Kiss of the Moon (Medieval Trilogy 2)

Furious with herself, Sorcha stripped and stepped into the tub, feeling the hot water caress her skin, just as Hagan’s hands had touched her the night before. Shame seared through her and she closed her eyes and dunked her head, scrubbing the dirt from her body and rinsing the lavender-scented water through her hair.

When she’d finished, the servant girl handed her a towel. Glancing over her shoulder to see that they were still alone, the girl whispered, “ ’Tis said that you saved your sister’s life, that you brought her back from the dead. Tell me, Lady Sorcha, are you truly the savior of Prydd?”

Suddenly Sorcha realized that escaping the thick walls of Erbyn would be easier than she’d first thought. Many of the servants here still believed in the old prophecy. She wrung her hair in the tub, careful so that her birthmark was visible to the girl. “Aye,” she said with a smile as she shook out her black curls. “ ’Tis true, but this must be our secret. No one else in the castle is to know.”

“My word of honor,” the girl said, her eyes round as she stared at the dark crescent on Sorcha’s skin.

“Good.” Sorcha wrapped herself in the towel and shivered. “Now, tell me, is my sister well?”

Six

he girl, Leah, will live,” Rosemary predicted as she rubbed ointment into Hagan’s wound and cast a glance at Anne, who was sitting near the window stitching embroidery. “Leah’s restin’ now, and Nellie is watchin’ over her.” She crossed her heavy bosom quickly. “Lord, that was somethin’ to see when the girl came back from the dead.”

“She couldn’t have been dead,” Anne said.

“What of Nichodemas?” Hagan grimaced as Rosemary cleaned the cut and blood began to flow again.

“That old bloodletter, he left sayin’ there was nothin’ more he could do. I wasn’t one to argue with him, not after I saw with me very own eyes the magic of Sorcha of Prydd. Lord in heaven, did you ever see the like?”

Anne’s gaze lifted to meet that of her brother. “I heard that she casts magic spells.”

Hagan snorted.

“I’ll not have witchcraft in the castle—”

“Worry not. There was no witchcraft, only the clever tricks.”

“Darton, too, says she brought the girl back from the grave.”

Hagan was tired of the argument and didn’t bother answering. Sorcha had tricked them all, including him, but he didn’t believe that a few sticks and some red thread tossed around a dead person’s neck would bring her back to life.

Anne’s lips pulled into a frown and her forehead furrowed as she drew her thread through her hoop. A few curling brown strands escaped her wimple, and from the set of her chin, Hagan knew she was vexed. He shifted on the bed.

“Be still, m’lord,” Rosemary commanded. A hefty woman, she’d raised Hagan since he was a boy. “I’ll be stitchin’ ye up ’ere and I’ll not be ’aving you wiggling like a sucklin’ pig searchin’ for a teat.”

“Just be careful.”

“Always am. Been sewin’ this family together as long as I can remember.”

Anne tossed down her hoop impatiently. “You can’t keep Darton locked up like some common thief.”

“He is a common thief,” Hagan replied as he felt Rosemary’s needle prick his skin. “He stole a woman. A lady. Daughter of a rival baron. You think he should not be punished?”

“He made a mistake, aye. But he’s your brother and it’s the Christmas revels.”

“He’s lucky I didn’t kill him,” Hagan said.

Anne rolled her eyes to the coved ceiling.

“A woman nearly died, Anne,” Hagan said.

“But she didn’t. Rosemary said she’ll be fine.”

“I said she was restin’,” Rosemary clarified.

As if feeling a sudden bone-chilling draft, Anne rubbed her arms and cast Rosemary a look to put the woman in her place before training her eyes on her brother again. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t punish him, but please, for the sake of our family’s name, don’t make Darton a joke to his servants.”

Hagan winced as Rosemary tugged on the thread binding his wound. “Trust me. This is no joke.”