Kiss of the Moon

by Jackson, Lisa

  “In two days’ time?” Brady asked.

  “Aye, then you can go back to your whoring and gaming.”

  Brady grinned wickedly, and Darton settled back on the bench, propping up a knee as he drank of the poor man’s ale. He’d been restless since he’d seen Hagan leave the castle on horseback. Darton had watched in silent rage as Sorcha had joined his brother on a ride far from the walls of Erbyn. Darton had felt it, too, whenever they were together, the passion that they both so vainly tried to hide.

  The revels were winding down. Some of the guests were already preparing to leave, and soon, unless the coward had not an ounce of courage in his body, Tadd of Prydd would ride to the castle walls and demand his sisters be returned to him. No doubt he would ask for much more as compensation, and being the hot-tempered ruler he was rumored to be, would never be satisfied. There would be arguments, perhaps even swordplay. Darton hoped so, for his plan was that while the soldiers of Erbyn who were loyal to Hagan were engaged in battle with the warriors from Prydd, he and his band would take over the castle. Aye, it could work. He waved the wench over and motioned to his cup.

  The men were right. It was time to attack.

  Hagan rode as if Satan were on his tail, but McBannon wasn’t to be outdone and he managed to keep stride with the fleet-footed Wind. Sorcha followed Hagan’s lead, watching the road, learning the countryside that flashed by in a blur. They ran through fields, loped across marshlands, and trotted more cautiously through the forests before they came to the road again and spied Erbyn, that vast and yellow gray dragon curving up the hillside.

  To her surprise, Sorcha felt relief, almost as if she were home again, as she watched the banners of Erbyn snapping in the wind. But her feelings were silly. Prydd was her home. Erbyn was the enemy castle, yet she rode through the gates eagerly, glad to be away from the outlaw band and anxious to forestall the war that Hagan thought would so surely be upon them.

  Hagan drew up his destrier at the stables, and men surrounded him. He tossed the reins of his steed to a page. “Make sure he’s walked and cleaned before he’s fed,” he ordered sharply.

  “I’ll see to it myself.”

  “And to Lady Sorcha’s horse as well.”

  “I’ll take care of McBannon.” From the doorway of the stables, Bjorn appeared. His gaze was even when he took the reins from her hands.

  “Thank you.”

  “ ’Tis an honor,” he replied as Sorcha turned and saw a deep flush crawl up the back of Hagan’s neck.

  “Where have you been?” Lady Anne hurried down the stone steps of the great hall. “We still have guests,” she admonished her brother, and sent a searching look in Sorcha’s direction. “And you go racing off to God only knows where.”

  “I’ve no time for this,” he growled.

  “Lord Rowley plans to leave tomorrow morning and—”

  “No one enters the castle or leaves without my permission.” To Anne he added, “There are outlaws about. Sorcha and I came across their band, and I have reason to believe that they may have killed Frederick.”

  Anne gasped and one hand flew to her throat. The color drained from her face. “I thought Frederick was sent to Prydd.” She slid another meaningful glance in Sorcha’s direction.

  “He was. But I doubt he made the trip. Come inside …” He spied his most trusted knight. “Royce, post double guards on the battlements during the day and at night as well. Tomorrow, at dawn, I want a party of men to ride through the forest and search the roads.”

  “You expect trouble, m’lord?”

  Hagan’s nostrils flared slightly. “I’m sure of it.” He started up the stairs, but the guard’s voice caught his attention.

  “Lord Hagan…your messenger returns!”

  Sorcha whirled, hoping that all the worries were for naught and Frederick would appear riding his gray courser with news that Tadd was not mounting an army and wanted only the safe return of his two sisters, but as she saw the messenger, her heart sank.

  The man looked near death. Wearing only an old feed sack tied about the waist with a piece of twine, he stumbled into the bailey on bare feet. His teeth were chattering, his skin a worrisome shade of blue, and mud covered him head to toe.

  “Lord Hagan,” the man said, gasping.

  Hagan ordered Anne to fetch Frederick hot soup and wine as he threw one of the messenger’s cold arms over his shoulders and helped him into the keep. “What happened to you?” he asked once Frederick was seated near the fire, a fur blanket tossed over his shoulders and a cup of wine resting between his palms.

  “I was set upon by outlaws, m’lord,” Frederick said in a voice that was a hoarse whisper. “Ten or twenty of them.” His gaze shifted away from Hagan’s, and Sorcha, who had followed the men inside, felt as if Frederick was stretching the truth a little. “They captured me before I got to Prydd and stole my horse.”

  “Did you see Lord Tadd?”

  Frederick shook his head and his shoulders slumped. “The leader …a man called Wolf, he took the letter, read it himself, and decided to take it to Prydd. He returned the next day, all puffed up like a rooster, and claimed to have bested Sir Tadd. When he came back to the camp he didn’t have the letter with him, but in truth, I do not trust him and I cannot be certain that the letter was delivered.”

  Hagan swore softly under his breath and ran a hand through his hair.

  “Where are your clothes and your horse?”

  “Stolen.”

  “By the outlaws?”

  “I tried to escape,” Frederick said, his face turning a deep shade of scarlet, “but failed, and the leader told me that I could leave, but without a possession. The men, they found great sport in taking my things.” His face hardened in the firelight and hatred gleamed in his eyes.

  Boots rang unevenly on the stone floor, and Sorcha looked up to see Darton stride into the room. He walked with a slight limp but still hung on to his dignity. His gaze touched hers for a fleeting second, and she shivered when she saw a spark of smugness in his eyes, as if he knew a great secret.

  “What happened?” he asked, his frown deep as he spied Frederick.

  Again the messenger had to tell his embarrassing tale. This time there were at least thirty outlaws who had attacked him. Robbers and murderers who were excellent marksmen and were equipped with grand weapons, much more deadly devices than he’d described earlier.

  “Think you that the outlaw and Tadd of Prydd have joined together?” asked Darton. He crossed his arms over his chest and studied the messenger intently.

  Frederick shook his head and accepted a mug of soup, which he quickly devoured. The hounds moved closer, hoping for a morsel, and several servants and guests listened to Frederick. If Erbyn was attacked, no one would be safe.

  Nelson Rowley scowled thoughtfully. “I had planned to leave in the morning.”

  Hagan’s mouth twisted into a scowl. “I’ll have my men search the road and woods, but I myself saw the outlaws in the woods today.”

  Frederick’s back straightened a bit, but he went on with his meal.

  “The leader is indeed Wolf; I met him years ago. The men who were riding with him were fewer in number than Frederick reported, and less well armed, but if they join with Prydd—”

  “They will not!” Sorcha said, tired of all the gossip of her home.

  “You know not what your brother has planned.”

  “He would not deal with outlaws,” she said, but even as the words passed her tongue, she knew she was lying. Tadd had no loyalty.

  “Ha!” Darton rubbed his thumb over the nails of his fingers. “Tadd is not so pure, Sorcha, and we all know that he thinks the truce between Erbyn and Prydd little more than a yoke which strangles him. He’s no prince, m’lady, and I think you know it as well.”

  “You do not even give him the chance to prove his good intentions.”

  Hagan tossed his gloves onto the table. “I have ordered no attack on Prydd.”

  Sorcha wasn’t conv
inced. “Not yet.”

  “In good time,” Darton said.

  “And I will go to Prydd myself, seek counsel with Tadd.” Hagan motioned for more wine, and the serving maid complied.

  Sorcha felt herself begin to smile. “Then Leah and I can return.”

  Hagan’s gaze turned thoughtful. He rubbed the back of his neck and felt the weight of everyone’s gaze on his back. “If I take you home, what’s to prevent Tadd from tossing me in his dungeon and demanding ransom?”

  Her heart sank and her small fists clenched. “You’re a coward.”

  “Nay, woman, just not the fool you take me for.”

  “But—”

  He whirled on her, his fury as dark as a midnight storm. “Don’t argue with me, Sorcha,” he hissed. He loomed above her, a horrid, hateful beast who would imprison her. How silly she was to think that she was falling in love with him.

  “I will not be held captive, and don’t even argue and say that I’m your guest, for we both know much differently, don’t we, Lord Hagan?” Without waiting for her leave, she swept up the stairs.

  Hagan caught her halfway and dragged her up the remaining steps.

  “Don’t you ever defy me in front of my men!” he ordered.

  “Your men are all cowards like your brother.”

  “Keep still—” Hagan warned.

  But she could not. Instead she glared up at him. “Do you know what your brother did to Leah?” she demanded. “Did he tell you that he tied her to the bed and raped her? That he allowed his men to watch? That he would have killed her if he didn’t enjoy the sport of torturing her?”

  “He admitted that he took her to his bed.”

  “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.

  And what of you, Hagan? Are you so noble? If not for the robber band that had come trudging through the woods, you, too, would have lain with the daughter of Eaton.

  “Damn it all to bloody hell,” he growled under his breath as he reached Sorcha’s chamber and pounded on her door. “ ’Tis time for dinner, savior,” he said, his voice riddled with sarcasm.

  She threw the door open and stood imperiously before him. Her raven hair was braided loosely, allowing a few black curls to escape, and her gown was of some fine silver silk that rustled and caught the light as she moved.

  His throat closed in on itself as he gazed at her beauty. With eyes as blue as a summer sky and lips so soft he wanted nothing more than to taste them, she tossed her hair over one shoulder and started to breeze past him.

  His hand reached out and he clamped it over her elbow. “Together,” he said, and she didn’t respond, just inched her fine chin up a notch and waited for her next command. “You’re angry with me.”

  “Me? Angry?” She let out a taunting laugh. “Is it any wonder when you treat me as a child?”

  He felt the corner of his mouth twist into a cruel smile and his gaze slid from her face to the pulse throbbing at the base of her throat and lower still, to the sweet bosom that lifted with each of her sparse breaths. “I assure you, Lady Sorcha, the last thing I consider you is a child.�
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  Scarlet invaded her face as they walked toward the stairs. Her heart hammered loudly and she remembered all too vividly how wanton she’d been. As they descended the time-worn steps, she felt a hundred pairs of eyes following her every movement. Everyone else had been seated, including Darton, Lady Anne, and, some distance away, Leah. Sorcha’s stomach twisted into knots as she felt the stares, some curious, some kind, others condemning. There were whispers, of course, and she heard a few of the phrases, much as she’d heard before. Holding her head high, she took her place near Hagan and told herself she would only have to endure the curious stares of the common folk and servants of Erbyn one more day, for tonight she would leave the castle forever. And that thought tore her apart inside.

  Beneath the sweep of her dark lashes she cast a glance in Hagan’s direction and found him gazing at her, as if she were a great puzzle he had yet to solve.

  Nervous at the thought of defying Hagan, she barely tasted the venison with spiced corn or suckling pig stuffed with forcemeat. The food seemed flavorless, and she felt as if she might be ill.

  When the minstrels began their music, Hagan again took Sorcha’s arm. She wanted to tell him that she wasn’t in the mood to dance, that she had no interest in pretending to be friendly to him, and yet she couldn’t. For if her plan was to work, she had to act as if nothing were wrong. Gritting her teeth, she forced a smile and followed him to the main floor as tables were hauled out of the way.

  Soon they were dancing with other couples, twirling in the light of the yule candle, avoiding the children playing games near the stairs.

  At first Sorcha was stiff and unyielding in his arms, dancing as if her legs were made of wood, but soon she could not help herself and her bones seemed to melt against him. He held her as if she were a priceless possession that he wouldn’t give up, and through her clothes she felt his heat.

  He didn’t say a word, and yet, when his gaze touched hers, she heard a stirring deep in her soul, and in her mind she saw him as he had been in the forest.

  Her breathing became difficult. When he took her by the arm and led her away from the great hall and through the door to the bailey, she didn’t protest, didn’t make a sound.