Page 4 of Bound to Her Highland Lord
The other men in the room didn’t seem to hold the same opinion as Sorcha. They all seemed to cling to his every word, to believe that the venomous lies he uttered were the truth. To her horror, she saw that every man gathered nodded along with the Baron’s plans.
“We will join our forces to create an army so great that these vermin cannot hope to stand against us. We will conquer their lands, taking their tenants and crops for ourselves. And then, those who are sensible enough to bend to our laws, will be taught what is proper. We will ensure that each and every survivor becomes a true English citizen.”
The little Sorcha had eaten that day soured in her stomach. His threats to her home, to the land she loved dearly, was a worse blow than any of his guards had landed.
“I must admit, I do not like sharing a border with the Scots.”
“Yes, I fear they are always plotting an uprising against me.”
She sat, head pounding from where the guard still held her hair, wrists burning from the friction of the rope against her skin, horrified to hear the lords all begin to murmur theiragreement. It was one thing to attend such a meeting. It was another thing altogether to pledge their armies to the cause.
“I do not boast of the largest group of fighting men,” a third man spoke up, “but those I do have will join us. I will not wait for raids and attacks on my people to begin before I do something about this.”
The longer she sat on her bruised knees, listening to the scheming of the Englishmen, the more wild the Baron’s eyes became. He looked completely and utterly drunk on the power of holding the entire room in control.
I have to warn Lachlan and Aila. I have to get out of here.
Unable to move her head an inch, she searched the room with her eyes, looking for any sign of Taryn. Finding none, she focused once more on the Baron, silently praying for a way out of this mess.
“We must show them that we will no longer accept their thieving, deceitful ways,” Baron Dudley declared. “And to start, we will make an example ofher.”
Sorcha’s heart pounded against her ribs. This wasn’t at all the way things were supposed to go. Instead of saving Taryn, she had gotten herself trapped, making a complete and utter mess of things.
“Throw her in the dungeon and let her rot. Should anyone come asking about her, we will tell them the truth—she is a greedy pilferer, just like all the other Scots. They will see once and for all what we do with those who defy English rule.”
“Nay,yeare the invaders! Ye have more blood on yer hands than all the Scottish Lairds put together,” Sorcha bellowed.
Whatever tight grip she’d had on her temper had loosened with every second she stayed in that hall, until it had finally snapped and so had she. If she was doomed to spend her days in a cell, she would at least say her piece.
“Ye are a murderer, Dudley, slaughtering women and children and a whole host of other innocents just to get yer way. Ye have surrounded yerself with idiots, too stupid to see yer cruelty. But they will when ye turn yer eye to their land and wives, as I ken ye will.”
Incensed, the Baron pushed himself from his seat and stalked towards her. Fueled with adrenaline, Sorcha continued hurling her insults, ignoring the guard’s painful grip on her hair and shoulder, his once again futile attempt to silence her.
“Where is Taryn?” she demanded. “What have ye done with her, ye vile man? Have ye killed her, too, for wounding yer fragile ego?”
She barely got the word out before the Baron’s hand came flying across the space between them, landing on her already cut cheek. Her ears rang and her vision danced. The guard who had been so ruthlessly holding her up, had let her fall and without her hands free to catch herself, Sorcha’s head landed on the stone floor with a sickening crack. Something warm rushed around her ear, and she had to swallow back the bile that rose in her throat.
“Get her out of here. Now!”
“Wait.”
A chair scraped against the floor somewhere behind her, filling the silence of the room. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Baron’s hand clench in frustration. He clearly didn’t appreciate being contradicted.
“The woman is mine.”
2
THE BARTERED AND THE BROKEN
“Do you have some previous claim on the wench that we are unaware of Lord Blackwood?”
Every word of Dudley’s question dripped with disdain. Sorcha didn’t think it was possible for the man to grow more peeved, but somehow, this Lord Blackwood had accomplished the feat. There were only two reasons a man like Dudley would bow a knee, even temporarily, to another man—either Dudley was afraid of Blackwood, or Blackwood outranked him. Sorcha didn’t much care to uncover which of these was the truth in this case. Neither boded well for her.
“Consider it your gift to me. An act of goodwill.”
His words were cool, sharp, and unyielding like the metal of the sword Sorcha knew he undoubtedly carried.
“An act of goodwill?”
