Sorcha felt her insides turned to jelly and she licked suddenly dry lips. “And what were Sir Darton’s plans for me?”
Robert’s eyes closed in shame and he hesitated before whispering, “He intended to force you to marry him.”
“But how? I would never—”
“He planned to get you with child.”
As if she’d been struck, Sorcha stepped quickly backward, nearly stumbling over the water pail in her efforts to get away from the horrid words. “I would never lie with that dog!”
“Not willingly … but Darton cared not.”
“And you … you were a part of this … this treachery?” Sorcha’s lips curled in disgust.
“Forgive me, Lady Sorcha. I thought he meant but to ransom you, and for that I was offered gold and a small castle of my own, but … when I found out his true intentions, I tried to return.”
“Too late,” Sorcha said.
“Aye.”
“Know you why Sir Keane was killed?”
“Keane? But he was not with Leah—”
“He was with me. We, too, were attacked by outlaws.”
“God in heaven,” Robert said in a rattling whisper. “I swear I knew nothing of it. I believed you would be riding with Henry to the village …”
She believed him, and yet she could not forget that were it not for his treachery, Leah would be in the castle, and Gwendolyn, Henry, and Keane would still be alive. “I will never offer you my forgiveness, Sir Robert,” she said, “for your disloyalty has caused too much grief, but I will ask my brother to spare your miserable life when I return safely with my sister.”
“You cannot think of going to Erbyn!” Isolde shook her head side to side. “Oh, child, no …”
Sorcha ignored her. “Now, Sir Robert, you must tell me everything of Erbyn; how the keep is built, and how Darton spends his days. And … I needs know about Baron Hagan. When he is expected to return and what he will do when he discovers Leah within the castle walls.”
Robert grunted. “I will tell you everything, my lady.”
“If you lie to me, Robert, you will die.”
The moon rode high in the night-black sky, casting a silver glow over the frozen ground of the inner bailey. The castle was asleep; even the sentries nodded at their posts as Sorcha led her favorite mount, her brother’s war-horse, McBannon, from the stables.
Only Isolde knew of her hastily conceived plan. “ ’Tis tempting the fat
es, ye are,” Isolde said, her wrinkled features drawn into a frown of worry as the nervous horse sidestepped and snorted. “This … this plot of yours … ’tis a fool’s journey! As the saints are my witness, if Baron Hagan finds out that you’ve entered his castle as an enemy—”
“The blackheart will discover me not. You heard Sir Robert last night; Hagan’s off warring with the Scots,” Sorcha assured the superstitious old woman. “Hagan, that beast, I won’t have to fear.” She took the cloak and old burnet tunic from Isolde’s hands and stuffed both pieces of clothing into her pack.
“Then what of Hagan’s brother?” Isolde persisted as she gave Sorcha the basket she would use as part of her deception. “Sir Darton … he’s a mean one, he is. Ye’d best not be tryin’ to outfox him.”
“He won’t be expecting me.”
Isolde wrung her hands. “Holy Mother, you’re a stubborn one. Yer own brother will skin ye alive when he finds ye missin’ on the morrow.”
“He’ll not know I’m gone.”
“But takin’ his favorite horse—the one only a few can ride.” Isolde clucked her tongue with worry. “Satan himself would not be so foolish.”
“ ’Twill be good for Tadd to be angry. He should have gone after Leah himself, and he knows not that I can tame McBannon,” Sorcha replied rebelliously, her fury with her older brother burning bright as a smith’s forge. Tired of the argument, she climbed astride Tadd’s anxious destrier, but Isolde’s fingers twined in the reins.
“If you must go,” the midwife cautioned, her voice low and filled with premonition, “ ’twill end up in pain and bloodshed.” Her old eyes glazed as she stared up at Sorcha. In the light of the moon, Isolde’s face with its hooked nose and hollow cheeks did seem to have the visage of a witch, as many had claimed. “I’ve seen it.”