him, and she bobbed her old head anxiously.
“Aye. I’m a true believer in the Lord. But—I saw her call the furies as she brought her sister, Leah, back from the dead.”
“Leah was not yet dead, just in a deep sleep. There was no witchcraft, Rosemary. Just prayers.”
The old woman seemed disappointed. “But—”
“Rest assured that this woman will not hurt you. She is our guest and shall be treated so.”
Rosemary glanced at the blood staining the shoulder of his tunic, but did not argue, and Hagan left Sorcha to deal with his brother. Though it was still a few hours until dawn, half the castle was awake, and the news that Sorcha, the savior of Prydd, had somehow slipped past Erbyn’s defenses had traveled like wildfire through the hallways, scullery, and kitchens. The gossip ran fast with the story that Sorcha had laid her hands upon her sister and brought the girl back from the grave. In Hagan’s opinion, this was not the case. He had been in the chamber, and aye, the air in the room had been deathly still, then suddenly wrought with winds, but there had been no magic, no conjuring up of spirits, no raising the dead.
However, the rumors were out of control, and the fact that Sorcha had spent part of the night in Hagan’s chamber and had managed to wound him had lifted many an eyebrow.
He would tend to the servants and gossip later. First he had to confront his brother, who had started all this trouble. He strode to Darton’s quarters, hoping Darton would talk to him and he could begin to sort out the truth from the lies. His twin was furious that Hagan had locked him in his chambers and treated him like a prisoner, but Hagan felt he had no choice.
Darton was waiting for him. Like a penned animal, he paced restlessly between the window and the fire. Glancing up when Hagan arrived, he gla
red at his brother. “You have no right to keep me locked away, like a common thief,” he snarled. “ ’Twas I who kept your castle safe while you were off at war, and yet now, because of some daft woman, you would imprison me.” His nose curled in contempt. “I’ll not be caged like a wild animal, brother,” he warned.
“And I’ll not be deceived by my own kin.” Hagan saw that the guard was listening from his post in the hallway. He motioned for the man to shut the door and waited until he and his brother were completely alone.
“I was nearly killed in my bed tonight,” Hagan said as he propped a booted foot near the grate and tried to control his temper. “Sorcha of Prydd sneaked into my chamber and tried to slit my throat.”
“I’ve heard,” Darton said, “but it seems you survived.”
Hagan wanted to shake him until he’d gained some sense. Instead, he crossed his arms in front of his chest and pinned Darton with his hardest glare. “She says she came here to free her sister, whom you kidnapped and held prisoner.”
“I explained why,” Darton replied with a shrug. Then, as his thoughts changed their course, he managed a small smile. “Did you not see how she brought her sister back to life?”
“Leah was not yet dead.”
“But you cannot deny that something spiritual happened in that chamber. ’Twas as if Sorcha gave up her lifeblood and it flowed into her sister.”
“There was no letting of blood.”
“Aye—it was magical. Sorcery.” Darton rubbed his hands together. “It is true, Hagan, and you, having seen it with your own eyes, cannot doubt that the power exists. She is truly the chosen one. Be thankful that she is now here at Erbyn and no longer with the enemy.”
“The enemy?” Hagan said, feeling uneasy. “Who’s the enemy? Surely not the Scots—”
“Tadd of Prydd,” Darton said.
“We have a truce with Eaton.”
“Yea, but the baron’s away, and now we deal with his simpleton of a son, a man who is greedy and growing more powerful each day.” Darton walked to the fire to stand next to his brother. “Did I not already tell you that there have been rumors, Hagan, rumors suggesting that Tadd is mounting an army the likes of which we haven’t seen in years? My soldiers were traveling the road that leads to the village near Prydd. Sir Robert, one of our most trusted men and a traitor to Prydd, told me that Tadd was strengthening his forces while his father was off fighting the Scots.”
“There is a truce—” he repeated.
“Aye, and it has been broken many times. Eaton is an old man and far off. Tadd can honor the truce or break it.”
“What does this have to do with Lady Leah?”
Darton sighed loudly. “The capture of Leah was a mistake. I told the men to take only Sorcha, that she was worth more.”