Chapter 16
A WOLF AT THE GATE
Sorcha didn’t notice all the drawn blades or the looks of wary anticipation as she and Oliver rode into the Kincaid lands.
She had hardly given the patrol guards any notice either, too focused on making it to see her friends.
She had spotted Taryn’s golden hair glimmering in the sun from a ways away and sent her horse running before she could think better of it.
Her horse kicked up dust as it sprinted through the village, leaving Oliver calling after her.
“Sorcha!” he shouted, announcing their presence to anyone within earshot. “Slow down!”
Too relieved to be sensible, she kicked the horse faster and faster until she was very nearly flying. Had it not been for the quick instincts of her horse, she would have flown head first into the dirt from the makeshift barricade the guards had made of their own horses.
“Woah,” she huffed, trying to catch her breath.
Oliver came barreling up behind her, much more aware of the danger they were in than Sorcha had been. Her eyes counted all seven of the men, their swords drawn and shoulders ready for battle. She did not recognize any of them, they were probably new recruits or sent by their allies.
“Off yer horses,” the man in the center ordered. “Now.”
“I am Sorcha, family of Laird and Lady Kincaid. Ye must take me to see them. We have news they need to hear.”
“I will do nothing of the sort,” the man retorted with a snort. “Now, get out of yer saddles and step away from the horses.”
“All right,” Sorcha agreed easily, slipping from her seat. “But truly, I tell ye that Lachlan and Aila ken me well. Ye must bring us to see them.”
Oliver hesitated, not moving from his spot for a long moment as he weighed the situation at hand. The men stared down each other and Sorcha nearly rolled her eyes.
“The sooner ye do as he says, the sooner we can give Aila and Lachlan our news,” Sorcha told him, spinning to give him a stubborn look, her hands on her shoulders.
She moved too quickly for anyone’s comfort.
The guards all moved at once, forming a tight circle around the couple, swords pointed directly at Sorcha’s and Oliver’s chests.
Oliver acted on instinct. He jumped from his horse and drew his sword in one swift motion, positioning himself between Sorcha and the guard giving the orders.
He threw a protective arm around her waist, keeping her at his back.
“Och, for God’s sake,” she muttered. “We are wasting precious time!”
He swallowed down a comment about the time they had happily wasted by the stream together, how it had delayed them by at least an hour, and she had not seemed too put-out by it then. Judging by the sharpness in her tone, such remarks would not go over very well.
“Here,” she called, making a show of removing all her weapons and tossing them on the ground, narrowly avoiding the guard’s feet.
“What are you doing?” Oliver hissed, adjusting the grip he had on his sword.
His heart hammered in his chest and for a brief moment, he wondered if this was what his father’s last moments had felt like, betrayed by the very people he thought would keep him safe.
Sorcha gave him no time to contemplate such things, however, as she deftly disarmed him, twisting his hand into a painful position until he had to let go.
“Sorcha,” he seethed again.
She merely tossed his blade on the ground next to hers and stood beside him.
“Happy now?” she wryly asked the guards. “I dinnae ken if he has any other blades on him, but I swear to ye we are nae here as enemies but allies with verra valuable information.”
The guards all looked from one to the other, waiting to see who would make the final judgment call.
“When I left this place,” she all but shouted, “I was Captain of the Guard, giving the likes of ye orders! Now, take me to Lachlan and Aila Kincaid or I swear I will beat ye all senseless, without a single weapon to aid me.”
Her ire made Oliver tense. He was distinctly aware of the fact that not only were they unarmed, but she seemed determined to provoke the guards into action. More to the point, Oliver was an outsider of the very worst kind—an English lord.
He swallowed hard, hands itching and heart pumping as he readied himself for the fight that was sure to come.
Belatedly, he realized that the only assurance he had ever gotten from Sorcha about his safety was that Lachlan was not the kind of man to kill him on sight.
But she had never promised a lack of bodily harm.
“Sorcha,” he whispered, willing her to settle, almost pleading her name.
“Trust me, Oliver,” she told him softly. “I ken what I am doing. They will nae hurt us.”
A tense moment later, the guard finally relented under Sorcha’s pointed stare. He nodded to one man and then another.
“Ye, collect their weapons. Ye, tie their horses to yers. They will walk the rest of the way, and we will see what Laird Kincaid thinks of the intruders.”
“I am telling ye,” Sorcha shot back, “we are nae intruders.”
Despite her protests, she and Oliver walked wearily into the village and towards the castle courtyard. She scanned the village houses, looking for anyone who might recognize her, but the guards stayed too close for her to really be able to see anyone well.
Nervous butterflies filled her gut. It felt entirely out of place, to be so anxious about how her family might react to her coming home.
But she was coming home a failure. She had left to rescue Taryn and instead was returning empty-handed with an English lord in tow nonetheless.
It would take some serious explaining for everyone to see her point of view, but it was a risk she was willing to take.
Oliver meant too much to her to accept anything else.
The fate of all of their homes, their friends, their livelihoods, all meant too much.
Surprising herself, she reached for Oliver’s hand, intertwining their fingers together.
She needed the comfort, the stability his presence offered.
He took her hand without a word, but every step they walked, they walked together.
He never moved more than a fraction of an inch from her side.
And he never took his eyes off the guards and their weapons.
“It will be all right,” she promised him again in a hushed whisper. “As soon as—”
Screeching and screaming cut off the reassurance she had been about to give Oliver. Her head whipped around to the castle, trying to figure out where such a sound could come from. And then she saw them.
Suddenly, the guards surrounding her and Oliver mattered little to Sorcha.
And their attempts to stop her from breaking free from their control and racing toward the courtyards were all in vain.
Oliver was left standing, as confused as the other men, watching her sprint towards the figures of fabric waving in the wind.
The three girls met in a collapse of tight embraces, warm welcomes, and skirts as they sank to the cobblestone floor of the courtyard, holding on to each other too tight to remain standing. For the first time since she left Kincaid Castle, Sorcha felt as though she could truly breathe again.
“I thought ye were gone! I thought ye were dead,” she cried hoarsely, her eyes and hands hardly believing that Taryn was clutching her neck just then.
“I thought the Baron had ye,” she cried back. “I thought he had captured ye, too.”
“I cannae believe ye are back,” Aila shouted, the three girls talking at once. “Ye are home. Ye are safe. Thank heaven for that.”
It was some minutes of embracing and scanning for injuries before the sisters untangled themselves and stood. Each now sported red ringed eyes and broad smiles, none willing to let go of the other.
“Sorcha,” Lachlan greeted affectionately. “‘Tis good to have ye home again. We have missed ye so. The children will be chuffed that ye are back.”
“I never thought I would see the day when I missed home again,” she told them all honestly, “but I swear these last few weeks have been the longest of my life. I have never been so pleased to see a stone building before in all my days.”
Sorcha brushed tears out of her eyes, squeezing both of her friends once more. She had been so overcome with relief and joy that she had completely forgotten about Oliver and the guards until the head guard coughed, interrupting the happy reunion.
“We found these two entering the Kincaid lands,” the man spoke in explanation, addressing Lachlan only. “They claimed to ken who ye were and that they had news to share with ye, but none of us recognized them.”
Oliver shuffled on his feet, clearly tense and uncomfortable.
He was the only man present unarmed, but held his shoulders back and kept his eyes narrowed, as if he would be ready for a fight should one come his way.
Sorcha immediately extricated herself from Aila and Taryn and rushed back to his side, taking his hand in hers once more. He relaxed his shoulders then—barely.
“Seems ye have returned with some stories to tell,” Taryn said gently, studying Oliver as intensely as everyone else was.
“Aye,” Sorcha said plainly. “So do ye.”
“It is clear,” the guard cut in once more, “that ye are all familiar with the lass. I hope we were nae remiss in our suspicions of her. We followed yer orders and took their weapons, but we did nae harm either one of them. What would ye have me do with him?”
“Where he goes, I go,” Sorcha told them all before Lachlan could answer.
Lachlan eyed Oliver a little more intently then, his gaze catching on where their two hands met. Sorcha held her ground, refusing to leave Oliver’s side again. Not until they were all on the same page.
“State yer name and yer business,” Lachlan ordered.
In the span of a few seconds, he had radically shifted from the warm big brother Sorcha had come to know and love and put on the air of a Laird, hard and determined to protect his people.
“Lachlan, I can explain—” she started to say.