Kiss of the Moon (Medieval Trilogy 2)

Sorcha had listened to the gossip, learning about the man who she hoped would help her escape. She planned to offer him a reward for her safe return to Prydd not in money, but horseflesh, for Bjorn was taken with McBannon, and Sorcha felt no qualms about giving him Tadd’s destrier in return for her freedom. Tadd would be furious, of course, but she had always been able to turn the tide of her brother’s anger. ’Twould be a simple matter.

Yes, Bjorn would be the most likely man to approach, she decided as she tossed the mantle over her head and pinned a gold brooch—another gift from Anne—at her throat. She needed Bjorn’s help to return to Prydd, and he needed her as he owned nothing and could scarcely leave the castle without anything of value.

Sorcha had said nothing of her plans. She allowed everyone, except for Leah, to think that she’d accepted her fate. Even Hagan seemed to believe that she was content to wait until the messenger from Prydd returned. She tried to fall into the routine of Erbyn and pretended interest in the Christmas revels.

For the past few days she’d spent much time in the castle, and though most eyes that were cast in her direction were hostile, she was no longer the center of attention. She was able to walk through the keep and grounds at her will, although she was forever watching for Hagan, wondering where he was and praying that she wouldn’t chance to stumble upon him. The delicious and shamefully wanton sensations he’d aroused deep within her were a bother. She didn’t want to think of him as a man; ’twas easier to consider him the enemy.

This proved more difficult than she imagined. As the days passed, she felt her heart melting toward him. She’d caught glimpses of him dealing with his servants and the peasants who resided in the keep. Except for a few soldiers who seemed to distrust him, the residents of Erbyn seemed to want to please him. He was a fair lord, asked only that his men obey him, but he often showed a spark of humor or more than a passing kindness to the children and women of Erbyn. No one wa

s mistreated, and no one said a word against Hagan, though when he was disobeyed, his temper could turn dark and deadly.

More often than she would admit, she’d let her thoughts wander to him. His eyes were the color of a purest gold, and those gilded depths fascinated her. When he caught sight of her he scowled hard, his glare unforgiving … unless she glimpsed him from the corner of her eye, when he didn’t think she’d noticed him. Those few times his gaze was softer, full of smoky desire, warm with promise, and she felt her body tingle, though she wouldn’t even glance his way.

Once, near the archery range, she’d come across him helping a squire learn how to restring a broken bow. He’d been so involved in instructing the boy that he hadn’t heard her footsteps, and when he’d finally looked up, his gaze had gotten lost in hers for a fleeting second. The breath had seemed to stop in her lungs. She’d hurried on, ignoring the sensation, but she’d felt as if she’d just run a great distance and couldn’t breathe regularly for long moments.

Silly.

Now, as she left her chamber and walked past the guards in the hall, she thought of the times that he’d touched his mouth to hers and the promise of passion that had caused her lips to throb and her heart to thud. Even now, just thinking of the kiss, she felt new, unwanted sensations that frightened her. Her body trembled at the memory, and a dark heat, liquid and warm, seemed to swirl deep in her most private parts. Never had she felt so wanton—so eager for more of his touch. Certainly never with Keane … Dear God, was she no better than a kitchen wench? Wanting a man she’d sworn was her enemy?

Steadfastly pushing those wicked thoughts from her mind, she still couldn’t make herself hate him. Aside from the two times she’d been with him in his private chambers, he’d been kind enough to her and Leah. Though he’d refused to let them return to Prydd, he hadn’t treated them as prisoners.

“When the revels are over,” he’d promised, just after supper the other night. “If we haven’t heard from my messenger by then, I’ll ride you and your sister to Prydd myself. Both Nichodemas and Rosemary agree that Leah’s recovering well and should be able to withstand a journey soon.”

“How can I be sure that you’re not lying?” she’d asked, staring up at him.

“You can’t be. Just as I can’t trust you, Sorcha,” he’d said on a sigh.

“But—”

“You have my word.”

They had exchanged a dark, secret look, and though he’d said nothing more, she was certain that he, too, was remembering that she’d been in his room not once, but twice, since she’d arrived at Erbyn, and each time he’d come close to stealing her virginity; no, that wasn’t quite right. The last time she had nearly given it to him willingly.

“You’re a goose, Sorcha,” she muttered under her breath as she stalked along the hallway.

“M’lady?” a small guard asked, standing to attention. “Is there something I can do for you?”

“Nay, ’tis only my idle tongue, Sir Winston.”

This soldier was one of the few in Erbyn Sorcha trusted. Small of stature, with brown eyes too big for his face, he had always treated her with respect and fondness.

“If I can be of help—”

“I’ll let you know,” she said, hurrying past him toward Leah’s chamber.

Since this was the first day of the celebration, Sorcha decided it was time to set her plan in motion. The messenger whom Hagan claimed to have sent to Prydd hadn’t yet returned, and she was beginning to worry that the man had lost his way, had been captured by Tadd, or, worse yet, had never existed at all. Hagan could have lied to her about the messenger, and she would have eagerly believed him.

She had been at Erbyn nearly a week, and each day, when Hagan told her that there was no word from Prydd, her heart had settled a little deeper in her chest.

When she’d heard that Hagan was leaving the castle to go hunting, she knew she couldn’t let this opportunity pass.

With a soft knock, she pushed open the door to Leah’s room. Nellie, Leah’s serving girl, was bustling around the room, straightening the bed and kicking at the rushes while Leah was seated near the window, staring down at the bailey. Leah’s face was still pale and her hands were clasped in her lap and she looked startled when the door opened wide. Fear registered in her eyes until she recognized Sorcha.

“Thank God it’s you,” she said, exhaling a long breath.

“Who else would it be?” Sorcha asked.

“Lord Darton, ’e came this mornin’,” Nellie said.