Chapter 9 #2
With that, Sorcha slipped into the hallway.
She all but ran through the corridors, slowing only when she passed others, not wanting to give herself away.
It was impossible not to notice the way every servant, every member of the household that she passed wore a pleasant smile as they moved without fear through the manor.
It was nothing like the happenings within Dudley’s estate.
If anything, it reminded her of the way things were run at Kincaid Castle.
The sun had already begun to set by the time she made it outside.
The day had passed by in a flash. Between their early departure from Dudley, the fight against his men, to the rush to get Lord Blackwood to safety and then watching him be stitched back together before Sorcha’s own wounds were taken care of, she felt as if she had lived through a week in a single day.
She was tired, weary from her time tracking Taryn and her night spent as a prisoner. More than almost anything, she wanted sleep. Perhaps after a good night’s rest, she would finally be able to make sense of everything.
But sleep would have to wait. She needed to get back to Aila and Lachlan.
She needed to warn them and as many other lairds as she could about what Dudley was planning.
Though she wasn’t present for all of their scheming, she could at least tell them how many men to expect in the coming attacks, what Dudley was hoping to gain from this needless battle.
Sorcha stalked across the yard, eyes taking note of every face she passed, and into the stables.
Her own horse was long gone by now, so she could only hope that Lord Blackwood would not begrudge her a beast from his own stables.
His feelings on the subject mattered little.
She could not trust him. She could not stay here a moment longer.
She had already wasted too much time as it was.
Standing in the middle of the barn, Sorcha made a quick mental list of everything she would need for her journey—a saddle and bridle, a bedroll if she could find one, a cloak she would have to steal.
Had she thought about it for a minute longer, she would have made her way to the kitchens before heading to the stables.
Then at least she could have managed to get a hot meal and perhaps some meager pickings for her journey.
But it was too late now for such things.
She would simply have to go without. It wasn’t the first time she had been hungry and tired, and she doubted very much it would be the last. She knew that Aila would be sure to have food and a clean bed waiting for her.
That settled in her might, Sorcha turned to the stalls, trying to deduce which horse would suit her needs best.
“The golden mare at the end of the lane is the fastest.” Lord Blackwood’s weary voice made Sorcha jump. “But she is a trifle temperamental. I daresay that might make you two the best of partners.”
Turning slowly on her heel, Sorcha let her eyes drift over Lord Blackwood.
Still pale and wrapped in bandages, but he was at least on his feet without anyone propping him up.
She didn’t know why a rush of relief went through her at the sight, when she knew all she should feel now was dread or revulsion or even hatred.
“Back to playing the English gentleman I see,” she quipped, refusing to admit what she had been planning.
He had no right to criticize her when all she had ever been was honest. He had done nothing but lie.
“It is who I am,” he answered coolly. “Why does that surprise you?”
“I suppose it doesn’t. I have always kent the English to be duplicitous and sneaky. I would like to think better of the Scots, but ye clearly don’t give much credence to yer heritage.”
“Ah. I see you have been speaking with my mother. I shall have to remind her not to give all my secrets away to strangers again, no matter how bonny they might be.”
Her eyes narrowed. He was only trying to distract her with compliments so that she would forget her plan. She wasn’t going to give him such an easy win.
“Ye cannae stop me,” she told him, her arms folding over her chest. “Nae unless ye tie me up and chain me to yer dungeon floor.”
Lord Blackwood sighed, suddenly looking more tired than she had yet to see him. He propped an arm up on the nearest stall door, garnering the attention of the large black beast they had ridden here together. His fingers idly scratched the stallion’s nose, though he never took his eyes off Sorcha.
“No one is tying you up. I do not even have a dungeon to throw you in. At least, nothing that resembles the atrocity in Dudley’s estate.” He sighed again, his shoulders dropping a little more. “I have no intention of stopping you, only delaying you.”
Not for the first time, Sorcha was taken aback by the honey amber color of his eyes. There was something decidedly feline about his gaze, calculating and predatory. Rather than frightening her off, it only managed to pull her in, intriguing her to know the man more.
“Delay me? Why?” she pushed.
“You are many things, Sorcha, but you are not foolish. The sun has set. It will be freezing within the hour. That is the best you can hope for if the spring does not unleash another downpour tonight, as it almost always does. What is your plan? To steal a horse and ride off into the night, no provisions, not even a passable cloak to keep you warm? You will not last the night.”
She hated that he was right. She hated even more that he seemed to care about her wellbeing.
“I have survived worse thrashings from the weather. I will cope fine. What I cannot tolerate is another moment spent in the company of a traitor.”
“Is that what you think I am?” His voice dropped to a deep, cold tone that sent chills down her spine. “A traitor? A traitor to whom, exactly?”
With every word, he stepped closer until she was forced to either step back to stare into his chest. She chose the former option. But that did not stop him, not until her back was pressed against the barn wall, and he was peering down his nose at her.
“To yer own kind!” she shouted. “How could ye, with a Scottish mother and yer own Scottish accent, sit at Dudley’s table? Nae only did ye listen to the plans he has to wipe out our clans, to destroy innocent lives, but ye put yer name to the plan. Ye agreed to help him.”
He stared at her silently. She pressed on.
“Mayhap ye dinnae claim yer heritage. Mayhap ye are nae a traitor. But ye are a hypocrite and a coward, of that I am certain. Ye are supporting a man who will only continue to bring the cruelty and suffering he has already wrought. Because of ye, Dudley will be allowed to destroy more families, more innocent people for nothing but greed. Ye are nay better than him.”
“What are ye talking about?” Lord Blackwood seethed.
“Surely ye cannae mean that ye dinnae ken all that Dudley has done in the last years. Ye are many things, Lord Blackwood,” she crooned, repeating his words back to him, “but ye are nay fool.”
“Tell me. What has he done?”
“He has hunted women for sport! My own friend, Taryn, a lass who is more a sister to me than any I have ever kent, had to leave her home in fear of her life. And when she escaped him, he made her entire clan pay. Why do ye think I tried to sneak into the estate? She is missing, and I have nae doubt that Dudley is behind it. But there is more! Laura, the servant I begged ye to take with us, was stolen from her family as punishment for helping Taryn escape marriage to Dudley.”
Her chest heaved as she spouted off Dudley’s crimes. Recalling them all brought a fresh wave of anguish to the surface for her, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t. She needed Lord Blackwood to know exactly who he had allied himself with.
“Taryn only wanted to escape the marriage betrothal because Dudley had murdered his first bride and there were rumors of other engagements that ended in horrific accidents. And that is nothing compared to the horrors brought to the Kincaid Clan. He massacred an entire clan—elderly, women, and children—under the guise of upholding the law. He forced the heir, Lachlan, my dear friend’s husband, to watch as his people were slaughtered.
Only a handful have survived, and that is only because they went into hiding.
They have just started to rebuild their lives, to hope for a future once more. ”
They were standing so close together that hardly an inch separated them.
Her heart pounded against her ribs as she hurled more accusations, more crimes against Dudley.
In her mind, being the man’s ally made Lord Blackwood no better than Dudley himself.
She put a finger in the center of his chest, as if the action would be enough to uncover what might lie beneath the surface.
“This is the man ye have bargained with. He is nay better than the devil. And because of yer agreement, he will be allowed unfettered access to the Highlands, to my home. He will desolate and destroy countless lives, as he has done before. So, tell me, Lord Blackwood,” she bit out, “what kind of man it makes ye for having joined him? What are yer true motives if nae to steal what is nae yers only to line yer own coffers? How can ye expect me to believe anything about ye other than what ye have proven yerself to be: a duplicitous and greedy coward?”