“Why does he keep ye here?” Sorcha asked, mind racing.
“To prove a point that he can, I guess. I have been found guilty, in his mind, of a grave sin against him by thwarting him the most bonny Scottish lass money can buy. My sentence is tobe a prisoner here, stuck serving his dreadful table for the rest of my days, any chance of my own happiness ruined.”
Stunned into silence, Sorcha said nothing as Laura continued her ministrations, applying a salve to her cheek with a gentle touch. For the first time since the girl came in, Sorcha looked at her, really looked. Her hair was braided and pulled back tight, hidden beneath a gray cap. Only a few errant tendrils of dark hair poked through. Her eyes, saddened around the corners, were a pale green; a shade that Sorcha was sure would have been magnificent in the sunlight. But judging from the pale and dry skin of Laura’s hands and face, Sorcha doubted the girl was allowed much time to do anything besides work. The thought made her heart ache anew.
“Did ye really come all this way to save Taryn?” Laura asked, as if the thought had bubbled up from somewhere deep inside her.
“Aye.”
“Why?”
“Because I love her. I would do anything for her.”
A beat of silence.
“And do ye believe that she would do the same for ye? Ye think that Taryn would risk everything she has to save a friend?”
“Absolutely. I ken that she would.”
Sorcha’s answer came with no hesitation, but it didn’t seem to be the answer that Laura was looking for.
“I was once Taryn’s friend too,” Laura said bitterly, her hands folded in her lap once again. “I loved her, too, risked everything for her happiness. But she forgot about me. She did nae love me the way I loved her. She never came back to help me.”
“I will help ye,” Sorcha vowed without reserve. “I will find some way to escape, some way out of here. And when I do, I will take ye with me. We will escape together.”
Laura hung her head and shook it, like a disappointed school marm whose students had missed a valuable lesson.
“Ye dinnae understand. There is nay escaping the Baron. There is nay way out of here. Nae for me.”
3
POURED AND FORGOTTEN
The prisoner’s words followed Laura back up the stairs and into the Great Hall. It had felt like a lifetime since she had spoken of Taryn, let alone met someone who knew her. Though, Laura couldn’t claim to know who Taryn McGregor was anymore. She was heartbroken for the woman in the cell. Laura saw so much of herself in Sorcha.
There had been a time when Laura would have bet her very breath that Taryn would come for her; that Taryn wasn’t the kind of friend to leave Laura imprisoned. But the days had soon turned to weeks and months. Now, three years later, Laura was still serving ale in Lord Dudley’s Great Hall, dodging the drunken leers of the men he invited to dine.
Pitcher in one hand, she used the other to steady it, careful not to spill a single drop as she poured more into the cups of the Englishmen who were already far too gone. She had spent two weeks in the same cell Sorcha was in now after some other Baron had blamed her for spilling his wine. Baron Dudley banished her a second, or perhaps it was a third time, for wearing a dress the wrong color.
As much as she loathed it, she played his game. Her hair stayed pinned back behind her dowdy cap, making her look farolder than her twenty years. She was only allowed dresses in gray or brown wool, the same color as the stone walls. And it was against those walls that she pressed herself to, trying to make herself as small and unnoticeable as possible.
“I will find some way to escape, some way out of here. And when I do, I will take ye with me. We will escape together.”
Sorcha’s promise, her claim of escape rolled around in the back of Laura’s mind as she scanned the room looking for more cups to fill. Laura had given up any dreams of escaping this estate long ago. The Baron was not a man easily thwarted. Having been given to the Baron by her own Laird, there wasn’t anyone coming to save her from this fate. There would be nowhere to run to even if she did manage to get free.
With a deep sigh that rose from somewhere within her soul, Laura moved across the room, ready to pour more ale. Her eyes hung briefly on the streaks of blood that marred the floor. She had spent weeks drying and tying the rushes together, weaving the straw with sprigs of rosemary and chips of cedar wood to fend off the smells of castle life. All of her hard work would need to be thrown out and replaced before the Baron rose tomorrow if she had any chance of avoiding his wrath. All because the vile man couldn’t seem to help himself from beating those he thought inferior to him.
“No more.”
The quiet order held enough authority in it that Laura’s hand froze, the tilting jug sloshing its contents around in its more than half empty walls. She glanced at the man’s face, needing to assure herself that she had heard him correctly. More often than not, the Englishmen her captor invited to his home shared the same level of greed with the Baron and were more than happy to drink him dry. In all her years of serving the Baron’s table, she had never been told “no more.” But the warm glow of the Marquess’ eyes assured her that she had heard correctly.
She nodded hastily and bolted back to the wall, waiting for the next man to call her over, summoning the wine more than they were her. It was a blessing, she knew, to become invisible so easily. Men paid attention to women like Sorcha, like Taryn—those with beautiful hair and even more alluring eyes. She reminded herself for the hundredth time that she didn’t want the attention of these men. She didn’t want the attention of any man. She could be content in this life so long as she was left unscathed.
The lie lay in her thoughts like a sleeping dog—better left untouched.
“More! We need more!”
Lord Dudley’s demand echoed throughout the Great Hall as he stood and swayed on his dais, the men he gathered cheering on his antics. A quick glance at her pitcher told her that she had already poured all the wine she had brought from the kitchens. A sigh of relief escaped her lips as she scurried back to the warm hearth under the guise of obeying the Baron’s orders.
