Chapter 6 #2
Taking a side step, Lord Blackwood put a firm, guiding hand on her shoulder and led her out of the cell. They paraded out of the castle like that, Sorcha then Lord Blackwood and finally the Baron’s guard following them.
Keeping her head straight, Sorcha’s eyes scanned over every door, every window, and every hallway they passed. She was still incredibly disoriented from the events last night, but she had at least some hope that there would be some place for her to escape.
The tenuous and silent agreement she had just made with Lord Blackwood counted for nothing, and they both knew it. His grip on her shoulder told her as much, whatever the loose ropes might have otherwise signified.
If she could only get out of the estate, there was a chance that her horse would still be waiting for her and then she could—
Och, who am I kidding. Her thoughts crept further into despair. That blasted creature has never liked staying put for more than an hour or two at most. ‘Tis just as likely that he has already returned to Kincaid Castle by now. The beast is long gone.
“Do not,” Lord Blackwood muttered again, the warning sending a chill down her spine.
It was as if the man had been able to read her mind, to know that she was looking for any chance of escape. She had been careful not to turn her head, not to make it obvious that she was searching for a way out, so she didn’t understand how he could issue such a timely warning.
Resisting the urge to shake off his hand and run in any direction that took her away from him, Sorcha kept her gaze steady and her mouth shut.
“There she is! There is my guarantee of success. Quite the sight, eh, lads?”
Dudley’s grating voice echoed through the main hall, reaching Sorcha with ease. She tensed out of instinct, forgetting that she wasn’t supposed to show Lord Blackwood any signs of weakness. She could only hope that he mistook her back tightening for her refraining from trying to attack the Baron.
“I hope she is worth it, Blackwood.”
Sorcha schooled her features into passive disinterest. The only thing better than killing the Baron herself was to make him think he had no power over her. Thanks to Lord Blackwood, she supposed that he truly did not.
“I have never seen a man offer the lives of his army simply for a woman. Especially not one as disagreeable as this creature.”
The rest of the men in the room chuckled at the Baron’s taunts. True to form, Lord Blackwood said nothing.
“Shall I expect a thank-you present in the coming weeks? I should think so. My generosity demands it. And should you find her too much for you to handle, all you need to do is send word. I will be sure to collect her back. She will be worth the effort once that spirit of hers breaks. And I know just how to break it.”
The sneer that spread across Dudley’s face threatened to make Sorcha’s stomach turn. Where Lord Blackwood was a complete mystery of stone-cold resolve, Lord Dudley was transparent in hint taunts, making it entirely too clear just what he wanted to do with her.
Everything within her screamed for her to rage against the Baron, to do something—anything—to make him pay for his sins against her, the Kincaids, Aila, Taryn, and Laura.
Laura.
The girl’s face came into view at the far corner of the hall.
Even from such a distance, Sorcha could see how white her knuckles were where Laura clutched the pitcher she was holding.
There was no mistaking the look of betrayal, of resignation that had spread across her face. It only angered Sorcha all the more.
She wanted to shout that she was being taken against her will.
She wanted to scream, to let the entire world know of all the horrors Lord Dudley had done.
There wouldn’t be much point, considering most of the men in the room had been by his side while he had done them.
But she wanted to find some way to tell Laura that she hadn’t forgotten about her.
Looking past the Baron and towards Laura again, Sorcha saw the corner was empty. The rush of Laura’s skirts swished in the doorway.
“I can see the girl knows the truth of what I have said,” Lord Dudley preened. “You will both do well to remember my words.”
Before Sorcha could open her mouth to rail against the vile man, Lord Blackwood’s hand squeezed her arm.
It was a warning, of that there was no mistake.
He had been careful not to put any pressure on her arm where his hand gripped her their entire walk through the castle; her tender muscles were grateful for the courtesy.
That he would do so now was an obvious order for silence.
“Lord Dudley,” he spoke cooly over her shoulder, giving the slightest nod.
That was the only farewell Lord Blackwood bothered to utter before he escorted Sorcha out of the castle and into the courtyard, where a lone horse stood with a polished empty saddle. The closer they got to the magnificent black beast, the more frantic Sorcha felt.
“Wait,” she seethed. “I can nae go. Let me go!”
His grip on her arm was an iron shackle, unyielding to her moves.
“I have to save Laura,” Sorcha pleaded. “I promised her I would nae leave without her. I can nae leave her behind, nae again. Please, she does nae deserve—”
“What on earth are you on about?” He spun her around, so her eyes lined up with the middle of his chest.
Sorcha’s own chest heaved, her breath coming in frenzied gasps. Leaving would mean admitting defeat, and she had never done such a thing before. She certainly didn’t want to now.
“Laura. She is a friend, I think. The Baron stole her from her home years ago. I cannae leave her here to suffer anymore. Take her with us. Leave me and take her instead. Ye can insist with Dudley. Please. I cannae leave her.”
“You do not have a choice. Neither do I. I have already shown my cards far more than I care to by claiming you. Another prisoner would be out of the question. Get on the horse before you cause a scene.”
She opened her mouth with another argument ready, but Lord Blackwood plucked her from where she stood and put her on the saddle before a single word came out.
“If ye are so put out by saving me, then why are ye doing it?”
It was a feeble question to ask with so much at stake, but Sorcha was desperate for any kind of explanation that would make sense of things. Lord Blackwood offered nothing as he climbed into the seat behind her and reached for the reins.
In an effort to distract her thoughts from the citrus and cedarwood scent that rolled off of his untamed hair, Sorcha searched the yard.
Towards the east, Laura stood outside the stables, the same man who had first stopped Sorcha beside her.
She tried to tell Laura just how sorry she was with her eyes, to communicate the guilt that wracked her soul.
But as Lord Blackwood let the horse out of the courtyard and kicked it into a gallop, she could only pray that Laura had heard her thoughts saying—
I will come back for ye.