Chapter 4
William woke up in a cold sweat despite the chill of the night. Something had shocked him awake but the night around him seemed still and unbothered. He ran a hand over his face on a sigh.
He didn’t know when he had fallen asleep, all he could recall was that he had passed out the moment his back touched the warm bedcovers.
A loud, feminine voice cried out again, shocking the last dregs of sleep from his person.
“What the bloody hell is that?” he said, stumbling to his feet.
The voice was hoarse and raw, and it came from the corridor, that much he noticed. He stumbled in the dark until he reached the heavy wooden door and yanked it open.
The low light only added to his sense of doom as he felt his way down the corridor. He was still battling delirium when an epiphany hit him like harsh waves against a sailor’s ship.
He stumbled backward. That voice… he knew it.
Sorcha.
He bolted.
He did not care much for her person. It was only duty that pushed him forward to prevent such a calamitous event on his first day as Laird.
Her injury or death would no doubt lead the blame to fall on him or worse would have them revoke his claim on the title for his inability to protect the clan. It wouldn’t be a hard thing for them to do seeing as they were yet to accept him after all.
A dark thought came to his mind. This could be their plan. They had sided with his uncle so quickly after the man had murdered his parents. It wouldn’t be so difficult to take another life so easily to further their goals.
He pushed the memory away and barreled into her room.
Moonlight shone over her still form. His chest heaved as he watched her, unconscious and unharmed. He stalked to her, and her lips parted, releasing another bone-chilling scream.
He stood over her, and her lids fluttered just enough for him to realize her ploy. She was not sleeping. Rather, she was pretending, disturbing him in his sleep with petty little tricks.
What would she gain? What was her motive?
She was small and frail in his arms, so when he shook her, her neck bobbed dangerously. “Lass, wake up!”
Her eyes opened, then widened in feigned horror. She was a great actress. Her chest quivered as she gulped in air, and her eyes darted around the room, pretending to make sense of reality.
“What are ye doing in me room?”
William released her, and she pulled the covers over her chest. He gritted his teeth as he backed away from her.
She sat up, pulling the covers along with her. Beneath, her hands worked on tying her robe. At least, she still had some sense of decency.
A maelstrom of emotions rose in William’s chest—annoyance, anger, irritation, and most especially confusion at the woman holding back a grin. He was used to women, and none had ever been like her.
“I heard screams.”
The room was dark, and her hair blended with the shadows. He decided he must have seen an emotion other than mischief flashing across her face.
“I am truly sorry to have woken ye. Ye see…” She coyly inched away from him, pulling her slender legs into her chest like a child suffering from a melancholic bout. “I was having a nightmare about me husband.” She looked at him from beneath thick lashes. “Yer uncle.”
Had it been any other woman, he would have thought she intended to seduce him. This recalcitrant was very much waiting for the vein to pop in his forehead.
He decided to take the bait. Show her the dangers of summoning a man into her chambers in the middle of the night. His uncle never got the chance to enjoy her, so he would feel no guilt.
“I see. I heard ye found his body. It must be hard for a woman of yer delicate nature.”
“Thank ye for yer understanding.” Then she lay back down. “And thank ye for coming to check if I was in any danger, but ye may leave now. Please close the door on yer way out.”
William gritted his teeth as he watched her pretend to sleep. He was even more irritated when her lashes fluttered so she could discreetly watch his exit.
Too bad. He considered leaving the door ajar. If he were lucky, the cold would get to her. Or slamming the door and giving her a fright.
He shook his head. He refused to stoop to her level.
He had barely stepped past the third lamp when another scream sounded.
This time, he did not run to her. He walked, his pace brisk and purposeful. Her wails did not stop even after he crossed into her room. He stormed to her and clapped a hand over her mouth.
She did not feign fear. “I didnae mean to make ye come back.” Her breath was hot against his palm.
He groaned as her tongue darted out and licked him. “Ye’re going to rouse the castle. Perhaps ye should sleep outside if it would do better for yer constitution.”
He found his breath after a moment. By then, his anger had subsided into something more carnal. He lowered his nose to hers, smelling her musky scent, and swallowed thickly.
Eventually, after a few minutes of staring at her, he withdrew his hand. He realized it had been burning. Around her lips, perspiration caught the light. Sorcha scooted away, putting distance between them.
He could not decide if she was merely uncomfortable or if his grip had traumatized her.
“I’m sorry. I’m nae usually such a bother.” He found that hard to believe. “I would forgo this evening’s sleep if it meant ye could get some beauty sleep.”
“Do that, then.”
Sorcha walked out of the room and then returned with a lit taper. She wrapped her hand around the candleholder in a way he found arousing.
At that moment, William decided it was time to get some well-deserved sleep. He left her room for the second time that evening.
Once in his room, he took off his shirt and boots, but left his trousers on.
He sank into the bed with the intention to sleep and not be woken until sunlight hit his eyes, but he could not get the sight of her beneath him out of his mind. He groaned loudly, rubbing a hand down his face.
Sleep. Sleep. Sleep.
His mind quieted, then he recalled how her breasts had jiggled when she moved. Worse, he had felt her soft skin beneath his palm.
He fought the urge not to bring his palm to his face, but that did not stop the memory from replaying in his mind.
Sleep.
Perspiration, her lips.
Sleep.
Her tongue, his fingers.
He was going mad. He was hearing her voice now, her soft laughter. He roared, but the sound didn’t fade. He bolted up, ready to beat his head into submission, when he realized the sound was not a betrayal of his mind.
She was no longer screaming, but laughing loudly, manically. William wanted to make her submit to him. He wanted her obedience. He spotted a white ribbon across the room, and he figured out just how to handle her.
He got up and returned to her chamber, slamming the door open as he did. She was clearly startled from sleep, as she bolted upright, looking around wildly. When her eyes landed on him, she frowned.
Her hair fell in temptingly loose waves down her shoulders, and her darned robe had slipped down her arm, exposing one creamy shoulder. He gritted his teeth as desire surged through him.
She was so stupidly reckless, repeatedly summoning a man to her chambers. Tonight, she would regret it.
“Surely, I didnae scream this time. I had a wonderful dream about yer uncle,” she said groggily.
William refused to react. He would not give her the satisfaction. He was almost soothing. If he were someone else eavesdropping, he would assume two doting lovers were conversing.
He shuddered at the thought.
Maybe death had saved his uncle from a lifetime of torture. Maybe, just maybe, his uncle had outwitted him once more by leaving his disaster of a wife to his charge.
Blast! He was getting angry again.
Calm yerself.
A wave of calm washed over him. His shoulders dropped, his lips quirked up, and his fingers uncurled around the ribbon in his pocket.
“Last time I was here, ye were setting up to stay awake.”
“I tried, but ye ken I am a delicate woman, and I couldnae fight sleep,” Sorcha simpered, throwing his words back at him. “I thought it would be better this time. I promise, this isnae on purpose.”
She swung her legs over the side of the bed, fiddling with her fingers.
“I believe ye.” He sank beside her, planting his knee on the mattress. He patted her head, and she went still. “At least ye werenae haunted this time. I am glad.”
She forced a smile that resembled a crack on a porcelain doll. “Ye’re being awfully amiable.”
“I’m nae the monster ye make me out to be. In fact, I ken a way to help ye, so we can both enjoy the evening.”
“What’s that?” She swallowed as he stroked her cheeks.
He hooked a thumb beneath her jaw and tilted her face up. She tried to follow his movements discreetly, but to no avail, for his grip anchored her gaze to his.
He deftly fished the ribbon from his pocket and hid it behind his back. She was forced to hold his gaze. The lovely slant to her eyes drew him in but he didn’t allow himself get distracted by her.
“What are ye doin’?” she asked, swallowing deeply.
“Somethin’ I believe will be most enjoyable for both of us,” he answered.
And then, before she could react, he roughly pushed her down and straddled her. Eyes wide with fear and confusion, she fought against him, but he was quicker and stronger. The ribbon was tightly wrapped around her mouth before she could stop him..
“This looks good on ye,” he teased, watching her lips wrap around the white fabric.
Her lips were full and succulent, pink and swollen, and her hair fanned around her head, painting the picture of a woman properly ravished.
William almost smiled. With both hands, she batted at his chest. Her blows were weak and uncoordinated.
She could have targeted his throat, scratched out his eyes. He was used to women lashing out to protect themselves. Not that he experienced it personally; he had merely been a bystander.
The chance eluded her when he pinned her arms over her head. Muffled sounds escaped her as she struggled. Her robe parted down the middle, exposing her tender flesh.
He watched, transfixed, as she heaved beneath him. The more she struggled, the more breathless she became.
God, she was sensual.
She swallowed, and he watched the slight bob of her throat. Inwardly, he chastised himself. Outwardly, he traced a finger down her neck.
His gentleness surprised him.
He looked up to find her ogling him. Her eyes roamed over him, leaving heat in their wake, and he became more conscious of his partial nakedness. His muscles flexed at her attention, and when her gaze lingered on the bulge in his breeches, his length throbbed.
He backed away, her skin feeling unbearably hot. “I like ye better when ye are quiet.” His voice was hoarse, betraying the awkwardness he felt.
Her figure blurred as he watched her sideways, his feet rooted to the spot from shame. Maybe it was punishment for having behaved appropriately with his uncle’s widow.
It was unfair. He owed the man no courtesy. His uncle had once coveted what belonged to him, leaving bloodshed in his wake. It was only right that he returned the favor.
William shook his head. It was unseemly, considering he hadn’t decided if Sorcha was his enemy or not.
Hours ago, he had been so ready to throw her into another man’s bed, and now he refused to name the emotion he felt.
With one last glance, he left her room.
Her scent followed him outside, wrapping around him like a gossamer-thin sheath. It wasn’t only desire that paralyzed him, but also emotion.
Slowly, he pushed himself forward. The farther away he was from her, the quicker he could free himself from her thrall.
He trudged the path to his bedroom, acutely aware of the tap of his feet against the floor. His desire fought, pulling him back, refusing to release him.
A part of him, the younger part that would have bedded any woman that reacted to his touch, screamed at him to return to her. . Its lusty hands wrapped its fingers around his heart and pumped; that was why he felt like he would die if he did not give in.
He was only a few steps away from his chambers when Myles emerged from the end of the hallway. He quickened his pace, frowning. He watched him pause by his door, creasing his forehead as if unsure what to do, before moving along.
Myles halted upon seeing him. “Did ye hear that, too?” His sword hung at his side, and he clutched the hilt with the alertness of a soldier.
William straightened immediately. It seemed Sorcha’s spells worked better when he was alone.
“I have handled it.” He brushed past Myles into his room, aware the man would follow.
“What was it?”
He remembered her soft lips and gleaming eyes. She must be untying the ribbon, he thought with a rueful smile.
That stubborn thing.
He chastised himself inwardly and shook away the fondness.
“Me uncle’s widow.”
“Ah,” Myles hummed, leaning against the doorframe. “Ye didnae do anythin’ to her, did ye?”
William had his back to him as he undressed. Then he lowered himself into the chair at the corner. “I daenae have the time for this.”
Deciding the night was nothing to be kept a secret, he recounted what had happened. Leaving out certain parts, of course.
“She’s a handful,” Myles commented.
William grunted in agreement. He was loath to speak any further of her, especially when images of her body kept tormenting him.