Chapter 18
William could still taste her on his tongue. Even after many nights had passed, it lingered like a bruise that did not want to heal.
It was there when he woke up. There when he struggled to fall asleep. There in his dreams, teasing him with cruel patience.
At this point, he was convinced Sorcha had cast a spell on him. One that would not fade with time or weaken with effort.
He had tried everything. He had ridden his horse until his thighs burned and his lungs begged for air. He had buried himself in ledgers and old maps. He had trained longer, sparring until sweat blurred his vision.
But nothing had worked. No amount of discipline or distraction could rid his mind of her, and that unsettled him the most.
Worse still, he had begun doing things he had never done before.
He usually ate alone, but now, he started coming down for breakfast. When the air smelled of blooming flowers, he would peek through the window just to catch a glimpse of her. He even showed up at the tea party, a gathering that he usually avoided.
Myles had noticed that.
“Since when do ye attend tea parties, me Laird?” he had asked, one eyebrow arched in disbelief.
Even now, William could still hear the amusement in his friend’s voice. He had offered no answer. He never did.
The truth was simpler than any lie he could utter. No matter how full his day was, he always found time to see Sorcha. Just once. Just enough to remind himself that she was still there. Still real. Still ruining him.
He told himself he acted indifferent. He told himself his face was perfect at hiding his emotions. He was sure he always knew better.
But she noticed.
She noticed how his gaze followed her before he could stop it. Not openly—never openly—but enough. And she noticed the way he pretended not to see her, the way he turned his head away when she was close enough.
He knew she did because he had caught her blush, seen her smile to herself when she thought no one was watching, especially right before disappearing down the corridor with Poppy.
He never smiled back. He never gave her the satisfaction. Still, his chest foolishly warmed at the sight of her smile.
His goal lingered at the back of his mind: send her away. But every time she was near, his resolve weakened. Her voice alone was enough to undo him.
It reached a point where he found himself wondering aloud what kind of witchcraft she did.
“Witch,” he muttered as he tightened a strap that did not need tightening.
The horse merely flicked his ear and continued chewing, unimpressed.
William exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. He had to return to the present. He had no right to softness, especially when his heart was meant to be cold, sharp, and ready to slay.
Not… this.
Footsteps approached, crunching against leaves. William did not need to turn to know who it was. But he had to, because he wanted to express his displeasure with waiting close to an hour for him.
Sunlight shone on Myles’s long hair as his tall frame came into view. He stopped near William’s shoulder, his hands hanging loosely at his sides.
“Are ye ready, me Laird?” he asked.
William shot him an irritated look. “I’ve been standin’ here under the sun, waitin’ for ye.”
Myles chuckled, unbothered. “Aye, well, ye ken I never rush for anything unless there’s blood involved.”
William gave a low snort and mounted his horse in one smooth motion. Myles followed just as easily, settling into his saddle.
Without further ceremony, they rode out.
The path to the nearby village was one William knew too well. This visit had a purpose.
The last time he had taken this path, he had been a boy riding beside his mother. Back then, he had trusted everyone living outside Dunrath Castle. Believed them. But trust was no longer a luxury he could afford.
During his last trip, he had found a lead. It was small but promising. One that linked two particular men he wanted to get rid of.
Gregor and Fergus had blood on their hands, and he was going to prove it. But killing them outright would solve nothing. He wanted much more than vengeance. He wanted the truth that would restore his father’s name.
The sky had turned golden by the time they arrived.
William pulled his horse to a stop.
“The plan is simple, me friend,” he murmured, his eyes scanning their surroundings. They had indeed changed quite a bit. “We listen. We ask. We gather more evidence. Anything that links to what we already ken.”
Myles gave a short nod. “Aye.”
No more words were needed.
They did not enter the village through the main path. That would have been careless. Instead, they took the back streets. William moved first, Myles a step behind him.
William jumped, rolling across a roof and diving to the other side without a sound. Myles followed, just as quick, just as clean.
They moved from roof to roof, not speaking a word. They did not need to. They knew the place they were headed to—the most popular tavern, where the villagers gathered.
When they arrived, they found the back door unguarded. Myles met his gaze and nodded his head once.
Now.
At that, they jumped off the roof, landing softly. William reached the door first, pushing it open just enough for them to slip inside. As soon as they were in, the atmosphere shifted. The music stopped, and laughter died down.
Every head turned in the room, and for a heartbeat, no one spoke.
William wondered what was going on.
Their stares were devoid of surprise. Even curiosity. Something heavier held their attention. The looks they wore were not those of people greeting a stranger. These were the looks given to someone they already hated. Then, murmurs slowly rippled through the crowd.
Something was wrong. William could feel it in his bones. But what?
The villagers were supposed to be friendly toward him. He remembered his father contributing a lot when he was younger.
A chair scraped back suddenly. One man stood, his face red with drink and fury. He slammed his mug down on the table, making ale slosh over the rim.
“Ye!” he shouted, jabbing his finger toward William. “Ye son of a wicked murderer!”
The words crackled like electricity, arcing through the air.
As though that was all that was needed for the dam to break, their voices rose at once.
“Aye, it’s him!”
“Look at him, standin’ there like he owns the place!”
“Murderer! Just like his faither!”
The shouts tangled together in a frenzy. William’s jaw tightened as he took it all in, his gaze sweeping across the tavern.
These were not empty insults thrown by drunk men. There was a deeply ingrained belief behind them. Nonetheless, that didn’t change the fact that his father’s name was being dragged through the mud.
What have they been told?
He saw it now. Whatever they had been told, they must have been twisted stories that had spread for years. Fed to the villagers by someone interested in keeping the truth buried. Someone who wanted to paint his father as a monster.
Anger flared within him at the thought. His hand curled slowly at his side. If he drew his blade now, he could silence them in moments.
The thought was tempting. Yet he knew that would only turn the rumors into reality. And he would lose everything.
He opened his mouth to speak, but Myles beat him to it.
“We need to go,” he urged. “Now. They arenae friendly, and this will turn ugly fast.”
William hesitated because of the anger roaring hot in his chest. But he knew he had to be rational.
Someone did this. And I will find them.
Myles stepped closer, brushing his hand against William’s arm. Reluctantly, William gave a sharp nod.
They turned and retreated fast. A mug flew, shattering against the wall beside them. Another voice screamed something foul, but they were already gone.
A couple of hours later, the sky had turned black.
William stood near the narrow window of a small tavern. It was far quieter than the last place they had been forced to flee.
The sky threatened rain, and the soft wind rustled the branches. Inside, the air was not unpleasant, just tired. Smoke and damp wool. Fire crackled low in the grate, casting shadows across the wooden floor.
He watched the street through the glass, and his reflection watched him in return, mirroring the intensity in his gaze.
I should have come earlier.
The words echoed in his mind over and over.
He should have come when his uncle was still alive. Before his uncle could spread the rumors. Before his father’s name had been dragged through the dirt by men who had benefited from his death.
If only I had moved faster.
The sound of approaching footsteps interrupted his thoughts.
William straightened without turning. He already knew who it was.
Myles came to a stop beside him, brushing a few raindrops from his cloak. “I’ve found us a place to stay the night,” he said quietly. “Just up the road. The owner is willing to rent a room. Nay questions.”
William nodded once. “Good.”
Myles studied him for a moment longer than necessary. “Ye look like ye’re about to break something.”
William exhaled through his nose, the sound ironically affirming his friend’s words. “I’m fine.”
Myles shrugged. “Aye,” he replied lightly. “That’s usually how it starts.” He tilted his head toward the bar. “Care for a drink?”
William hesitated. He didn’t want to keep using strong drink to avoid thinking about his problems.
But tonight, the memories were too loud. Anger simmered in his veins. For once, he wished to escape reality.
“One,” he allowed. “Just one.”
Myles’s lips curled into a smile that looked far too knowing. He clapped William on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit, me Laird. Come on.”
They crossed the room together. A few heads rose at their movement, then lowered just as quickly. William felt every glance, knowing words traveled fast in places like these.