“You thought to sell her?”
“Nay, to bargain for her. To show Tadd’s hand. The exchange would be her safe return for peace.”
“You expect me to believe—”
“ ’Tis the truth,” Darton swore. “She is powerful, Hagan, and tonight was proof of that. Many have whispered that she is the chosen one, the savior of Prydd, a woman blessed by the old gods, and though we may find such beliefs foolish, they exist. Her birthmark alone sets her apart, causes old tongues to wag. We may laugh at the ancient ones and their religion, but many still believe in the old rites. Oh, they hide their blasphemy well by attending mass and pretending piety, but—” he leaned closer to Hagan, conviction etched in his features “—they think of her as their true leader. It matters not what favors Edward bestows upon you, Hagan. Many of the peasants and servants believe that Sorcha of Prydd is the most powerful woman—or man, for that matter—in all of Wales.” His voice lowered a fraction and he glanced to the door, as if he was hiding his next words. “There is gossip about her that runs deeper. ’Tis rumored that she was not sired by Sir Eaton, that she’s not the seed of his loins. There are many who believe that a true prince of the Celts, a bastard grandson of Llywelyn, raped Lady Cleva, under the watchful eye of a full moon; that Sorcha of Prydd is not Eaton’s daughter but is really descended from Llywelyn the Great, that the blood that flows through her veins is from the true rulers of Gwynedd.”
Absently, as Darton spoke his nonsense, Hagan rubbed his shoulder, where her knife had found its mark, and Darton sat on a stool near the hearth as he spoke. “The old ones, they believe the prophecy, and they’ve taught their young the same. Edward may think that he is king of all that is Wales, but he is a fool. Only those with royal Welsh blood can rule the people.” Satisfied that he’d convinced Hagan of his prisoner’s worth, Darton leaned back and knocked off a bit of mud from the sole of his boot with the toe of the other. “She is a prize, brother. A prize to bargain with.”
Hagan’s teeth were clenched so hard that he could barely speak. “So you plotted Sorcha’s kidnap because of her power over the old people, because she is rumored to be the true ruler of Prydd?”
“Nay. I took her because of the rumors of war.” Darton frowned darkly. “Tadd of Prydd cannot be trusted. He has threatened to raise his sword to Erbyn more than once.”
“But he’s never broken the peace.”
“ ’Twas only a matter of time.” Darton rubbed his jaw and his eyes narrowed. “The mistake was that my men brought the wrong woman and killed two of Tadd’s soldiers.”
“As well as a lady in waiting.”
“Bloody hell,” Darton ground out, apparently furious that his scheme had not gone as planned.
“So instead of preventing war, you may have started one. Tadd of Prydd now has an excuse to break the truce. Now he will certainly be looking for trouble.”
“Aye,” Darton admitted with a lift of one shoulder. “That much is true. However—” one side of his mouth curved upward “—all is not lost. By the fates, brother, we now have Sorcha.”
That thought gave Hagan no comfort. “As well as her sister, who may die.”
“By her own hand,” Darton replied callously. “ ’Tis a pity, aye, but there is no way to undo the deed.”
“Leah tried to kill herself because you brought her here against her will.” Hagan leaned against the warm stones of the fireplace and tried to keep the rage from his voice. This time Darton had gone too far. A woman—Sorcha’s sister—was nearly dead. Dead! No amount of chanting would bring her back if she gave up her spirit. Yet Darton acted as if her life made no difference. A cold desperation gnawed at Hagan’s guts. “So tell me, Darton, did you treat her well while she was here?”
“She was a prisoner.”
“A prisoner? For God’s sake, what were you thinking?”
Darton’s eyes narrowed. “I was trying to save your barony, that’s all, m’lord!”
Hagan’s jaw hardened. “As a prisoner, was she beaten?” Hagan asked, his stomach roiling as he thought of Sorcha’s sister being flogged.
“Nay—”
“Raped?” he asked.
A small light flickered in Darton’s eyes. “Nay, I—”
“Just tell me this, brother. Did you force her into your bed?” Hagan demanded, though he knew the answer.
“She came willingly,” Darton said with a smile that made Hagan’s blood turn to ice.
He could stand the lies no longer. Grabbing the front of Darton’s tunic, he twisted the fine fabric, making a noose of his brother’s clothing as he lifted Darton in the air. “When you are ready to tell me the truth and all of it, I will listen to you. My guess is that you are telling me only what you think I should hear, but I trust you not. That girl tried to kill herself, Darton, with her own knife or else you or one of your soldiers attempted to take her life. You may yet succeed, for she’s none too strong. Whether she lives or dies, you will pay, brother, and pay dearly. You’ve put this castle and all who depend upon Erbyn for safety in danger. ’Tis something I’ll not forget.” He dropped Darton as if he were a vile piece of meat and strode out the door, stopping only to instruct the guards to keep the heavy door barred.
His leg ached and his shoulder throbbed as he strode down the curved stairs. Damn Darton, damn his bloody schemes and damn him for his whoring.
Tadd of Prydd was not known for his patience. A bully with a mean temper, he would want revenge.
Soon the very gates of hell would open, right here, at Erbyn.
“Bring me the stable master!” Tadd bellowed, his boots sinking into the mud, his fury evident in the harsh lines of his face. Could not anything ever go right? He tapped his riding whip in the palm of his gloved hand impatiently. Guards scurried into the stables and searched the castle.