Kiss of the Moon (Medieval Trilogy 2)

A near-silent curse escaped Hagan’s lips. Sorcha, dying a thousand deaths, scrambled into her dress and prayed that she wouldn’t be seen.

“I must see what she wants,” he said. “Wait for me.”

“Nay, you go in first. I’ll follow.”

“But—”

“Please, m’lord. For my dignity,” she whispered.

His eyes narrowed a fraction and he grabbed her and kissed her so fiercely, she turned to liquid heat inside, then he released her and turned to disappear around the corner near the great hall.

Though she felt a jab of guilt, Sorcha wasted no time. Gathering her skirts, she ran across the bailey and along the path leading to the stables. She wanted to shout to Bjorn, for she didn’t have much time, but she held her tongue, in fear that Roy would be about. Though he usually drank himself into a sound sleep by this time of night, she couldn’t be certain that he wasn’t lurking in the shadows.

“You’ve come.” Bjorn’s voice was soft, his footsteps muffled in the straw. She couldn’t see him in the darkness but felt his presence.

“I have not much time, but I have a bargain for you, Bjorn, a bargain for your freedom. Along with that freedom, I will give you my brother’s favorite stallion.”

His intake of breath was swift. “Go on.”

“I must leave Erbyn tonight, and I need your help.”

When he didn’t say anything, she told him of her plan.

“You need clothing and a way out of the castle?”

“Aye. When you take the horses out to run and graze in the meadow, that is when we will escape,” she said, anxious for his response.

“And for this you will give me the horse?”

“Yes, yes! McBannon. Now, what say you?” she asked breathlessly as her heart hammered in her chest. “I have not much time.”

He hesitated, blew out a long breath, then said, “I will have the clothes put in your room—”

“And my sister’s.”

“Yes. You must meet me here before the first light of dawn.”

She didn’t pause for any further conversation, and though she thought she saw a movement on the other side of the hayrick, she convinced herself she was jumping at shadows, that she and Bjorn had been alone, their words heard by no one.

Holding her skirt high, she dashed across the bailey to the other side of the keep. Music and laughter still filtered through the open windows, and Sorcha hurried up the steps and slid through the door. The noise inside was great, the flames of a thousand candles bright against her eyes. She smoothed her hair and took long breaths, to calm herself. Then, wiping her sweating palms on her skirt, she entered the great hall. Within a few hours she would be free of Erbyn and Hagan forever.

The moon had settled low over the hills when the castle was finally asleep. Sorcha tightened her belt over the baggy clothes Bjorn had stolen from some of the stableboys. The leggings were too long and the hooded tunic would have held two of her, but she couldn’t complain. At least ’twas a disguise, she thought as she moved swiftly along the hallways, stopping only at Leah’s door and slipping quietly inside.

“Thank God you’ve come,” Leah whispered, her voice shaking. “I don’t know if I can do this.” She, too, was wearing the scratchy and smelly clothes that Bjorn had somehow sneaked into her room.

“Of course you can.”

“But if we’re caught—”

“We won’t be.”

Together, without another word between them, they hurried silently along the corridors to the back staircase. Sorcha was tempted to pause at Hagan’s door and slide it open a crack. Would he be sleeping? Or making love to a kitchen wench? That thought was decidedly painful, but not as frightening as the idea that he might not be in his bed at all, but somewhere in the castle, waiting for her. Her throat felt suddenly filled with sand, and the skin at the back of her scalp crinkled in fear. Hagan didn’t trust her and would expect her to flee. But it was too late to change her mind.

Leah tugged on her sister’s hand, silently urging Sorcha forward. Biting her lip, she stayed near the wall and walked quickly down the stairs and into the kitchen, where the banked fires gave off a thin smell of smoke and a hazy red glow. From the darkness a sleeping cat stirred and hissed, sending goose bumps racing up Sorcha’s arm, but she walked carefully along the wall, banging her toe on a basket of apples before she shouldered open the door and the rush of cold air caused the embers to glow with fiery sparks.

“This is madness!” Leah whispered, but her voice had an odd edge of excitement to it as they hurried into the baily.

“Would you rather stay here, with Darton, waiting for Tadd to free us?”