“Miss me, did you?” Though the horse was Tadd’s, Sorcha had befriended the animal when he was only a colt hiding behind the flanks of his mother. She’d offered sugar, apples, and kind words to the long-legged animal and had ridden him often until Tadd had declared the destrier to be his.
Though he was Tadd’s favorite mount, the horse had never forgotten Sorcha. “Look what I brought.” She withdrew a piece of apple from her pouch and felt the velvet softness of McBannon’s lips whisper upon her outstretched palm. “Are they taking care of you well?”
“Aye, m’lady, the best of care,” a deep male voice asserted.
Sorcha visibly jumped and McBannon snorted, twisting against his tether.
“He’s a fine horse, he
is,” the voice, unfamiliar to her ears, continued. “Lord Hagan fancies the animal.”
“Who—who are you?”
There was a long pause, and though she stared into darkness from where the voice had boomed, she heard nothing, saw nothing. Her skin prickled with fear. Finally she heard a rustling of straw and a tall, lanky man appeared at McBannon’s flank. In the darkness, she couldn’t recognize him.
“I work here,” he finally said.
“You’re …” What was that unfamiliar name? “Ben?”
“Bjorn.”
“The stableboy?”
Again the hesitation, and she sensed an anger, burning deep and hot, radiating from him. “For now.”
“You don’t plan to stay at Erbyn?”
He didn’t answer.
“I will tell no one of your plans.”
“I have no plans,” he said quickly. “What’re you doing here?”
“I… I couldn’t sleep. I needed to take a walk.”
“You weren’t planning to steal the horse?” he asked, suspicion and something else—pleasure perhaps?—ringing in his voice.
“Nay!”
“Good, because ’tis impossible to leave this castle at night. Guards are posted and the portcullis is down.” He moved, shifting a little, and Sorcha felt a second of fear. She turned, hoping to face him, not wanting him to have the advantage of being at her back.
“You think I intended to leave,” she said, hoping that her plans weren’t so visible to others.
“I know you want out. I can see it in your eyes. You have only not made good your escape because of your sister.”
“You don’t know anything about me.”
A second’s pause, then a sigh laced with disappointment. “So you, too, consider me a simpleton, a stableboy who’s half-witted and can do nothing more than scoop horse dung and spread straw?” he said, and within his voice she heard a sudden tone of nobility, as if the job he’d been given were far beneath him.
“Nay, but—”
“I know that you sneaked into Erbyn, Lady Sorcha,” he said, his voice coming from yet another direction. “It is said that you lied your way past the guards and the cook, then tried to kill the lord.”
“If I had wanted to kill him, he would be dead.” She whirled, trying to keep up with him as he moved in the darkness. He was quick and silent, and she could barely see.
“I also heard that you brought your sister back from death. This … I find hard to believe.” He paused, and when he spoke again, he was so close to her, she could feel the heat of his body next to hers. “If you do plan to escape, m’lady,” he said so quietly, she barely heard the words, “ ’twould be best if you spoke with me. I can help you—”
The door creaked and he stopped speaking altogether. His hand clamped over her arm and he attempted to pull her away from McBannon, but he was too late. Hagan’s voice cut through the quiet. “What the devil are you doing here, Sorcha?” he demanded, and Sorcha shriveled inside. She held her breath. “ ’Tis no use to hide; I saw you enter and heard you speaking with someone.”