Chapter 17
Dunrath Castle felt empty without William.
Of course, Sorcha hated that she noticed.
The halls were quieter than usual. There was something about William’s presence that made the servants quicken their pace, that stirred rumors.
She hated to admit that she might miss pretending not to be aware of his presence. Pretending not to care. And the worst part? He hadn’t even been gone for twenty-four hours.
She told herself she did not miss him. She told herself she did not miss the way she would feel his eyes on her before she even looked up, or how he had begun to attend breakfast regularly, sitting with everyone instead of sequestering himself in his study like he used to do.
It was a rare sight, indeed. A laird who once avoided company now chose to be present, chose to be near her.
She told herself not to notice those things, that they could be pure coincidences. But she did. And now she regretted it, because as she stood by the window of her chamber, he was all she could think about.
Her thoughts continued to betray her, inviting memories she wanted to forget entirely. She remembered the tea party, and she had to suppress a snicker.
William had walked in as if he belonged there, tall and dark among silk and ribbons. The shock on everyone’s faces had been stark, and yet she had found his appearance strangely endearing.
The corner of her mouth lifted before she realized it. Thoughts of him made her chest warm in a way she couldn’t help.
Her thoughts continued to swirl until—
Poof!
Powder burst into her face, causing her to sneeze. Sorcha blinked rapidly, trying to see through the white dust floating in the air. Laughter followed immediately.
Rhea burst into giggles, clutching her belly. “Well, now I have a reason to laugh, too. Ye looked like ye were havin’ the grandest thoughts in that pretty head of yers.”
Sorcha rolled her eyes, before reaching for a cloth to wipe the dust from her face. “I wasnae laughing,” she mumbled.
She wiped her face again and then schooled her features into calm.
Across the room, Avery was not laughing at all. She sat still, her hands resting on her lap. Her eyes were fixed on Sorcha with the kind of focus that could penetrate. She was not smiling, though her eyes held a knowing look.
And that made Sorcha uncomfortable.
Rhea returned to sit on the edge of the bed, still amused.
Avery spoke before Sorcha could change the subject. “We’re here for a reason. Nae to tease ye. Nae to daydream.”
The statement seemed aimed at both Sorcha and Rhea.
Soon, Rhea’s smile faltered, while the warmth in Sorcha’s chest faded.
“We gathered here to speak of our main goal,” Avery continued.
She nodded, knowing exactly what Avery meant. The plan. The danger. The reason she was still here at Dunrath Castle.
“The Laird willnae wait forever,” Avery warned, her voice firm. “I hope ye’re ready, Sorcha.”
Sorcha nodded again. “I am,” she said quietly.
She opened her mouth to speak further, when a scream rent the air. A high, frightened one. It sounded like a woman’s voice, panicking and apologizing. It was so loud that it echoed down the stone corridors.
All three women froze.
Rhea frowned. “What was that?”
As though the question was their cue to gather information, they moved at once. They gathered their skirts in their hands, threw their embroidery aside, and rushed to the window.
Sorcha reached it first. She looked down… and gasped.
In the courtyard below, a maid was kneeling on the ground. Broken plates were scattered around her, food smeared across the stone. Her shoulders were visibly shaking, and her hands were tied together as though she were a prisoner. And standing over her was Gregor Fulton.
The seneschal stood tall, his frame threatening in every manner. Even from above, Sorcha could see the authority in his stance. When he spoke, his mouth moved quickly, his hands gesturing in a way that made the maid flinch.
Avery pressed her nose to the window. “What’s going on?” she asked sharply.
Rhea turned toward her sister, her eyes bright with interest rather than concern. “I’ve heard things,” she said, lowering her voice as though sharing gossip.
Sorcha tore her gaze from the scene below. “What things?”
Rhea pressed a hand to her chest, finding the most dramatic pose. “Gregor’s been cruel to the servants. Always findin’ fault. Snappin’ at them over nothing. Folks say he’s become a right terror.”
Sorcha’s stomach twisted. “I didnae ken,” she said softly, her eyes returning to the kneeling maid. The sight of her being tied was wrong.
As Lady Dunrath, she should have known.
Then, her thoughts picked up someone along the line.
“Is it because the Laird is gone?” she asked. “Is that why he dares?”
Avery and Rhea exchanged a look.
“Our faither trusted Gregor,” Avery said carefully. “Too much, maybe.”
Rhea nodded. “He always thought himself important. Like Dunrath owed him something. Like power was his by right.”
Sorcha shook her head, her jaw tightening. “That doesnae matter,” she declared, her determination growing. “The servants daenae deserve this.”
Before her words could settle, she had already turned away from the window and crossed the room, her skirts swishing with purpose.
Her decision was already made even before she reached the door.
“Lady Dunrath!”
“Sorcha!”
The voices followed her, loud enough to draw her attention, but Sorcha did not slow down. She stepped through the open doors and into the courtyard, the cool air kissing her skin.
Her steps were quick, as though anger fueled them. Perhaps duty, too. And the simple truth that she could not stand still and witness cruelty.
Soon, she stopped a short distance from Gregor.
Up close, the scene was even worse. There were ugly red bruises on the maid’s skin—marks left by a cane, certainly. Gregor was still looking down at her without any remorse on his face, his shadow swallowing her.
Sorcha drew in a breath. With calm grace, she moved closer, her hands clasped neatly before her.
“What is the matter?” she asked calmly. “Why must this maid kneel on broken pieces?”
The maid flinched at the sound of her voice, as though frightened to even look up.
Before Gregor could respond, another maid hurried forward. Judging by her cap, she was the head maid. Her face looked pale and strained.
She bowed to Sorcha. “Me Lady,” she greeted in a hushed tone, glancing nervously at Gregor. “Please, it’s best ye daenae meddle. He’s… he’s actin’ possessed again. The only man he fears is the Laird, and the Laird isnae here.”
Sorcha listened, but only for a moment. She nodded her acknowledgment anyway, then stepped past the maid. Soon, she had closed the distance between her and Gregor.
His attention immediately shifted to her. Upon seeing her, his lips pressed into a thin line, and his eyebrows knitted together in displeasure.
She did not let that stop her, though.
“Is there truly nay other way to discipline a servant without humiliating them so?” she asked calmly.
Gregor said nothing at first. He studied her openly, as though weighing her worth. When he finally spoke, his voice was cold.
“This is how things are done in Dunrath. A newcomer like ye couldnae understand that.”
The insult was clear. Sorcha felt it. It was carefully worded, meant to sting.
Well, it did to a certain extent. Still, it wasn’t enough to make her step back. Instead, she stepped closer.
She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze squarely. “Exactly,” she replied. “And as long as I am Lady Dunrath, I have every right to change that.”
For a moment, the only thing surrounding them was silence. She noticed the faint traces of amusement on his face, as if he were trying his best not to burst into laughter.
He opened his mouth, as if to argue. But then, his gaze darted behind her. Sorcha noticed that, and she turned slightly.
Caelan stood there, his arms folded casually over his chest. His expression was relaxed, too relaxed. Yet something about his presence was still awfully quiet and commanding.
Sorcha knew him well enough to see past it. Whatever ease he showed now, he must have plastered on the moment she turned. Because Gregor cleared his throat, seeming to drop the argument. Instead, he looked back at the maid.
“Do better next time,” he snapped. “And clean this mess.”
The maid gasped, as though surprised by how everything had turned out. She bowed her head before scrambling to obey.
Gregor turned away without another word and stormed off across the courtyard, his shoulders nearly touching his ears.
Only when he was gone did Sorcha release the breath she had been holding.
“God gracious,” Avery muttered, appearing beside her. “What is wrong with that man?”
Rhea shook her head, following along. “He’s been acting strange for a while now. Ever since William arrived.”
That caught Sorcha’s attention. She had been observing William for a while now. There was something uneasy about him, something mysterious, and it was difficult to gather information about him.
He was like a ghost that had just arrived from the past. And that was the most flattering rumor about him.
Ever since William arrived…
The words lingered.
Before she could speak, Caelan stepped closer.
“Are ye sure that was the right thing to do?” he asked gently. “Ye daenae ken how Dunrath handles discipline, and ye daenae ken whether the Laird gave the seneschal the orders himself.”
The words made Sorcha pause.
Could Caelan be right? Sure, William could display steely control and cold distance. But cruelty? That was one thing she had never seen from him before.
She shook her head slowly. “Nay,” she replied. “William is many things, but he isnae cruel.”
The softness in her voice surprised even her. She felt it the moment she spoke, and she knew she wasn’t the only one. Because Avery and Rhea were already exchanging looks.
Avery tilted her head, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Since when do ye defend the Laird so readily?” she asked, suspicion clear in her tone.
Sorcha hated how heat rushed to her cheeks. It was beyond embarrassing.
She cleared her throat, wanting to save face before it was too late. “Because…” she started, lifting a hand to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Because every person has a redeeming quality, nay matter how… difficult they seem.”
Avery shrugged. “Gregor, on the other hand, has nay redeeming quality. Muttering to himself, snapping at servants, as ye’ve just seen.”
Sorcha knew that tone. It sounded thoughtful, as though it was leading somewhere. “Are ye suggestin’ something’?”
Rhea, who had quickly caught on, gave a mischievous smile. “That madness frightens men,” she said lightly. “Perhaps ye should pretend to be possessed yerself. It might scare the Laird away for good.”
Caelan barked a laugh. “Aye,” he said, far too quickly. “Roll yer eyes back, speak in riddles. I’d pay to see that.”
It was a mad idea. Sorcha wasn’t even sure it would work on William. As laughter rose around her, she could only imagine it. Pretending to be possessed by spirits, maybe when the light was dim?
When the light is dim…
Instantly, a warmth she did not want to name filled her chest, followed by a flutter.
At her silence, the laughter faded around her, and the three of them paused to study her.
“Ye daenae sound like ye’re interested,” Avery noted with a suspicious look.
“Of course, I will give it a try,” Sorcha responded with a dry laugh, ready for an escape plan before they managed to read her thoughts.
For now, it was best to keep her attraction toward William a secret, and that was exactly what she was going to do.