She forced a bite of jellied eggs and pretended not to feel the interested gazes cast in her direction.
Two gray dogs lay behind Hagan, their great heads resting on their paws, their yellow eyes watching each piece of meat in hopes that a tasty morsel would drop into the rushes.
She heard snatches of several conversations and learned that outlaws infested the forest surrounding the castle. “Two guests have already been attacked and robbed,” Anne told her brother around a mouthful of pike. “Word has it that to the east, a group of Osric McBrayne’s soldiers were beaten and their horses stolen. The men were more embarrassed than hurt, but McBrayne is ready to go to war.”
“No doubt he blames Garrick of Abergwynn,” Hagan said, knowing of the age-old feud between the powerful barons.
“Or us.”
Hagan lifted a shoulder. “I care not what McBrayne thinks.”
“You should. He’s become powerful again and has an army twice the size of ours. He’s sworn to find the outlaws and bring them to justice.”
“As well he should,” Hagan said, though he seemed worried, probably because Sorcha had claimed she was attacked by outlaws, and those lawless men were somehow linked to Darton and therefore Erbyn. Hagan scowled into his trencher. “Who is the leader of this riffraff?”
“No one knows. But the sheriff has been unable to stop him.”
“Mayhaps you should ask your brother,” Sorcha suggested. “I see that Darton is not at the table.”
Hagan reached for a silver salt shaker sculpted into the shape of a stag and salted a piece of venison. “Darton is to remain in his room until I have settled this matter of your sister.”
“This matter of my sister,” she repeated, feeling the color drain from her face. “My sister nearly died, and the blame lies at Darton’s feet.”
“We do not know this yet,” Anne said, her gaze moving quickly about the room, as if she were afraid some of the guests would overhear Sorcha’s accusations.
“She was kidnapped. Held against her will and Lord knows what else. Of course it was Darton’s fault.”
She felt a big hand clamp over her arm. “Not here,” Hagan said through lips that barely moved. “I said I will settle things as best I can. You will have to trust me.”
Trust him? After what had happened? Was the man daft? “Never,” she vowed, knowing that she should simply bow her head and nod, pretend to accept his wisdom, but it was not in her nature to quietly turn a blind eye to deceit and treachery. She took a bite of bread and felt it swell in her throat.
Oh, that she’d been granted patience instead of a quick tongue, it would have served her well.
“More wine, m’lord?” A serving girl wedged herself between Hagan and Sorcha.
He nodded. “Aye, Lucy, a little,” he said, gesturing toward his cup. Lucy had hair like spun gold and she took her time as she filled the cup slowly, bending low, offering the baron a healthy glimpse of her abundant bosom. Like two plump pillows, her breasts rose above the edge of her bliaut.
“And you, Lady Sorcha?” Lucy asked, though her voice had gone flat and she barely moved to pour the wine into Sorcha’s cup.
Sorcha had never before felt jealousy, and yet her blood ran hot as Lucy turned back to Hagan, silently offering him much more than wine. What did it matter how many wenches he bedded? Just because he’d nearly lain with her, almost forced himself upon her, gave Sorcha no right to his affections, not that she wanted his attention. He was a liar, a devil, a murdering beast! Though he’d not slain Henry or Keane, his men had, and as baron, Hagan was responsible.
So why didn’t she want to rip his heart out? Why did her fingers not itch for her dagger so that she could wound him still further? Why did she still think of his lips on hers and the desire shining in his eyes when she’d surprised him in his bed?
She managed to keep still throughout the dessert of plum pudding, and after the pages had brought clean water and towels, Hagan turned to her. “Come,” he ordered, his expression revealing nothing. “I will show you the castle.”
“You said I could see Leah.”
“We will end in her chamber.”
“But I want not to waste time by—” She cut off her wayward thoughts and managed a thin smile. “As you wish.”
Hagan’s face was grim. “Understand this, Lady Sorcha. I will allow you the privilege of freedom within the castle walls. As I said, you are my guest, not my prisoner, but if you disobey me and try to leave Erbyn before I have settled things with your brother, or if you make mischief with the servants, or if I hear of any small argument that arises from you, I will do with you as I have with Darton and confine you to your room.”
“I will never be kept a prisoner—”
He whirled on her then, and his face, so impassive through dinner, was suddenly red with fury. “You shall do as I say, Sorcha. Forget you not that I am still the baron of Erbyn. While you are here, you will obey me!” He yanked on her arm. His boots rang loudly across the floor of the great hall as he forced her to keep up with him.
Seven