But Hagan was different; hateful one instant, loving the next. She never knew what to do or think around him. She wanted to detest him, to spit on his soul, to betray him and his castle, and yet there was something in him that called out to a very dark and forbidden part of her spirit.
She closed her eyes and refused to think that she could care for him; no, she would rather think of escaping the thick walls of Erbyn.
Tadd kicked at the gray cat who was lying in a patch of sunlight and thereby blocking the doorway of the kitchen. “Miserable, lazy puss,” he muttered as the cat, with a startled cry, scrambled out of the castle and scurried from harm’s way.
“Be careful, Lord Tadd,” Mab, the cook’s helper, said, then nearly bit her tongue when Tadd stabbed her with a look as vile as a serpent’s glare. “I mean, er, beggin’ yer pardon, m’lord, but the cat, she helps keep the rats from the flour and grain.”
“Does she now?” Tadd said, advancing on the silly kitchen wench who would dare defy him.
“Go out and pluck the feathers from those geese, Mab,” Lynn, the cook, ordered quickly. He was a short, wiry man with a shiny bald pate and lips that didn’t quite cover
his prominent teeth. “ ’Tis nearly time to start roasting.”
“Wait a minute.” Tadd took hold of the wench’s arm and squeezed hard enough to bruise her white skin. His gaze slid down her front to her small breasts, nearly hidden in the folds of her old tunic. He curled his lips in disgust. “I thought mayhaps I’d want you to warm my bed, but you’ve no bosom, have ya, lass? Nay, you’re flat as the cook here, and I like women who don’t look like boys.”
Mab gasped, but didn’t say another word. She turned her head away, but not before he felt the satisfaction of seeing fat tears glisten in her eyes. Served her right for upbraiding him. His fingers gripped her forearm even tighter and he shook her a bit, just enough to show her he could do anything he wanted with her. “Mayhaps I’ll strap two pillows over your chest and pretend that you’ve got what I want while I’m bedding you.”
“Nay, Lord Tadd, please …” Her lower lip trembled in pain and fear, and he felt his member begin to swell. The thought of taking her, mayhap coloring her small breasts with sheep fat and rouge to display them and abase her further, pleased him. Perhaps one of his guests would like to join in the fun. Old Osric McBrayne enjoyed slight women. Surely he would have a go at this skinny wench.
“Be ye a virgin, girl?” he asked.
“She needs be plucking the geese,” the cook said, his bald pate wrinkled in worry.
“But tonight I will send for you,” Tadd said, running one hand over the tiny mounds that were her breasts and watching as a tear slid down her cheek. “Mayhap all these need are a little more attention, eh? Perhaps then they’ll grow big and soft and you’ll finally be a true woman, able to satisfy a man.”
She swallowed back a sob, but her skin turned the color of flour. Tadd was pleased. Aye, he’d have her tonight and let one of his men or one of his guests join in the fun of deflowering her if she was a virgin and mounting her as others watched. Just the thought of it caused a swelling between his legs and spit to gather in his mouth. He tweaked her breast through her tunic, and she cried out in fear and shame. Aye, ’twould be fun. He didn’t know if he could wait. Why not have her this afternoon?
As soon as he released her, the girl scampered out of the room, dashing the tears from her eyes.
“She is young,” the cook said as he cut the head off a salmon and slit its silver belly. Entrails slid onto the table.
“I like ’em young. You can have the old dried-up women, Lynn. I’ll take a fresh girl any day.”
Lynn scowled at his work, gutting the fish quickly and tossing the entrails into a pail.
Tadd started into the keep when he heard the porter shout. Turning, expecting to greet a neighboring nobleman, maybe Osric McBrayne, Tadd walked through the kitchen and outside, where the winter sun was trying vainly to warm the cold, wet ground. The porter was talking to a tall, straight-shouldered soldier astride a sleek gray courser.
“… as I said, I must speak with the lord of the castle.”
The guard caught Tadd’s eye. “This man claims to be a messenger from Erbyn, but would not let me bring you the baron’s letter.”
“Nay, I am to deliver it personally.” The soldier slid from his stallion and walked to Tadd with long, even strides. He stood taller than Tadd by nearly two inches and somehow gained an advantage in that, staring down his nose imperiously. “You are the baron here?”
“Aye,” Tadd said without a qualm. While his father was away, he’d inherited all the power of a baron. “Tadd of Prydd,” he said, surprised at the messenger’s tone. His shoulders were wide, eyes a cutting shade of blue. His face had probably once been considered handsome, but had been altered slightly; his nose was not straight and one dark eyebrow was split, as if cleaved by a sword earlier in his life. For a second Tadd thought he recognized the soldier, but the feeling passed quickly. “What news do you bring?”
The messenger stared at Tadd’s crimson mantle and shiny boots for a second, then, with a slight smirk, seemed to decide that Tadd was who he claimed to be and reached into his leather pouch. “This is word from Hagan at Erbyn.”
“Hagan?” Tadd whispered. “I thought he was at war and Darton was …”
Did a sense of satisfaction steal over the messenger’s face?
Tadd stiffened slightly, his jaw tight as he took the scroll and, in his hurry, didn’t notice the altering of the wax seal. He unwound the parchment, read it slowly, and turned a shade of red to match his mantle. “This is a lie!” he finally said, his voice a low growl.
“No lie.”
“One sister is missing, aye, that much I’ll admit, but the other is locked in her room …” His voice faded as he thought about Sorcha’s long silence, which was in direct contrast to her sharp tongue. Then there was the matter of McBannon; few could ride the beast, but Sorcha had trained the destrier from a colt. A new, cold fear clamped its claws around Tadd’s soul, and he knew that he’d been betrayed.
“You, messenger, are to stay here,” he told the tall soldier. Lips flattening in anger, his mantle billowing after him, he stalked back to the keep and took the steps two at a time. He threw open the door and knew with a chilling certainty that he’d been played for a fool.