Oliver watched through his laden lidded eyes as Sorcha studied his horse. He knew what she was thinking, what she was planning. She was going to leave him here to die, leave him to his fate.
In a half-attempt at rising so he could convince her to do otherwise, Oliver tried to prop himself up on his elbow, only to fall back on the ground. His energy drained out of him right alongside his blood, leaving him more helpless than he ever cared to be.
Sorcha let out a deep sigh, and Oliver forced his eyes open so he could watch what she would decide. Stalking across the bloodied yet still clearing, she stood over one of the only men still breathing. She had knocked him unconscious several minutes before with the hilt of his sword. Oliver didn’t envy the headache the man was sure to have as she jostled the guard awake, slapping him on the cheek once then twice in an effort to bring him around.
“Wake up!” she shouted. “Tell me what ye ken!”
Oliver let his cheek rest on the cool dirt beneath him, his eyes threatening to close once more. But her shouts kept him focused, kept him alert.
“Why did ye come after us?”
The guard roused, his head lolling to one side and then the other as she jerked him around.
“Is it me that Dudley is after?” She tried again.
“Why would he wantyou?”
Even half-awake, the guard still managed to be insulting. Oliver’s fingers itched with the need for violence.
“Then what is it that he wants?” Sorcha pressed on, ignoring the insult entirely. “Why did ye come after us?”
Oliver noted that she seemed entirely capable of having a conversation without the need to exchange barbs. It just seemed she was incapable of doing so with him. The thought was a passing one as Sorcha continued her interrogation.
“Tell me what ye ken, or I will strap ye to yer horse and send ye back to Dudley with a letter telling him how spectacularly ye and yer men have failed.”
“The Marquess,” the guard answered immediately. “We were sent after him.”
Sorcha cast a doubtful glance over her shoulder towards Oliver. He could see the endless list of questions rolling around in her head, the gears in her mind turning.
“Why did he send ye after Lord Blackwood? I thought he was an ally to the Baron.”
“Once Dudley got Blackwood’s signature, he no longer needed the Marquess. He figures no one will care if he dies. It leaves the Blackwood estate open and vulnerable for Dudley to take for himself.”
Pressing her foot further into the man’s wounds, gaining a groan of pain from the guard, she stared down with a hard look in her eyes.
“So what was the plan? Kill us both and invade Lord Blackwood’s land?”
Oliver hated how formal his name sounded on her lips. A futile thought he knew, as he lay dying in the mud, but one that plagued him every time she mentioned him all the same.
“We were to kill him and bring you back to Lord Dudley. Then he would spread word that it was Scottish raiders who killed the Marquess. A dead Lord would be sure to garner the support of the men still hesitant of the Baron’s cause.”
Growling, Sorcha looked down on the man with disgust. Oliver echoed the feeling.
“Tell me why I should allow ye to live. Ye beat me, threw me in prison, and are here to murder an innocent man. Every other man ye came here with today is dead. Why do ye get to live?”
“I was only following orders,” the guard answered through clenched teeth as Sorcha pressed more of her weight onto his arm. “I was only doing what I was told.”
Picking up the man’s own sword, she pointed the tip of the blade at his neck.
“Had ye nay thought of yer own? Did ye nae think that ye should find a new lord to serve? One less wicked? Do ye nae see anything wrong with chasing after an innocent man?”
The guard hesitated for a moment too long. Sorcha slashed the sword against the thin skin of the guard’s neck with a gentle swish of her wrist.
“At least now, ye are saved from facing yer merciless Lord again.”
She spat in the guard’s direction, annoyed with everything the man said and stood for, frustrated that he had cost them so much valuable time for Oliver. Dropping the sword, she rushed back to Oliver’s side, confusion etched in her brow.
“Och, what are we going to do with ye?” she asked him, significantly more gently than she had questioned the guard.
