Chapter 20
William had been wrong to think that the reckless version of Sorcha would disappear with the night. Indeed, the morning proved him a fool.
By the time the sun had risen and the servants started their chores, rumors about Sorcha were swelling. They reached him, eventually. They always did.
From his study, he heard them as they passed through the corridor, moving with both fear and fascination. He heard them through words that had been stitched together by superstition and boredom.
“Lady Dunrath has been wanderin’ the corridors at dawn.”
“They say she laughs to herself, as if someone else is whisperin’ in her ear.”
“Perhaps the spirits arenae pleased.”
“Perhaps her late husband, God rest his soul, has returned.”
“Possessed, that’s what she is. Mark me words.”
Unable to hear any more of it, William snapped the ledger on his desk shut. It was enough to silence the passing servants and impose quiet in the corridor.
Nonsense. Every last word of it.
Despite his request for silence, the sound of laughter still managed to drift toward him. Not frightened laughter. Not nervous. But amused.
He lifted his gaze to the window. Rhea and Avery lounged near the flowers outside, barely containing their delight. And between them stood Sorcha’s cousin.
William’s lips turned down.
Three conspirators, all enjoying the circling rumors far too much.
William returned his attention to the ledger, wanting to maintain the dignity of his post. But then his eyes flicked up when heavy footsteps thudded into the room.
Myles.
Ah, make that four.
The grin plastered across his friend’s face told him everything he needed to know. It was the sort of grin brought on by witnessing chaos and choosing to savor it.
Myles clasped his hands together. “Ye’re missin’ a lot by squesterin’ yerself in yer study.”
William leaned back in his chair, expression carefully neutral. “Am I?”
“Aye,” Myles said easily. “Lady Dunrath has been actin’ all sorts of… possessed, as far as I can tell.”
William inhaled slowly through his nose. He knew exactly why Sorcha was doing this. He had seen it in her eyes the night before. It was too intentional to be accidental.
This was defiance dressed as madness. A performance meant for an audience.
Childish. Pointless.
“I have nay interest in playing games,” he said evenly. “All I care about is finding her a suitor.”
Myles’s grin grew impossibly wider. “Are ye sure?” he asked lightly. “Even though she’s currently—” He paused, as if searching for the right words. “—standin’ atop a fountain ledge, claimin’ she could hear voices tellin’ her secrets?”
“Nay,” William replied flatly. “Still daenae care.”
Myles eyed him narrowly, his amusement mixed with something more serious. When he spoke again, his voice was lower.
“Even if she just challenged Gregor Fulton to a horse race?”
William stiffened. The world halted around him, narrowing to those words. His eyebrows knitted together.
Gregor? Of all men?
“A horse race,” he repeated, rising from his seat before realizing it. “With Gregor?”
Myles nodded once, clearly satisfied with his reaction. “Aye. The winner walks away clean. The loser gets punished in front of the servants.”
William thought he must have misheard. Because that was so ridiculous. Blatant folly.
Punished? In front of the servants?
It was enough to make his jaw tighten. The calm mask he had been wearing for so long fractured.
“What brought this about?” he demanded.
Myles stepped further into the room, casually brushing dust from a nearby lamp as though discussing the weather. “I heard there was a confrontation between Sorcha and Gregor. Words were exchanged.” His lips twitched. “And now they’re finishin’ what they started.” He chuckled softly.
That was enough.
“She’s mad,” William muttered under his breath. “Possessed, indeed.”
Without another word, he strode past Myles, his boots striking the stone floor with sharp annoyance.
The laughter spilling across the courtyard irritated him instantly, but nothing aggravated him more than Sorcha.
He saw his cousins up close, still wrapped up in whatever delightful secret they were sharing. However, their laughter died down the moment they saw him, and their smiles turned sly.
His gaze swept past them, searching for the source of all this nonsense. Then he saw her.
Sorcha was straddling a horse, her posture proud despite the chaos she was causing. Her cousin stood beside her, adjusting the reins with exaggerated care, in William’s opinion.
He approached them in no time, his strides long and measured, passing his cousins without acknowledging them. His attention was focused solely on Sorcha.
Eventually, she noticed him, too. Her lips twitched, her eyes bright with something dangerously close to satisfaction.
Even at that moment, he tried not to focus on her mesmerizing beauty. Tried not to focus on the way the morning sun caught the ginger in her hair, turning it into dark fire.
She looked nothing like the trembling, half-drunk woman from the night before. This Sorcha was alert, waiting to be challenged.
“Well,” she said lightly, tilting her head as he stopped before her. “I was wondering when ye’d come. The game is about to start.”
His eyes flicked over her. Every part of this was deliberate. Every inch of it. She wanted to step on his toes.
“What are ye doing?” he asked quietly.
She leaned forward just enough for him to notice. “Entertaining the castle.”
His hands curled at his sides. “Dismount,” he ordered.
She did not. If anything, she remained exactly where she was, her chin lifted, her fingers curled loosely around the reins as if the command never reached her ears.
William’s jaw tightened.
Caelan cleared his throat, attempting politeness. “Me Laird—”
But William didn’t have time for him. He didn’t even look at him. Did not acknowledge him, did not slow down. In one swift motion, he swung himself up behind Sorcha.
Sorcha sucked in a sharp breath and turned her head, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Do ye realize what ye’re doing?”
William said nothing. Instead, he wrapped his arm around her, securing her back to his chest. Until she found herself trapped in his infuriating presence.
Before anyone could speak, before reason could catch up, he urged the horse to move.
Instantly, they lurched forward, moving away from the blur of stunned faces and whispered shock.
William rode hard, so hard that her breathing quickened. His arm tightened around her waist, pulling her even closer until his breath tickled her neck.
When she tried to speak, the wind stole her voice.
“Slow down…” she tried breathlessly.
He did not.
“Slow down,” she tried again, her voice strained now.
William leaned in until his lips brushed her earlobe. “Isnae this what ye wanted?” he growled, his warm breath fanning her skin. “A fine horse ride?” He pressed his heels into the horse’s flanks, urging it faster. “I’m givin’ ye one.”
Sorcha let out a small, broken sound. It sounded like half protest, half something else. But she couldn’t even speak properly, because the quick motion of the horse stole her breath.
Suddenly, William’s hand left her waist. She barely had time to react before his fingers grabbed her chin. He turned her face to his, forcing her to look at him even as the wind lashed at them both.
His eyes burned. Furious. Dark. Unforgiving.
“Now, listen to me, me Lady,” he said, his voice deadly calm. “I warned ye about Keegan.”
Her lashes fluttered.
“And Gregor,” he continued, his grip steady.
His eyes searched her face, daring her to deny it.
“Daenae play silly games with me,” he said harshly. “Daenae involve men like that. I detest it.”
Despite the speed, despite the danger, despite the intensity of his gaze, she still managed one thing: a scoff.
“It seems,” she shot back stubbornly, “that ye daenae want any man near me.”
For a fraction of a second, he faltered. His lashes fluttered, only slightly. It was like a tiny crack in his armor. But then it was gone.
His face hardened again, his emotions locked away behind ruthless control.
“Do ye hear me?” he pressed.
Sorcha didn’t answer immediately. Rather, she stared at him defiantly.
“Perhaps I’m under a spell,” she snapped. “Perhaps I’m possessed by spirits!” Her breath came fast, her anger increasing tenfold. “And ye’ll have to fight every last one of them before I obey ye!”
She twisted her face free from his grip, turning ahead as the wind whipped at her hair.
“Stop the horse,” she shouted. “Or I’ll jump!” Her eyes returned to his face. “That’s nae a threat,” she added furiously. “I’m mad enough. Possessed enough. Under a spell enough to do it!”
William felt it then. The truth in her voice. Something about it was too bold, too daring, too real. It made his pulse thunder.
Then slowly, carefully, he loosened his grip on the reins. Instantly, the horse slowed down, until it drew to a halt.
Sorcha didn’t hesitate. She jumped down in one swift motion, landing hard but steady. Then, she looked up at him with flashing eyes.
“Leave me alone!” she snapped.
Without waiting for his response, she turned and walked away.
By the time dusk had fallen, William was back in his chamber.
His bath had been cold. His room was quiet. Everything was as it should have been, yet he felt no peace.
He lay back, but then tossed and turned again. Why? Because his thoughts kept returning to her, no matter how hard he tried to push them away.
Had she returned to the castle? The last time he had seen her was when she had fled from him.
His chest tightened. He had let her out of the castle and allowed her to find her way back.
What was wrong with him?
He bolted upright, dragging a hand through his hair. He couldn’t stop old memories from flooding back, and the fear of losing someone else clawed at him.
Was she safe?
Saints. He was so worried.
Realizing he had wasted too much time, he slid off the bed. He should not have let her wander off. He should have returned her to the castle.
Not waiting another moment, he left his chamber and made his way toward hers.
Poppy met him in the corridor, her face pale. “Me Laird,” she said quickly. “Lady Dunrath hasnae returned to her chamber.”
That was enough.
With a mix of worry and fierce urgency, William headed outside, already calling for a horse. The sky had darkened by now. But just then, he saw it—the small, feminine shape slumped beside one of the horses.
His steps slowed.
Red hair, familiar clothes. Most importantly, curves he knew far too well.
Sorcha…
The sight rooted him to the spot.
Why did she choose to stay in the cold? Alone?
He approached her quickly. When he checked her, he realized she was deep asleep. At the sight, something broke inside him.
Taking a deep breath, he crouched beside her to take her in. Even in her vulnerable state, her mesmerizing beauty still stole the air from his lungs.
For a long moment, he did nothing but stare at her. Then, carefully, he lifted a hand to stroke her cheek. Something about the tenderness shook him more than any fire or fury ever had.
He pulled off his coat and wrapped it around her small frame. Then, when she stirred slightly, he lifted her.
He drew in a slow breath. “Let me take ye to yer room, me Lady,” he whispered.