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Hearing her brother Finn’s voice rise up in protest to something Father was saying, Sorcha quickly donned a gown and slippers and crept down the stairs, staying low. Her legs trembled from both her nerves and her crouched position. If Father caught her, she feared he’d marry her off in a fit of anger, as he had done to her sister, Constance, several months prior, not even a fortnight after Mother had died. Poor Constance had never even been disobedient like Sorcha, not until the day Father caught her in the arms of one of his commanders. Father had yelled that the Earl of Angus’s daughter was not supposed to waste her worth on a mere commander. All the years of Constance’s meek, obedient behavior had not saved her from Father’s anger.
It had taken only a sennight after the discovery of the kiss and Constance was gone, married off to the Earl of Mar, who had shamelessly arrived to collect Constance with his mistress on his arm. The earl had informed her sister in front of a room full of people, Sorcha included, that he expected an heir immediately or Constance could anticipate the same treatment his first wife had received. If the cook’s whispers were correct, the earl’s first wife had met with her death in a most suspicious manner. Sorcha knew by Constance’s letters that she was absolutely miserable. The earl was a cruel, selfish man who kept his mistress in the room across the hall from Constance.
Directly after Father had married Constance off, he had told Sorcha in plain terms that if she disobeyed him one more time, he’d find a husband for her that made the Earl of Mar seem saintly. She didn’t doubt him for a breath. He’d threatened it several times in the past few weeks, too, and she had spent many a sleepless night worried about to whom he might marry her.
When her mother had been alive, Sorcha had kept the slightest hope that she might one day have the good fortune of marrying a man she cared for, as Mother had often managed to influence Father’s choices and treatment of them without him seeming to realize it. It was one of the great secrets Sorcha and her siblings knew but never dared to utter aloud. Thanks to Mother, Sorcha had been allowed to learn to read and write, Constance had not been married off at fifteen as Father had wanted, merely so he could gain land, and Finn had been able to avoid going to war after Mother had convinced Father that Finn’s talents were needed at home. Her brother had a quick mind for arguments but no skills as a warrior, a fact Mother and Sorcha had often done their best to help Finn disguise. Yet Father knew and was cruel to Finn because of it.
Mother had managed to protect him for a bit, but not one day after her death, Father had demanded Finn go to battle. And it had only taken that one battle for him to realize the full extent of how his son, hisheir, was not the man he hoped. Now Father was determined to make Finn a warrior.
Sorcha peered over the top of the stairs toward the open door of the great hall. She could see Finn’s profile as he stood just inside the door. The man next to him was much taller and broader, but all she could see was a wide expanse of shoulders. With care, she moved down one step and then another until she could see curly dark hair, a chin covered with dark stubble, and the side of a square jaw. Her stomach twisted with recognition—Hugo, the Earl of Ross’s son. His arms were crossed in his usual arrogant and annoying manner.
She nearly groaned. What was he doing here? She narrowed her gaze on Hugo. The man had absolutely no compassion for others, which was only one of the reasons she did not care for him.
She shimmied down another three steps, craned her neck to see if anyone had turned toward her, and dashed off the steps and to the left, where she could see fully into the room.
Her brother’s and Hugo’s backs were now to her, and upon the dais sat her father, Hugo’s father, and two men she did not recognize. She instantly knew they were wealthy, however, by the richness of their cloaks and the many men hovering about them. She glanced over her shoulder toward the stairs and the direction of her bedchamber. If she were wise, she would go back to bed and keep doing her best to go unnoticed by her father. She prayed that at the upcoming feast, she might finally meet a man that truly stirred her and that, God willing, the meeting would lead to a love match that Father would accept. Or one that she would be willing to defy him to secure.
Her stomach flipped at the prospect of marrying a virtual stranger, but her stomach turned to hard knots at the thought of being forced to marry someone like the Earl of Mar, who would treat her like a brood mare, or Hugo, who would forever think himself better than her simply because he was a man. She wished to have a marriage like the one her aunt, Blanche, Baroness Wake of Layton, had found. Blanche had disobeyed her and mother’s father’s wishes long ago by running off into the night with an Englishman she had met at a tournament and had truly loved.
So far, Sorcha had only met men with whom she didn’t care to be in the same room, let alone spend the rest of her life.
“Finn!” Her father’s booming voice made her flinch. “Ye’ve failed me again!”
Sorcha winced, and her heart clenched for her brother, imagining how their father’s cruel words likely made him feel. Finn had once been a happy child, but over the years, he had become an angry man, and Sorcha suspected it was because he could not please Father. She didn’t know for certain, because he no longer confided in her. It seemed the more she tried to help, the more scornful he became. It didn’t improve the matter that Father had often pointed out to Finn that she had more skill as a warrior than he did.
She could sense his resentment when he was around her, but he was her brother, her twin, and she loved him still. Because of this, she found herself creeping to the alcove under the stairs so she could see and hear better.
She watched as Father moved off the dais and advanced toward Finn, whose shoulders visibly stiffened at their father’s approach. Father’s boots thudded against the floor as he strode across the room and stopped directly in front of Finn. “Ye had one simple task,” he snarled. “Kill Katherine Mortimer.”
Sorcha’s breath caught deep in her throat, and she found herself pressing as far back into the shadowy, dusty alcove as she could. Her back met with the wall, and she inhaled a long breath of the musty air, trying to calm her suddenly racing heart. Father had ordered a woman’s death? Sorcha had long ago lost the notion that her father was a good man, yet to order a woman to be killed? And who was Katherine Mortimer?
Finn turned his head, and even from the cobwebbed alcove, she could see the side of his jaw set in anger. “The king’s mistress was heavily guarded.”
Gooseflesh prickled across Sorcha’s entire body, and her scalp tingled with fear. Father had ordered the king’s mistress killed?
Treason! Her father had committed treason and drawn Finn into it with him!
But why? Why?
She bit her lip, fearing she knew the answer. The king had been steadily stripping the nobles—her father included—of power, and the nobles were starting to rebel. She wrapped her arms around her waist, her heart pounding nearly out of her chest.
“Ye should have planned for guards!” Father rebuked, jabbing his finger into Finn’s chest. “King David would guard his mistress well! Anyone who is nae a clot-heid would ken this. He is obsessed with the woman, which is precisely why I ordered ye to kill her!” Father shot out a gloved hand and smacked Finn so hard that her brother stumbled into Hugo. A disdainful look swept across Hugo’s face as he shoved Finn away from him.
Sorcha pressed farther into the alcove, but there was nowhere to go. The wall blocked any retreat. For a moment, she wished desperately that she had stayed abed and had not heard this exchange, but with a squeeze of her eyes and another long breath, she pushed the thought away. Mother had always told her that everyone had secrets. Some would kill you slowly with the keeping, some would kill you quickly when revealed, and others would shape who you were. Secrets could make you better or worse, depending on if you learned from them. The trick was to know which was which. This was most definitely a secret that could get themallkilled if King David learned of it. Thank God above that her brother had failed to murder the king’s mistress.
Finn straightened his shoulders and stood tall, his eyes glittering dangerously. Sorcha sucked in a breath, certain he was about to finally make a stand against Father. “I’ll hunt her down,” he said instead, causing bile to rise in Sorcha’s throat. “Even if I die in the process, I vow I’ll nae fail ye again.”
Sorcha trembled even as her father snorted. “If only yer vow held the weight of a capable warrior.”
Finn seemed to grow smaller before Sorcha’s eyes. His shoulders hunched, and his head dipped forward as if in shame. Usually, she would feel his woe at being dismissed so by their father, but all she could feel was horror. Finn intended to kill a woman because Father had commanded it; her brother was further gone than she had realized. Feeling powerless to stop it or to help him, she dug her nails into her palms, the edges cutting into her sensitive flesh.
“All is nae lost,” Hugo said. His strong confident voice rang of secrets that wielded power. “I ken where Katherine’s party is going and the path they are taking.”
Her father’s eyebrows shot up. “And how did ye come by such information?”
Hugo turned to speak to her father, and she could see that one side of his mouth had pulled into a pompous smile. “I joined with one of Katherine’s maids two days ago in Edinburgh. Once I learned who she was, it occurred to me I could get information out of the wench that might aid our cause.”
Her father chuckled. “What a sacrifice ye’ve made, Hugo.”
