This caused a mirthless laugh. “You think your brother wants you returned to the castle?”
Hagan didn’t answer.
“Who do you think tried to kill you?”
Again silence, and again Wolf’s mou
th spread into a smile that showed long white teeth. He was enjoying this. “Oh, so you blame us, do you? Think you that my ragged band would attempt to kill the baron?”
“I know not.”
Wolf unsheathed his knife and insolently ran the sharp blade under his nails, dislodging dirt and filth. “I’ve thought of it, yes,” he admitted, frowning a little. “But it seemed foolish. Asides, my friend, we have no reason to quarrel. That you did not join with us long ago is forgiven. You betrayed us not.”
Hagan’s head pounded, but he remembered nearly becoming one of the outlaw band. He had detested his father and he’d wanted to rebel, to go against all he’d held dear, to lose himself in the woods. He’d been young enough to think that joining a company of thieves and turning his back on his home would anger and wound his father, make the old man understand that Hagan was his own man, but in the end he’d realized his best revenge was to inherit Erbyn.
But he’d changed his mind yet again as he lay on the pallet, his back on fire. He would give up everything he owned—aye, his very life if needs be—for Sorcha’s safety.
“If you keep me not for ransom, what then?”
Wolf sheathed his dagger and his smile faded. “Vengeance.”
“Against whom?”
“Tadd of Prydd.” Wolf’s cleaved brow lifted. “He is now at the house of Erbyn with the new lord.”
“The new lord?”
“Yea.” Wolf appeared amused. “Sir Darton has proclaimed your death and has assumed your title.” Wolf darted a quick glance at Hagan. “ ’Twas his men who were chasing you. He had given orders to have you killed.”
“You lie.”
Wolf snorted. “Are you so blind?” he asked, and Hagan decided there was some truth to his words. “Even now, as we talk of this, Lord Darton is entertaining Tadd of Prydd, and the castle is preparing for the wedding.”
“Wedding?” Hagan repeated, his soul turning black as death.
“Aye. The houses of Prydd and Erbyn are to be united at last. Baron Darton has asked for the hand of Lady Sorcha.”
Hagan’s guts twisted and he wanted to jump up and call the outlaw a liar of the worst order. His blood turned hot with jealousy and he thought of slitting the lying thug’s throat. But he couldn’t. Like it or not, he had to trust this man. Slowly he said, “Lady Sorcha would never agree to this marriage; she loathes my brother.”
Wolf shrugged. “Tadd has agreed, and he is the Baron of Prydd as Eaton died in battle against the Scots. It matters not what the lady wants.”
With more strength than anyone would have guessed possible, he lunged forward, grabbing the outlaw’s tunic. “How do you know this?”
“A spy, of course.”
“Who?”
Wolf’s eyes gleamed. “I’ll not say.”
Hagan cursed but knew he would not be able to beat the truth from the outlaw. “We must stop the wedding,” he ordered as the image of Darton marrying Sorcha burned through his brain. His fingers twisted into the dirty folds of Wolf’s black tunic. “You must help me.”
This time Wolf’s smile was wide. “Oh, I shall help you, Hagan of Erbyn, if you agree to my terms.”
Hagan’s fingers tightened and yanked on the tunic, pulling the outlaw close. “You want Erbyn?”
“Nay,” Wolf said, his eyes narrowing to slits that reflected the torch’s flame. In the flickering shadows of red, his features grew into a hard mask of hate, and he looked like the very soul of the devil. “I want only Tadd of Prydd.”
Sorcha’s world was black as the depths of hell. Her father was dead; she would never see him again, and tears of grief threatened her eyes.