Kiss of the Moon (Medieval Trilogy 2)

“Against her will! And the things he did to her, ’tis no wonder she tried to take her life! Don’t tell me about your men or their honor. Or yours. As baron, Lord Hagan, you are responsible for the actions of your men—including your cur of a brother!” Furiously, she turned and stomped away from him toward Leah’s room.

Hagan watched her go. Her back was stiff as a scabbard, her shoulders braced as if she intended to fight and her hips swung with each of her angry strides. She was a hellcat and a liar. She’d stolen into the castle, lied to his men and the servants. Aye, she would lie to him as well. About Darton. About his men. About anything to get what she wanted.

Stroking his chin thoughtfully, he glanced down the stairs and watched Darton. Would he have raped Leah? Defiled her in front of his men? ’Twas his nature.

A rage deep and black and fierce roared upward through him, but he forced it back. At least for now. Until he could find out the truth. Then, if Sorcha was speaking honestly, Darton would pay for his sins and pay painfully.

Leah was busy with her embroidery and pricked herself with a needle when Sorcha slammed the door behind her. “Ouch! Where have you been?” She sucked at her wounded finger.

“Come,” Sorcha insisted, ignoring the interest in Nellie’s face as she hemmed the sleeve of a tunic. “I will speak to you outside.” Sorcha found a mantle, tossed it in Leah’s direction, and started for the door.

“Where are we going? Hey, wait a minute—” Leah called after her as Sorcha rushed her down the corridor and hastened down the back stairs. Only when they were outside in the bailey where the air was fresh and the men more interested in their tasks than in the conversation of two women did she slow down. They walked near the well and watched fish rise in the pond.

Leah touched Sorcha’s tangled curls and plucked a thorn from her ripped tunic. “You’ve been out of the castle.”

“Aye, with the beast himself.”

“Hagan?”

“The bastard.”

Leah laughed and clucked her tongue. “I thought you couldn’t wait to be free of the castle walls.”

“But not with that fiend. He’s a devil, that one,” she said, blushing a little when she thought how easily he could turn her bones to jelly and her mind to mush. It had been so easy for him to kiss her and touch her and turn her skin to fire. Even now, with fury coursing through her veins, she remembered the magic, the warmth of his fingers on her flesh, and her skin tingled with want all over again.

“What happened?”

Sorcha wrapped her arms around her middle and told of their ride, leaving out that which she thought was best left unsaid. She spoke of the cottage, but not of Tullia’s magic nor of Hagan’s lovemaking. She did explain about the outlaws and Frederick’s story of being attacked by half an army of the best soldiers in the land, finishing with the news that she and Leah were again to stay within the castle walls.

“So nothing’s changed.”

“Nay, and nothing will until Tadd appears.”

“And when he does, there will be war.”

Sorcha felt her insides churn. War. Death. She saw no reason for the houses of Erbyn and Prydd to destroy each other. Some savior she turned out to be. If not for her, Prydd would be safe.

“We must warn Tadd,” Sorcha said, glancing over to the stables, where Bjorn was brushing McBannon.

“But how?”

“We have to escape,” Sorcha said with conviction as she eyed the great curtain wall that surrounded the bailey, “and we must make good our escape tonight.”

“But Hagan has doubled the guard,” Leah protested.

A tiny smile played upon Sorcha’s lips. “Then we’ll just have to be smarter than he is, won’t we?”

“It won’t work,” Leah predicted.

“Oh, it will work, all right,” Sorcha said, though in her heart she felt dread. When Hagan the Horrible found out that she had deceived him, he would risk anything, even the safety of his own castle, to find her again. And when he did, there would be hell to pay.

Twelve

s Hagan stalked to Sorcha’s chamber, he told himself that he couldn’t wait until she was safely back at Prydd. He was anxious to rid himself of her, for she and her sister created far too many problems for him and everyone at Erbyn. War seemed inevitable, and Darton had offered once again to marry her. Hagan’s blood had boiled at the thought and he’d shoved his brother up against the castle wall and told him there would be no marriage.

Leah could be with child—Darton’s child—and if she was, Hagan intended that Darton marry her, though that, too, caused him grief. Leah quivered like a frightened rabbit every time she was within touching distance of his brother. Hagan knew what had caused her to be so timid and the thought of Darton forcing himself on her made him gnash his teeth.

When Baron Eaton found out, he would demand that the two get married, or take the law into his own hands and murder Darton for deflowering his daughter.