“—trying to save the king—”
“Nay! Nay! Nay!” Sorcha felt as if her soul had been ripped from her body.
“—protecting us all. ’Tis a pity.”
“You lie!” With all her strength she pulled her hand free and struggled to her feet. Before Darton could restrain her, she rounded the table and looked down on her brother with furious blue eyes. “You lying bastard—”
“Oh, not me, sister. I am the true issue of my father’s loins. Now, your legitimacy has always been in question. Rumor has it that our mother was not faithful to Eaton and that she gave herself to some soldier claiming to be the grandson or great-grandson or some relative of Llywelyn.”
Sorcha lunged and wrapped her fingers around her brother’s throat. Oh, if she only had her dagger, she’d cut out his lying tongue. Rage surged through her blood. “He is not dead,” she screamed. “He is not!”
Tadd sputtered and shoved, but she was like a burr on a long-haire
d cat and couldn’t be moved. Tadd was lying as he’d always lied.
Tadd’s face turned red with rage and fury. He coughed and kicked, but still Sorcha wouldn’t give up until strong hands peeled her from her brother and she was restrained by Sir Brady.
“You’ll pay for this,” Tadd swore, his voice rasping as he gulped air. Rubbing his neck, he grabbed his mazer, raised it to his lips, and drank so fast that wine slid down the sides of his mouth, leaving purple stains that drizzled into his beard.
“I’ll not believe that my father’s dead!” she cried, her world spinning crazily.
“Believe it. Eaton died in battle. I am the Baron of Prydd.”
She felt as if a thousand knives had been thrust into her soul.
“And Hagan is dead, as well. Killed by outlaws. Now Lord Darton is ruler of Erbyn, sister.” Tadd’s eyes gleamed with a malevolent light, and he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His slick little tongue rimmed his lips. “He’s been generous, I think. He’s given me a castle—a small one that is not a day’s journey from Prydd.”
“And what have you given him in return?” she spat.
His smile was pure evil, and a thousand ghosts seemed to tread on her spine. “You, sister,” he said, patting his fingers together. “I’ve given him you. You are to become Darton of Erbyn’s bride.”
Pain burned in Hagan’s back and screamed down his legs and the taste in his mouth was putrid. Spitting, he tried to move, but felt as if his muscles had been rent from his bones.
“Be still!” a woman’s harsh voice ordered. Fingers as cool and dry as parchment touched his body, sending a searing agony that ripped through his skin. “ ’Tis only ointment of thistle and ash; ’twill help you heal.”
“I doubt anything that causes such a burn will help,” he muttered, trying to keep his mind from spinning. He remembered the attack and falling from the horse. He’d dragged himself into the forest, his sword drawn, ready to kill at least a few of the murderers and take them with him to hell. But as he’d waited, night had fallen, or blackness had overcome his mind; he knew not which. Now he was awake and in an enclosure …a dark place, mayhap a dungeon. He forced the dizziness to stop and saw that he was not in a prison, but a tent of some sort. ’Twas dark inside except for candles burning in a corner and the reflection of restless red flames from a campfire on the other side of the tent’s flap.
Again he asked, “Where am I?”
“You are safe, Lord Hagan.”
“You know who I am?”
“Does anyone who lives near Erbyn not?”
Again the pain, but he fought the urge to flinch and forced the blackness around his eyes to recede. He needed his wits about him.
“Trust me,” the old voice whispered.
He had no choice. He couldn’t move. Lifting his head to hazard a glance over his shoulder, he saw an old crone with gray hair, deep grooves on her face, but kind eyes working over him. He winced and sucked in his breath as she applied more of her painful remedy. He smelled smoke from the campfire and heard the wind sigh in the trees. So he was still in the forest, mayhap with the thugs who had tried to kill him. So why the old woman? “How long have I been here?”
“Two days. ’Twas time you woke up.”
Two days? Two bloody days? He tried to push himself upright, but agony throbbed through every inch of his body and seemed to explode behind his eyes.
“You are healing well.”
He tried to move, but the blistering pain stopped him cold and he felt helpless and weak.