Chapter 9
Sorcha had discerned that much from the sounds she had heard in his chambers but his confirmation of her fears shocked her more than she had expected.
His words followed her into bed, lying next to her in the darkness of her chamber. Their presence was heavily felt, making sure she was trapped in the recurring echo.
No matter how many times she tossed and turned, no matter how hard she tried to shoo the thoughts away, they remained.
“There was an attempt on the Laird’s life.”
“Stop it,” she hissed. “Just stop thinkin’ about it.”
Obviously, the opposite happened. The questions came instead, one after the other, each sharp and insistent.
Who would dare do such a thing? And why now?
And beneath all those thoughts lay one that made her blood freeze: William could have died.
Her breath itched as the realization struck her anew. Her heart squeezed painfully.
“Always someone near me,” she whispered. “Always danger, always loss. Maybe I really am cursed.”
But then she recovered some sense. She was not betrothed to William. She had no claim on him, no right to his safety or his secrets. Whatever had happened that night had nothing to do with her. Nothing at all.
Taking a deep breath, she decided to try again. After the day’s exertion, she needed sleep.
However, just then, a flicker of light hit her window. It was quick, like something not intended by someone passing below. It made her go still.
Another flicker hit the glass, brighter this time.
“Torchlight?” She frowned.
She pushed herself upright, the sheets pooling around her waist. Soon enough, she climbed out of bed and went to the window. She parted the heavy curtains enough to peer out.
Below, in the courtyard, two figures moved through the dark.
She squinted her eyes slightly, and recognition struck. William walked ahead, the torchlight accentuating the contours of his broad frame. Beside him walked Myles, watchful as ever.
They both looked as though they had just returned from a horse ride. It was evident by the cloaks they wore.
Her breath slowed as her gaze locked on William. He looked different at night, which she had noticed. More severe, more dangerous. The light in his dark hair and the sharpness of his jaw only made her heart flutter.
When he turned his head briefly, she caught a glimpse of his dark brown eyes, and within them was something unreadable.
Irresistible, a voice whispered at the back of her head.
She swallowed.
The two men eventually crossed the courtyard, disappearing from view. It was only then that Sorcha leaned her forehead against the cool glass.
She exhaled slowly. “Of course,” she murmured to herself. “Ye would be thinkin’ of him now.”
Her reflection stared back at her. Her eyes were too bright, cheeks the same shade as her hair. A cold draft seeped through her thin nightgown, the perfect reminder to step back from the window.
She closed the curtains, when another memory resurfaced. His sharp voice had ordered her away that night. His anger had felt less like cruelty and more like protection.
She frowned. “He snapped at me because he was worried,” she said slowly, testing out the words. “Because he wanted to keep me safe.”
The suspicion burned and settled deep. It made her fingers curl at her sides, her courage growing amidst doubts. It grew with a certain need to see him.
It was foolish and reckless. Yet, she needed an answer. She needed to confirm her suspicion.
So she had to see him. Not tomorrow, not when daylight and sense returned, but now.
With her resolve hardening, she turned around. Before she could talk herself out of it, she was already moving toward the door.
“This is madness,” she muttered to herself as she reached for the doorknob. “Pure madness.”
But her fingers did not hesitate.
With one last glance at her darkened room, she stepped out the door, her heart pounding in her chest.
Standing before the door to his study, Sarcha had nearly lost her nerve.
The courage that had burned brightly back in her room now turned into the greatest betrayal. It faltered like a candle caught in the wind.
Her hand hovered inches from the dark wood, her fingers curled tightly as though knocking might bring about destruction.
From behind the door, voices murmured, unmistakably male.
William and Myles.
She couldn’t hear their words, but she caught their tone.
This is foolish.
Her heart thundered far too loudly in the quiet.
What in God’s name do ye think ye’re doing?
She tried to think about it. What would she even say if the door opened? That she could not sleep? That she had questions? That she had come because she could not stop thinking about the feel of his lips against hers?
And William was full of himself. He did not show it, but she could see it in the grace with which he moved and spoke. He would think she had come back for more.
Heat curled low. Not in her belly, but somewhere far more intimate. Instinctively, she pressed her thighs together, inwardly chastising herself. Her breath hitched.
She swallowed hard. “Ye’ll melt,” she whispered to herself. “The moment ye see him, ye’ll melt like butter on a hot stone.”
But then Myles’s words echoed in her mind again.
“There was an attempt on the Laird’s life.”
It was enough to steel her resolve.
“Here goes nothing,” she whispered, almost like a prayer.
Then she lifted her hand and knocked.
The voices inside stopped at once. Silence followed, the sort that made her skin pickle. Before she could reconsider her decision, she opened the door slowly and stepped inside.
For one suspended moment, no one moved.
Myles reacted first. He drew his sword, his stance immediately turning defensive, and his eyes narrowed to slits. He looked like he was expecting a killer rather than a woman in a nightgown.
Sorcha froze, fearing for her life, hoping realization would dawn on him before he made any move. Then it did.
“Me Lady?” His eyebrows flew up in surprise. “Ye move quieter than most.”
She released a shaky breath. “God above,” she muttered. “Do ye always greet people with steel?”
“Only the unexpected ones,” he replied mildly.
The exchange did little to steady her nerves.
Slowly, almost reluctantly, she looked past him. William stood near the desk, half bathed in the warm lamplight. He looked every inch the Laird—alert, dangerous, controlled.
That was when she realized they had not been alone in a room together since the kiss. Since heat and hunger had lured them into temptation.
Except now, there was none of that in his expression. If anything, his face was set in a deep frown. His dark brown eyes pinned her in place with unnerving intensity. She felt vulnerable beneath his gaze, exposed in a way that had nothing to do with the thin fabric clinging to her body.
Then his eyes lowered.
It was instant. He never touched her, but something about his eyes trailing over her curves made her core throb.
She had never been this ashamed of herself. A stare from him was enough to undo her, was enough to make her nipples stiffen, wishing he could cross even more dangerous lines.
But then his frown deepened further, pulling her out of her reverie. For a man who had her battling with her emotions, one irritated look from him was enough to bring her to her senses.
His eyes continued to trace her nightgown with obvious disregard. She could not tell whether it was her boldness in barging into his study or the revealing fabric that drew such disapproval. Either way, he made no effort to hide it.
Sorcha opened her mouth to speak, to say something that would break the suffocating tension. But Myles beat her to it.
“Well,” he drawled, his eyes flicking over her with frank appreciation, “I cannae say the night has lost its charm. Ye’ve nearly given me a heart attack and a blessing all in one breath.”
Her lashes fluttered at those words. She might have answered him in kind, might even have found her words. But then William spoke.
“Enough.” His voice cut through the air like a blade, low, rough, dangerous.
He did not shout, yet the word carried a warning that made the room go still. She could feel it in her bones.
Myles turned his head toward him, genuine surprise flickering across his features.
Sorcha watched them, fascinated despite herself. She had never seen William react like this, never heard him speak in such a raw tone.
Myles blinked once, before a knowing smile tugged at the corners of his lips. He glanced between her and William, as though wanting to catch the tension. And whatever he saw clearly delighted him.
“Right,” he said lightly, sheathing his sword. “I’ll take me leave.” He inclined his head toward Sorcha. “Sleep well, me Lady.”
Then, with a final knowing look at William, he turned and slipped out of the room, the door closing behind him with a soft click.
Heavy silence ensued.