Sorcha was shocked for a moment before she realized the wide-eyed maid had seen her birthmark. Without finishing her task, the girl ran from the room, scurrying away from Sorcha as if she were the very daughter of Satan.
So more than silly Ona had heard the prophecy. Some of the servants probably believed in the old tale. Good. This could work to her advantage when she tried to escape with Leah.
With each hour she was away from Prydd, the chances increased that Tadd would discover that she and his prized horse were missing. As Isolde had foreseen, she’d been foolish taking the most fleet horse in the stables, her brother’s favorite mount. Had she stolen her own palfrey or an old jennet, mayhaps the stable master would not have noticed.
In her haste, she’d made a vast error in judgment, not considering the fact that she might be caught. She’d only contemplated the need for a strong horse that could travel great distances carrying two people. McBannon was strong and fast, the best in the stables. Sorcha had stolen him to insure that she and Leah returned to Prydd swiftly.
Her insides felt like jelly when she considered Tadd’s wrath. Coward that he was, he could certainly take out his fury on poor old Isolde, who, for as long as Sorcha could remember, had done nothing but care for her.
Chewing on her lower lip and plotting her escape, she stared out the window to the grounds below. Erbyn was nearly inescapable. Surrounded by a great wall, the bailey was complete with pond, well, stables, barns, and various sheds for the baker, candlemaker, carpenters, tanners, and other peasants. She could see part of the gardens, now dreary and covered with old weeds in the winter rain.
Guests arrived through the open gate, as she had, but the soldiers greeted each wagon and horseman more carefully than before. A hunter arrived with several pheasants, quail, and a large boar. The dead pig had been lashed to poles and was being dragged toward the kitchen.
Erbyn was larger than Prydd, but castle life was much the same. Carpenters were shoring up the roof of the stables, and the armorer, under his covered porch, was polishing shields and helmets in sacks of bran. Swords and crossbow bolts were cleaned as well, and Sorcha’s heart turned cold as she gazed at the weapons that could be used against the people of Prydd. The truce that had been observed for years was always feeble at best, and now that both daughters of Eaton were imprisoned, there would surely be war. Because of Darton’s ambitions.
Damn him and damn his brother. Hagan, if he were indeed a ruler, could surely have controlled his twin.
As if she’d conjured up the very devil himself, she saw Hagan, limping slightly, as he strode along the well-worn paths of the bailey. He stopped and talked with the carpenters, congratulated the hunter on his kill, and even paused to speak to a small boy who was catching eels in the pond. The people he spoke with smiled up at him and there was no fear on their faces, not like the servants at Prydd, who rarely dared speak with Tadd. When they had, their expressions had always been brittle, like old candle wax, and their smiles were forced. But not so with this ruler of Erbyn.
Her gaze narrowed on Hagan. He was a handsome devil, she’d give him that, but his good looks did not atone for his arrogance and pride. His hair, so brown as to be mistaken for black, gleamed in the pale winter light, and his angular features looked as if they’d been hewn from stone. Hollow cheeks from months at war, skin weathered by the elements, thick, dark eyebrows, a nose shaped like a hawk’s beak, and eyes the color of liquid gold.
She should have killed him when she had the chance, she thought, though a small part of her knew that she could never have taken his life. That piece of knowledge bothered her sorely, and she realized that heretofore she’d believed part of the myth of her birth, that she was the savior of her people. How foolish! How could she save a castle when she couldn’t even slit the throat of a sworn enemy?
Maybe her mission was to heal rather than kill, for surely something magical had happened in Leah’s room last night. She twirled the serpent ring around her finger and considered her plight. Though she’d saved her sister, she’d failed all of Prydd by letting herself be captured. Mayhap the old rumors surrounding the mark on the back of her neck
were as false as Father William had preached they were. Oftentimes at mass the chaplain had pointed out the frailties of his congregation, noted that their beliefs in God were not strong. Father William had stared openly at Sorcha when he’d begged the congregation to give up their pagan rites and blasphemous ways. She’d sat in her pew, her back stiff, her cheeks burning, as she’d endured the condemning weight of everyone’s gaze sliding in her direction.
Father William despised her; he made no effort to hide his feelings, and Sorcha had often worried of his dissatisfaction. She’d once confided her concerns to Isolde.
“Ahh, don’t be bothered by that jackass,” Isolde had remarked.
“But he hates me.”
“Nay, child, he fears you.”
“Why?”
Isolde’s weathered face had wrinkled into a smug smile and her eyes had gleamed with devilment. “Because he doesn’t understand you and the power you’ve been given. He’s afraid that the mark on your neck, the kiss of the moon, is the work of his God, or worse yet, the work of the gods of the old ones—the gods he denies.”
“But he says he believes not in the story and calls it the idle thoughts of gossiping old women.”
“Aye, but he will not let the prophecy die, will he? Time after time, he brings it up himself, and there is fear in his faded eyes. Believe you me. You have challenged his own faith, and that frightens him.”
Sorcha had always taken comfort in Isolde’s words, and a part of her wished to be the true savior of Prydd. But now, imprisoned by a man she hated, she realized that she wasn’t much different from any other captive.
She eyed the ring surrounding her finger. The only difference was that there might be people, servants, merchants, guards, and even part of the baron’s family, who believed in the old tale. Hadn’t silly Ona thought her magical? The seamstress had fled in terror at the sight of her birthmark. Those people would fear her. There was a chance that she would be able to convince them that she was picked by the gods and therefore sacred. Mayhap they could be persuaded to help her. Curse it all. If only she’d taken the time to learn some of Isolde’s spells; if only she’d paid attention to the runes that the old woman drew in the sand. But no. She’d been much too practical to study the old ways.
What had Isolde said? Listen to your heart; the magic will be with you. Hadn’t magic happened last night?
Hearing excited shouts, she forced her eyes away from Hagan and the hunter to see a peasant man leading a horse—Tadd’s destrier—through the gates.
Her heart dropped like a stone as she stared at the stallion, who reared and pulled at the bit and was lathered in sweat. Hagan walked over to the peasant. “Oh, McBannon,” she whispered.
Fists planted firmly on his hips, Hagan studied the animal carefully. The charger whistled shrilly, pulling away, but Hagan wasn’t afraid. He dodged a swift kick. Running experienced hands over McBannon’s mud-spattered hide, he cast a glance to the castle and the very window of Sorcha’s room. For an instant their gazes locked, and Sorcha felt the warm air in her lungs turn to crystals of ice. Fury radiated from Hagan and he muttered something to the peasant, who put his shoulders into the task of leading the balking stallion to the stables. Sorcha didn’t move, and again she was rewarded with a glance that could cut through steel.
Again the bay tried to bolt, and Hagan barked an order to a lanky blond stableboy who said some soft words and calmed Tadd’s stallion. The boy led the horse toward the stables, and Sorcha smiled to herself in the knowledge that at least McBannon was with her and, if needs be, could soon provide means for escape.
Somehow she would have to convince Hagan that she had accepted her fate, make him trust her so that she could have some freedom within the castle walls. So that she could visit Leah.