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She frowned at the statement, but there was no time to contemplate it, as Hugo had ordered them to depart. It seemed as if they rode forever, with nothing more than the clopping of horses to break the silence. They departed the woods and turned toward twin cliffs. She recognized them; they were near her home. It made her think of her father.
“What will happen to my father?” she demanded of Hugo.
The man stopped his horse and turned to her. “He is dead, Sorcha.”
She flinched at the news, and despite everything her father had done, sadness weighed on her heavily.
“We feared he would try to plot further against our beloved king, so we were forced to kill him,” Hugo finished.
“Ye’re a hideous beast,” she spat.
He offered a twisted smile. “That’s what yer uncle said when I told him what I had planned for ye. He vowed to hunt me down, but the poor devil dunnae have a very astute mind. I simply led him into the cellar and locked him in. I suspect he’ll be getting quite hungry and thirsty verra soon. Now, if ye are an obedient lass and marry me quickly and without trouble, I’ll save him for ye. I ken he is special to ye.”
She gritted her teeth. “I’ll nae marry ye until I see ye release my uncle and give him time to get away from ye.”
“I could beat ye till ye submit,” Hugo threatened.
Sorcha saw Broch stiffen beside her. She supposed it was something, at least, that he disliked Hugo’s threatening to hurt her, though Broch’s response did not make her forgive him for betraying Cameron.
“I’d prefer death than marriage to ye,” she said sweetly, “so if ye wish to beat me to try to get me to do as ye bid, ye best be ready to end my life. Will the king still grant ye Blair Castle, do ye ken?”
She saw the doubt her words caused flicker across Hugo’s face.
“Damn ye!” he bit out. He jerked his horse off the path toward the right. “We ride to the Stewarts’ home!” he yelled back to his men.
“Dunnae fash yerself with defending me, Broch,” she muttered. The man looked even more worried now than he had a moment ago when Hugo had threatened to beat her. “I can defend myself.”
Riding into the eerily quiet courtyard of the home in which she had grown up, memories flooded Sorcha’s head. In her mind’s eye, she saw herself racing her brother and sister across the courtyard. They all collapsed in a laughing heap of arms and legs. She recalled long walks near dark with her mother, revealing her hopes, dreams, and fears. Her chest tightened with the memory of waiting in the courtyard with her mother for Finn to return from the first battle to which Father had sent him. Finn had come home, defeated and shamed.
These were but a few of her memories, and though they were both good and bad, she had to blink back the tears at her happiness to have them returned. In the end, they made her who she was and had brought her to Cameron, who had given her, if but for the briefest time, extraordinary love.
She glanced around her abandoned home. No doubt the servants had fled in fear, and she imagined her father’s men had been dispersed to other lords’ commands. When Hugo started shouting orders at his men, her attention was brought harshly back to the moment and the very real need to save her uncle. Hugo yanked his destrier to a halt and dismounted, and before she had time to think of a plan, he jerked her from her destrier and set her hard upon her feet, fairly dragging her toward the very cellar in which he had told her they had locked Brom.
Her uncle’s animal cries hit her halfway across the courtyard, and rage surged. She tried to twist out of Hugo’s hold to race to the cellar, but his grip became so tight that she hissed in pain.
Broch, who had fallen into step beside her, narrowed his eyes on Hugo. “The lady is stubborn,” Broch said, his voice vibrating with what sounded to Sorcha like barely controlled anger. “If ye treat her thusly, she may refuse to marry ye, the king’s edict be damned.”
Hugo bared his teeth at her and Broch. “Do ye intend to stop me, as the king commanded ye to see she is treated well?”
“Nay,” Broch said, though he did sound reluctant to Sorcha.
Hugo grunted his amusement. “Excellent. I imagine she will relent if I beat her long enough, or perchance I’ll beat her uncle.”
Sorcha flinched at Hugo’s threat. No matter what, she somehow had to get Brom away. So loud were Brom’s cries that Sorcha had to curl her hands into fists in an effort not to pummel Hugo for what he had done. However, she feared a show of her anger toward him would worsen his treatment of Brom. When the cellar door was finally opened, Brom came barreling out, bellowing and swinging his fists in front of him, his face twisted in rage. For one breath, Sorcha wondered if he could escape, and she considered not calling his name—he was too wrought with emotion to have noticed her otherwise—but when Hugo raised his sword as if to strike Brom, she feared what Hugo would do.
“Brom!” she called. The swinging of his fists slowed a bit, but as Hugo’s men started to encircle him, he became frenzied once more. “Brom!” she yelled again and broke out of Hugo’s hold. When he reached for her as if to stop her, Broch gripped Hugo by the forearm.
“Let her try to calm the man, so that yer own men are nae injured,” Broch said.
Hugo jerked his head in a nod, and that small relenting gave her hope. “Call yer men back, please,” she begged, as an idea finally came to her.
“Fall back,” Hugo barked.
The moment they did, she moved slowly toward Brom, who was still swinging his arms. His eyes held a wild look, darting to and fro, but she called to him over and over until his gaze came slowly to her and recognition dawned in his eyes. Some of the fear ebbed, and a genuine smile lit his face. “Brom’s Sorcha,” he said in a voice filled with happiness. He held out his arms, and she went to her uncle and gave him a hug, pressing her lips to his ear.
“Let’s play a game,” she said to him, her voice a threadbare whisper. She could not tell him the truth; he’d never run if he thought she was in danger. The only way she could possibly save him was to lie to him.
He nodded, and she took his hand in hers and led him, under Hugo’s watchful gaze, some feet away to take a seat on a log. Brom was big but fast, and he knew these woods well. If she could give him a lead, even if only a breath of one, maybe he could escape. It was his only chance.
