Kiss of the Moon by Lisa Jackson
“ ’Tis foolishness; you said so yourself,” Hagan said, shaking his head at his brother’s trust in such blasphemy; not that he was particularly religious, but he was certainly not stupid enough to believe in the power of a discoloration of the skin. “You’ve put this castle in danger and started the feud again. By taking Eaton’s daughter, you have thrown down the gauntlet, and we are surely to face bloody battles, losing many men for naught.” He shoved the hair from his eyes and resisted the urge to pounce on his brother and beat him within an inch of his miserable life.
“Now we have something with which to bargain,” Darton said, and at that particular word, Hagan froze.
“Too many bargains have already been struck and broken. What have you done with Lady Leah?”
“She is safe.”
“But kept prisoner.”
Darton nodded. “I would not have her escape, even though she was not the woman I sought.”
Hagan’s head throbbed. “Did you lie with her?”
Darton’s eyes flickered with malice. “Does it matter?”
“It matters much. If you’ve forced her into your bed, then you shall marry her.” He ignored the cry from Sorcha’s lips. “ ’Tis the only way to appease Eaton.”
“Mayhap I would rather marry this one,” Darton said, motioning toward Sorcha, and Sorcha’s blood turned to ice.
“Nay!” she whispered violently.
Hagan glanced at the woman whom he’d nearly bedded and pretended complete disinterest, though the thought of Darton lying with Sorcha burned like a hot ember in his guts. “ ’Tis too late. You’ve made your choice.”
“Leah would never marry him!”
Hagan whirled on her. “What if she is with child?”
The joints of her knees seemed to buckle for an instant. The thought of Leah bearing Darton’s bastard was a horrid thought indeed, but marriage to this devil’s spawn? However, loath though she was to think such vile things, ’twas possible that Leah was already carrying the blackguard’s child.
Sorcha inched her chin upward, and her voice was barely a whisper. “My sister would rather die than marry anyone from the house of Erbyn.”
“Wench!” Darton whispered. “What she needs is—”
“Where is the sister?” Hagan’s voice was as hard as steel, his lips as thin as hunting blades.
Darton, as if sensing the unspoken challenge between Sorcha and Hagan, hesitated. “How did this one sneak past our guards?”
“That, we will discuss later. Now, brother,” he said, his lips barely moving, “tell me of Leah.”
Darton saw the fury in Hagan’s glare and knew that there was no further use in outwardly defying him. If only he’d known that Sorcha had come to Erbyn, if only he’d intercepted her, for she was the woman he wanted, the most powerful woman in all of Wales.
“The lady is in the east wing,” he admitted.
“I want to see her. Now.” Sorcha didn’t trust Darton, nor did she have any faith in his brute of a brother. She would only feel at ease when she saw Leah again. Then, perhaps, they could bargain, if only Hagan would believe her and not Darton’s desperate lies. Surely Hagan, who seemed to honor the truce, would free both women and have them escorted safely back to Prydd.
Tadd would be furious with both his sisters as well as with Hagan, but Sorcha was certain her brother would find a way to make this horrid ordeal profitable—without Leah being forced to marry Darton. Tadd would demand payment for the dishonor of Prydd, and Hagan, if he had any shred of decency in his dark soul, wouldn’t argue Tadd’s claim.
Only Sorcha would know the depths of her own dishonor, for she would live with the memory of nearly giving herself to Hagan. She clenched her teeth at that particular thought as she followed Hagan’s swift strides down the stairs through the great hall and to the far side of the castle where the air was dank and chill. This, she understood, was the older part of the keep, used only when there were more guests than could be housed in the western portion. There were cracks in the walls, and she remembered that she’d heard that once, years ago, Erbyn had been scarred by battle, some of the battlements and parts of the hall nearly destroyed. Most of the castle had to be rebuilt.
With its damp smell and dim torches, this part of Erbyn was as much a prison as any foul dungeon. But Leah was strong; she would survive, knowing that Sorcha would come to free her.
They climbed two flights of stairs that led to a narrow corridor lit only by rushlights. A thin guard with a pock-marked face was posted near a thick oak door. “Let us in,” Darton said softly, and the grim-faced soldier glanced at Hagan before quickly unlocking the door.
Sorcha’s heart pounded. Would Leah ever forgive her for insisting that they change places? Would she understand that she was safe now, and despite the fierce one’s plan of marrying Leah off to Darton to balm his guilt, Leah could not be forced into marrying a man she did not love? This wasn’t exactly true, of course, but Sorcha was certain she could convince her father that a marriage between the houses of Erbyn and Prydd would be a mistake of hellish proportions.
Sorcha would do anything within her power to save her sister. She stepped forward, following Darton, but Hagan’s hand restrained her. “Mayhap you should wait here,” he said, and for the first time she noticed lines of strain on his face and worry near his eyes.
“I’ll not—”
Darton walked into the chamber. “Lady, you have a visitor from Prydd. Your sister is …”
His words faded, and Sorcha could stand the suspense no longer. “Leah!” she cried, wresting her way free of Hagan and nearly tripping on Darton, who stood stock-still near the door. “Leah!
“Thank God I’ve finally found you!” she cried as her eyes adjusted to the dim light. She didn’t see her sister at first, and heard Darton’s low voice behind her as she walked to the only piece of furniture in the room—a large canopied bed. “Leah! Wake up!” she said, suddenly anxious as a cool breath of air touched the back of her neck and the wood of the canopy creaked loudly.
“Sorcha, wait,” Hagan called.
Her heart froze. Ice filled her veins as she saw the small lump that was her sister. “No!” she whispered, horrified as she saw the blood oozing from Leah’s wrists. “Merciful God, no!”
“What in the name of God?” Hagan demanded from somewhere behind her.
Sorcha stepped forward, unable to believe the truth, but in the light of the few candles still waning in their holders, she saw her sister’s face, white and unmoving, and the tiny knife that had slipped to the floor.
“By all the gods, I swear …” She reached for her dagger, but her fingers encountered only the folds of another woman’s tunic. She grabbed part of Leah’s tunic, ripped it, and quickly bound the strips of cloth to Leah’s wrists. “Please, Leah, do not die,” she whispered.
Hagan was beside her, his hand against Leah’s chest, his head bent down to her nostrils. “ ’Tis too late,” he said quietly.
“Nay!” Sorcha screamed, dropping to her knees. “Please, Leah, you cannot die. You cannot!”
A strong hand touched her on the shoulder. “Sorcha, come. There is nothing—”
Sorcha threw off Hagan’s hand and turned on him. “She will live!” she proclaimed loudly, her gaze landing on Darton. “Despite the deceit and treachery and lies that infest this castle, she will live! You,” she ordered a guard near the door. “Send word to Isolde at Prydd. She is to come here at once.” When the man didn’t move, Sorcha pointed at him with a long, condemning finger. “Unless you want to see the horrid wrath of the kiss of the moon, you will ride this night.”
“ ’Tis too late,” Hagan said again, and she whirled on him.
“This is your fault, baron, and you must do whatever it is that you can to save my sister.”
“She’s gone—”
“She’s not! Her body is warm, and I can feel the beat of her heart. Now, unless you want yet another death in the house of Prydd on your hands, you will find one of y
“She speaks of sorcery,” Darton said.
“I care not what you call it, but Leah needs help.”
Hagan glared at her for a second, before telling the guard, “Take Sir Darton back to his quarters—”
Darton waved off the guard. “Hold fast. I’ll not be treated like a prisoner—”
“Take him!” Hagan said more fiercely. “Then awaken Rosemary. See that she comes up here, and … ask that she bring her daughter, Caitlin.”
“Caitlin is not at Erbyn this night, and … ’tis said that Caitlin practices the dark arts, m’lord—”
“If not Caitlin, then her mother, but do it. Now!” Hagan snarled, allowing Darton to stay.
Sorcha paid little heed; she was still on her knees near the bed, sometimes praying that Leah’s life be spared, other times speaking softly to her sister. “I’m here now, Leah. You’re safe; please, please, hear me.” Her heart was as heavy as if it had been weighted with stones. She placed the necklace carefully around Leah’s throat and retied the broken cords. The red string seemed the color of blood against Leah’s pale skin, and the small twigs looked frail and powerless. “Come, Leah. Live!”
She heard Hagan tell one of his men to stoke the fire and light candles before they were banished from the room. Only Darton and Hagan remained.
Darton stood as if transfixed, and Hagan paced restlessly. “This is nonsense,” he said.
“Shh … she works her magic.”
“There is no magic.”
Sorcha heard their exchange as if from a distance. She knelt at her sister’s side, touching Leah’s cool fingers, whispering words of encouragement, willing her life-force into her sister.
The serpent ring felt suddenly warm around her fingers and seemed to possess a pulse of its own. Was it her imagination or did Leah move slightly? Was there a tiny gasp in her shallow breathing? “ ’Tis good, sister,” Sorcha encouraged, her eyes shimmering with tears.
A woman’s sharp voice reverberated down the hallway. “What in the name of God are ye mumbling about—what girl? What sorceress? I swear, Sir Marshall, it’s losin’ your mind, ye are.”
She entered the room, and a rush of wind caused the candles to flicker. “What’s this?” she asked as Sorcha turned in her direction, and the woman, big-boned but surprisingly agile, moved to the bedside. Her gaze traveled quickly over Leah’s body and wrists. “Lord have mercy!” she said.
“Can you help her, Rosemary?” Hagan asked.
“The poor, sweet child.” Rosemary wasted no time and her fleshy hands were on Leah’s face, touching her temple, smoothing her skin. “I think ye best be callin’ for the priest,” she said sadly. “She’s nearly gone.”
“No!” Sorcha cried. “She can be saved.”
“This is the girl’s sister. She is called Sorcha,” Hagan explained when the large woman glanced at him.
Rosemary sighed and turned kind eyes on Sorcha. “I’m sorry, love, but in all my years I’ve never seen one so far gone come back. She’s sleeping now; her heart is slow, and her breathing … I can do nothing but pray for her soul.”
“You haven’t even tried!” Sorcha proclaimed. “She cannot die!”
“ ’Tis not in my hands, child.”
Sorcha would not give up. She placed her fingers on Leah’s shoulders and whispered, “All that I have is yours, sister. Please hear my prayer. Come back to those who love you.” Again the snake ring grew hot, tightening painfully over her finger.
Hagan stood transfixed, staring at the little woman who knelt so proudly near the bed. He almost believed her to be a witch … a most entrancing witch. Her black hair, in wild curls, shone dark as a raven’s wing in the candlelight, and her eyes, round and surrounded by curling lashes, were filled with conviction. Her cause was futile, of course: Leah was nearly dead and could not be saved.
“Come,” he said to Sorcha. “Let Rosemary stay with your sister.”
She shrugged off his hand. “I’ll not leave until Leah awakens.”
Darton started to step forward, but Hagan held him back. “If she wishes to stay, so be it.”
She laid a hand over Leah’s heart. As the ring strangled her finger, she felt a sudden chill deep in her soul. Though the window was not open, a wind, damp and smelling of the forest, began to blow and circle around her. Candlelight flickered and the fire burned more brightly. “Take not my sister’s life,” she prayed. “Protect her from all evil and give her back to us.” Her own heartbeat thundered through her skull, and as she laid her hand with the ring across the necklace she’d placed around Leah’s throat, she sensed a tremor run from her body and through her sister’s. Leah’s fingers twitched, and Sorcha felt suddenly weak.
“By all that is holy …” Rosemary whispered, falling to her knees.
Leah moaned softly, and the world seemed to tilt behind Sorcha’s eyes.
“By the gods!” Darton whispered. “She lives!”
Sorcha’s heart beat frantically. Her legs were suddenly unsteady, as if all her strength had poured into her sister. Sweat ran down her face and her breathing was shallow—as shallow as that of her sister. A blackness threatened her eyes.
Hagan’s voice sounded distant. “Sorcha. Are you … ?” The room closed in on her. She couldn’t breathe. Hot. She was so hot.
“Sorcha?”
Leah’s voice came as if from a great distance. Sorcha tried to respond, to say something of comfort to her sister, but her legs gave way and she began to fall. A strong arm surrounded her as the great black void swallowed her.
Five
ake sure she sleeps,” Hagan told Rosemary. “And if she wakes, send for me.” He placed Sorcha on a bed in a guest chamber and tucked the cover to her chin.
The old woman eyed her new charge warily. Nervously her tongue rimmed her cracked lips. “I’ve heard she’s a wild one; saw what she could do—”
“There will be guards posted at the door.”
“She tricked the cook,” Rosemary said, and Hagan found it difficult to believe how fast gossip could race through the keep. “She must be clever as a fox.”
“Just tend to her; I’ll not be gone long,” Hagan said, glancing down at the tangle of black hair that framed a small, white face as beautiful as any he’d ever seen. Sleeping, she looked peaceful and small and vulnerable, though he knew differently. The pain in his shoulder was witness to how deadly she could become, and what he’d witnessed as she’d kept her vigil with her sister was mind-numbing.
“Is it true she is the savior of Prydd?” the nursemaid asked, her lips trembling slightly.
“Of course not. You’re a Christian woman, Rosemary. Surely you don’t believe in such old wives’ tales.” He glared at her, daring her to defy him, and she bobbed her old head anxiously.
“Aye. I’m a true believer in the Lord. But—I saw her call the furies as she brought her sister, Leah, back from the dead.”
“Leah was not yet dead, just in a deep sleep. There was no witchcraft, Rosemary. Just prayers.”
The old woman seemed disappointed. “But—”
“Rest assured that this woman will not hurt you. She is our guest and shall be treated so.”
Rosemary glanced at the blood staining the shoulder of his tunic, but did not argue, and Hagan left Sorcha to deal with his brother. Though it was still a few hours until dawn, half the castle was awake, and the news that Sorcha, the savior of Prydd, had somehow slipped past Erbyn’s defenses had traveled like wildfire through the hallways, scullery, and kitchens. The gossip ran fast with the story that Sorcha had laid her hands upon her sister and brought the girl back from the grave. In Hagan’s opinion, this was not the case. He had been in the chamber, and aye, the air in the room had been deathly still, then suddenly wrought with winds, but there had been no magic, no conjuring up of spirits, no raising the dead.
However, the rumors were out of control, and the fact that Sorcha had spent part of the night in Hagan’s cha
He would tend to the servants and gossip later. First he had to confront his brother, who had started all this trouble. He strode to Darton’s quarters, hoping Darton would talk to him and he could begin to sort out the truth from the lies. His twin was furious that Hagan had locked him in his chambers and treated him like a prisoner, but Hagan felt he had no choice.
Darton was waiting for him. Like a penned animal, he paced restlessly between the window and the fire. Glancing up when Hagan arrived, he glared at his brother. “You have no right to keep me locked away, like a common thief,” he snarled. “ ’Twas I who kept your castle safe while you were off at war, and yet now, because of some daft woman, you would imprison me.” His nose curled in contempt. “I’ll not be caged like a wild animal, brother,” he warned.
“And I’ll not be deceived by my own kin.” Hagan saw that the guard was listening from his post in the hallway. He motioned for the man to shut the door and waited until he and his brother were completely alone.
“I was nearly killed in my bed tonight,” Hagan said as he propped a booted foot near the grate and tried to control his temper. “Sorcha of Prydd sneaked into my chamber and tried to slit my throat.”
“I’ve heard,” Darton said, “but it seems you survived.”
Hagan wanted to shake him until he’d gained some sense. Instead, he crossed his arms in front of his chest and pinned Darton with his hardest glare. “She says she came here to free her sister, whom you kidnapped and held prisoner.”
“I explained why,” Darton replied with a shrug. Then, as his thoughts changed their course, he managed a small smile. “Did you not see how she brought her sister back to life?”
“Leah was not yet dead.”
“But you cannot deny that something spiritual happened in that chamber. ’Twas as if Sorcha gave up her lifeblood and it flowed into her sister.”
“There was no letting of blood.”
“Aye—it was magical. Sorcery.” Darton rubbed his hands together. “It is true, Hagan, and you, having seen it with your own eyes, cannot doubt that the power exists. She is truly the chosen one. Be thankful that she is now here at Erbyn and no longer with the enemy.”