Page 56 of Halfling
Sorcha knew what she must look like to these people, blubbering as she attempted to steal their horse and wagon. She could see in the man’s eyes he thought she was daft.
“Please,” she murmured, wiping at her eyes to control her sobs. “My name is Sorcha Brádaigh, daughter of Sir Ciaran Byrne of Granach, second to Lord Merrick Darrow. I’ve been trying to get home and my friend was taking me when we were attacked. I know this is strange and I know you’ve no reason to trust me, but—”
Sorcha gasped, remembering what little she had. Diving for her pack, she closed her hand around the coin purse. It wasn’t nearly enough to pay for a horse and wagon, but it had to beenough.
“Please, take this—I’ll leave this here, too—” she pulled her pack out of the wagon and set it on the barn floor, “—it’s everything I have. A promise I’ll come back, justplease,let me help him.”
Sorcha gaped at them, her desperation so thick it choked her. Her throat closed to think they may not help. And then what? She couldn’t fight the man and win—but shehad tohelp Orek, had to get to him before he lost too much blood or wolves found him or the other orc managed to—
“Anghus, go with her and bring her friend back,” said the woman, gently touching her husband’s arm.
“Cara…” the man grumbled.
“I know, she seems nuttier than squirrel scat, but what if she’s telling the truth?”
“Cara…”
“Yes, yes, but if you go with her and she leaves all her things…she’d be daft to leave all that behind.”
“Sheisdaft,” Anghus muttered.
“Maybe. And maybe it’s because she’s been through it today.” The woman turned kind eyes on Sorcha, looking her up and down. “Where were you attacked?”
“Down by the river, about a m-mile west. Th-there’s this rock f-formation that juts into the river,” Sorcha said, gritting her teeth as her body shook. She had to hold onto her nerve just a little longer—she could fall apart once she’d gotten back to Orek and seen to his injuries.
“We know it,” agreed the woman.
“Cara…”
“If I’m right, then someone needs help out there.”
“And if I am?” asked Anghus, one big eyebrow arched.
“Then toss her into the river. And…” She leaned in, and Sorcha pretended not to hear her whisper, “I’ll do that thing I save for your birthday and holidays.”
Anghus’s craggy face cracked with amusement, his cheeks gone rosy, but he quickly cleared his throat and resumed his scowl when he gazed warily back at Sorcha.
After a long moment, he let out a gusty sigh and nodded at the wagon. “I’ll drive. You look like a stiff breeze will knock you over.”
Sorcha’s knees nearly buckled with the weight of her relief.
“Thank you!” she yelped.
Anghus nodded, and as he climbed up into the seat, Sorcha handed off Darrah to a surprised Cara.
“Oh, ah…”
“Please take good care of him. I’ll be back for him, too. His name’s Darrah and he’ll eat anything.”
Ignoring Cara and Anghus’s incredulous looks, she threw herself into the back of the wagon behind Anghus.
He touched the handle of the axe lying beside him. “Don’t try anything funny now,” he told her. And to Cara he said, “If we’re not back by morning, fetch the town.”
Cara nodded, holding Darrah to her chest and her lantern aloft for them as Anghus cracked the reins and sent them flying off into the night. Sorcha dug her nails into the wood, the cool night air buffeting her face, and her heart jumped back into her throat.
I’m coming, hold on, I’m coming.
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