Chapter 3
“How should we do it?” Rhea sat up straight.
The sisters shared a look of agreement and then turned to Sorcha with eager eyes.
Sorcha was struck mute by their easy acquiescence. Surely the Laird would have had enough decorum to at least, in the presence of such fresh faces, hide his meanness. Then again, he didn’t seem the sort of man who cared a farthing for anyone other than himself.
But then she remembered how he had generously given her the option to remarry or return to her clan. Any other man would not have bothered to ensure her well-being. He could have simply thrown her out into the streets.
She quickly interrupted that train of thought. She would not give him more thought than he deserved. He had wrongly thrown her out of her chambers the previous night and had been very harsh toward her earlier. She would not sway for a few minor rectitudes she read too much into.
“We’re women, and there’s nae much we can do,” she mused out loud.
They waited, assuming her assessment would lead to a resolution. At her silence, they let out exasperated sighs.
Sorcha racked her brain, ashamed by their disappointment. She was no Machiavellian. She was a simple woman with genial habits, and the Laird was no pushover. He stood tall and proud, spoke with the rigor of a man who knew how much power he held.
She knew she was a speck compared to him, but she was confident nevertheless. Her complacency stemmed from an indisputable score over him. The whole clan was against him and, therefore, on her side.
Rhea perked up a few minutes later. “We could give him a right bother.”
Sorcha raised her eyebrows. “How do we frustrate a man out of power?”
Caelan had straddled the chair beside her. He sat wide-legged at an angle that faced the trio. He was as quiet as always, keeping his thoughts to himself. He regarded them with amusement, and Sorcha welcomed the respite from the concern that usually marred his face.
“We could disturb his stay? Give his sleep a rattle by being awfully loud at night—that’ll drive him out,” Rhea declared, glancing at Avery for approval.
But Avery was too deep in thought to comment. She seemed to grasp the solemnity of the situation better than her sister.
“The Laird doesnae seem the kind to be rattled by a clatter. In fact, he’s the most brutish man I’ve ever met.
” Sorcha kept her dismissals polite, so Rhea didn’t get irked at how constant they were or her lack of ideas.
Then she added as an afterthought, “He must’ve spent his youth camping in caves with the bears. ”
Rhea laughed, and Avery smiled.
Once her laughter died, Rhea suggested, “We could ruin his clothes…”
Sorcha imagined sneaking into her former chambers, with Rhea and Avery in tow. She imagined Caelan keeping watch while they ransacked the Laird’s wardrobe. She could feel the fabric beneath her fingers, soft and smooth, so she ripped it with unrestrained anger, and it fell around her.
Inwardly, she delighted at the idea. Outwardly, its impracticality evoked a bashing.
“We’d need to get into his room first, and that could get the maids in trouble.”
“How about we rack up credit in his name? We could make him destitute.”
“His money is yer money. Ye would only be hurtin’ yerselves.”
The slip upset her. She was as much a MacLean as every other person bearing the name. Whether or not William had set up camp, she was still the lady of the castle, by name and by law.
In short, his money was still very much her money. In fact, it was her fortune before his. Her marriage was short-lived, but it happened.
She did not correct the blunder, but held it in her heart and soul, never to repeat it.
“I heard the tale of a lass,” Rhea began, pacing about the room.
The servants had cleared the table, and they had moved to the drawing room.
“When she wanted to turn down a wedding, she threw herself into a pond.
When they pulled her out, she kept on throwing herself into any body of water.
Sometimes the maids would find her in the morning, soaked from head to toe, lying in her bed.
“Nay one kent where the water came from, so they’d locked her chambers every night. Eventually, they called a priest, and he said she was haunted by a maritime spirit. Her betrothed called off the engagement instantly, and after he did, she became as sound as a pound.”
Avery frowned. “She pretended to be haunted, just to give the lad a fright?”
“Aye,” Rhea declared proudly. “One of us could feign a haunting, and the Laird will flee the castle.”
“But the Laird has nay intention of marrying either one of us; why would he run?”
“He could be religious?” Rhea suggested.
“He’d send the possessed to the church for an exorcism. I daenae fancy any of us endin’ up locked in the chapel’s basements.” Avery shuddered, horror-stricken.
Rhea sobered, and she settled in the chaise beneath the window.
“The girl from the story,” Sorcha started, “what happened to her after?”
She could not help but draw similarities between this girl and herself.
She had always hardened her heart, pretended the rumors were nothing but tales told by the crowd.
In the secrecy of her chambers, where her mind was free to wander, she wondered—no, the right word was feared. She feared she was a jinx.
“Her reputation was ruined.” Rhea seemed to realize the flaw in her plan as her gaze dimmed, but then she perked up. “But ye could do it. Ye have a reputation—” She clapped a hand over her mouth when Sorcha winced. “I didnae mean it like that…”
But the damage had already been done. The box of insecurities was shaken open.
Sorcha felt anxiety seep into her bones. Her fingers trembled, so she curled them. Her smile faltered as she struggled to keep her composure. She had to look away, for her eyes stung.
“Rhea!” Avery hissed.
Caelan gave Sorcha’s hand a comforting squeeze, but it only managed to increase the tension.
She refused to become a victim. So she smiled. “I could marry him instead and let me curse get him.”
But it was the worst thing she could have said.
She imagined the girls’ father lying in his bed, covered in his own blood.
Murderer, witch…
The words echoed in her head, and the faces morphed into the girls’. She tried to call out to them, to beg for their understanding, but her voice was muted. She could only watch, a victim of their accusations.
Avery clapped her hands, cutting into the gruesome thoughts. “Let’s play a game.”
“How would that drive the Laird away?” Sorcha asked, her anxiety ebbing.
“We shouldnae waste more time on that dastard. Instead, we should have fun. Who kens, maybe we could frustrate him that way.” Avery beckoned Rhea over.
Rhea rose from her seat and joined them, looking everywhere but at Sorcha.
As she explained the rules of the game, Avery moved around the room. “I would hide an object.” She picked up a candleholder and removed the candle. The brass base must have weighed a ton, for she struggled to hold it up. “Then ye three would search for it.”
Caelan made a sound as if he thought himself exempt from their childishness.
“The weather’s too bad to play outside, so we stay here.” Avery shooed them out of the room, claiming that she also needed to set the stage. Sorcha shuddered
Once they were outside, Rhea took her hand. She lifted her head from the closed door and turned to her. “I am sorry again, I really didnae mean to—”
Sorcha waved a dismissive hand. “I am nae angry with ye.”
Before she could say anything else, the oak doors swung open.
Her eyes trailed over the void Avery had left.
She could still make out the upholstery as light spilled in from the corridor, but once they were in the room and the door shut behind them, they would not be able to make out much.
She quickly mapped the room, superimposing her earlier memory over the present, and the shadows took form.
Whilst she pondered on a strategy, Caelan and Rhea rushed past her with a childlike eagerness.
Sorcha was not particularly competitive, but on that day, she rifled through her personalities and pulled out a conqueror’s sword.
The weapon, bestowed upon her on the day of her birth, granted her perceptiveness. She bravely swung the sword to victory.
Before the door closed, she rushed toward the biggest shadow. Her hand came in contact with the cold gilded edge of a couch. But she could not celebrate the small achievement just yet.
Her second course of action was to listen for her map. She listened for Rhea and Caelan’s cries as they bumped into one object after another. She noted the parts she should avoid and the places their feet freely padded through.
She decided that the rug at the center of the room was the most hazardous thing.
Of course, her plan wasn’t perfect. On her first step, she ricocheted off a hard surface. Caelan laughed as he steadied her.
She would also have to dodge moving traps. Noted.
She maneuvered her way through the room, following her mental map. Rhea had bruised enough limbs to complete the map. It was unlikely for another accident to occur.
Suddenly, Sorcha bumped her knee against something and stumbled forward. She put her arms out in front of her. Luckily, the item was a stool, which must have been dislodged during the chaos. She balanced herself on the flat surface and tried to stand.
To her dismay, the stool was a dessert trolley. The wheels wobbled, and she came tumbling. She yelped, and a crash followed as the trolley collided with the hard bark of something.
She did not meet the floor, for a pair of muscular arms wrapped around her waist and held her up. She leaned gratefully against her cousin’s shoulder.
“Thank ye, Caelan,” she sighed.
His fingers pressed into her spine, forcing her to arch into him.
His grip was aggressive. It did not feel like her cousin’s, nor did his body.
She had wanted to rest her head against his shoulder when she collided with his chest. It wasn’t a miscalculation; the man holding her could not be her cousin.
William bowed his head and hissed, “Are ye enjoying yerself?”
Sorcha stiffened as his breath fanned her ear. How could she have thought this imposing figure was her cousin?
Light peeked in from where he had slipped in. When she looked away, she noticed how the whole room had come to a halt. Even Caelan seemed threatened by him.
“Open the curtains.”
Muslin dresses rustled at his request.
Sorcha could not help but feel she would be punished. The way he clung to her added to her fears.
Slowly, light poured into the room, revealing William’s glare. Sorcha wanted to shrink away, but his grip anchored her to his side. He cast a glance at her as if to dare her to try anything.
It was easier to argue with the brute from across the room, so she remained still.
“Leave us.”
Avery and Rhea gave her pitying looks, while Caelan hesitated. He stepped forward, as if to challenge William. His gaze never left the creases on her sleeves where William held her.
As her guard, it was his duty to ensure that she was safe, but he should have enough common sense to understand when she needed his help, and she did need his help at this very moment!
She wanted him to punch the man, throw her over his shoulder, and bolt out of the room.
But he seemed to interpret her look as her begging him to leave, so he left.
Once the door closed, William flung her away. She shot him a glare, caressing her throbbing arm.
“Ye are their elder, yet ye act as addle-brained as them.”
“Just because ye’re the Laird doesnae give ye the right to go around upsettin’ people.”
“I daenae give a farthing if ye are upset,” he boomed.
She had to hold her ground, or he would think it was all right to impose his will upon her. “I am nae asking ye to care. I am asking ye nae to do it.”
“Ye daenae give me orders.”
“I am nae givin’ ye orders, only givin’ suggestions on how we can live amicably.”
“I have nay intention of livin’ with ye, amicably or nae. What have ye decided about me proposal?”
“I’ve nae had the time to consider it.” She grimaced at how small her voice sounded.
“But ye’ve had the time to gallivant about, eh? Giggling like a banshee.”
“Banshees daenae giggle, idiot,” she muttered under her breath.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
“Ye daenae ken what dangerous waters ye’re treading.”
“Me two feet seem to be on solid ground.”
He was imposing, especially as he leaned closer. She had to remind herself that he would not harm her, no matter how rude he was. He was all bark and no bite.
“From now on, nay more games.”
Sorcha opened her mouth to protest, but William raised a hand, cutting her off.
“Avery and Rhea are old enough to be wed; they shouldnae be actin’ like bairns. Ye ought to decide what ye want yer future to be like. That’s yer only duty from now on. Until ye come to me with an answer, ye’ll stop yer—”
Sorcha slapped his hand away from her face. “I daenae ken who ye think ye are! Nae even me faither can tell me what to do.”
“A failin’ of his. But I heard that he had ordered ye to marry the dead dastard.”
She clenched her jaw. “A laird who gets his information from gossip? How unreliable.”
“I was merely giving ye the benefit of the doubt.”
“How chivalrous of ye.”
“Please, daenae be confused.”
Just then, she spotted the candleholder Avery claimed to have hidden in the exact same spot she had retrieved it from. In a burst of disbelief, she rushed for it.
William grabbed her wrist just as her fingers wrapped around the bronze, looking horror-stricken. “If ye plan is to bash me head in, I assure ye, I willnae go down that easily.”
“I assure ye, if I intend to kill ye, ye willnae see me coming.”
He yanked her back, and she slammed into him, her breath whooshing out of her. If he were any closer, their lips would be touching.
The thought repulsed her.
“I give ye three months to make yer decision. If ye daenae come to me with an answer by then, I will throw ye out into the streets without a bit of sympathy.”
“Only if I daenae manage to get rid of ye first.”
“Ye can only be rid of me when ye leave me castle.” He turned around and walked away. “Daenae test me further; I can change me mind any minute and throw ye out.”
“Ye forget that I am a laird’s daughter, nae some random lassie.”
The candleholder hit the closed door, leaving a deep dent.
She could not help but be bothered by his threats. She now had three months. Three months to either cave to his will or get rid of him. On any other day, she would plan. But tonight, he would not get a good night’s rest.