Chapter 21
Sorcha started the day with part shyness, part regret.
If there was anything she had learned over the last few days, it was this: Avery gave far better advice than Rhea ever did.
She had agreed to act extremely possessed. Daring in all manner. Bold. Unhinged. A spectacle.
And what had it led to? Rumors that followed her like smoke. Side looks that lingered too long. Worse? Rumors that questioned her sanity.
It was perfect, actually. That was the plan.
But the worst part was that the one person who was meant to be disturbed by it all had seemed anything but. If anything, he had seemed curious.
Because what other word could describe the emotion written so plainly on William’s face? Not anger. Not disdain.
It was a new day, and somehow, he had chosen to torment her by watching her from a distance.
Just pretend he’s nae there, she told herself, drawing in a steadying breath.
Breakfast. She would take two, perhaps three bites, then leave. And she would do so quietly, without any incident. Because falling asleep in a manger…
Saints!
Her face burned at the memory.
That had been beyond embarrassing. Beyond foolish. Beyond anything she wished to remember. It had only happened because of Rhea. Again.
Sorcha’s eyes swept across the Great Hall, landing on the lady in question.
Rhea stood near Caelan, chatting away as though her advice had not put her in the most embarrassing situation possible. Completely unbothered.
As if she had not said, “Ye should wait till midnight. Standstill in the manger like some wandering spirit. Then, when the Laird comes to check the horses, boom! Haunt him.”
Haunt him.
Sorcha had listened. Saints help her, she had listened. And instead of haunting anyone, she had slept. She had foolishly curled up on the straw like some abandoned child and fell into a sleep deep enough that she hadn’t even felt she was being lifted.
Until Poppy had told her this morning that it had been William.
William MacLean. Carrying her. Into the castle.
Her chest tightened. Heat crept up her neck.
I must have really looked pathetic.
And now, his gaze was tormenting her. It rested heavily on her from across the room.
William stood near the long table, Myles speaking animatedly beside him. But it was painfully clear that he was not listening to a single word. His attention was fixed on her.
Sorcha returned her eyes to her plate. Still, she could feel his gaze. That same awareness that had haunted her since the incident in the courtyard. Since the horse ride. Since his arm wrapped around her waist and his breath fanned her ear.
Unable to bear it, she turned her head away.
Enough. I need to leave.
She pushed back from the table. No goodbyes. No glances. No lingering.
Step. Step.
She was happy when she sighted the doors; she was almost free! But her happiness was short-lived when she collided with something hard.
The impact forced the air from her lungs as she stumbled back. She had to take a second to regain her balance. Just then, she became aware of the presence before her.
Tall. Broad. Unmoving. And that scent. Leather and clean air and something uniquely his.
Her chin lifted slowly, reluctantly, until her eyes met a familiar pair of brown ones. Those deep brown orbs that were impossible to read.
William.
Her heart stuttered.
“Me Laird,” she greeted, her voice softer than she had intended. She took another step back.
William didn’t speak. Instead, he stepped closer. Then again. As though he wanted to close the distance that had just been caused by the collision. As though her proximity belonged to him.
His gaze roamed over her from head to toe, making her skin pickle. He was not even touching her, yet she could feel it. Could feel it in his look.
Her lips parted when the silence grew suffocating. She needed to say something.
Unable to bear it, she finally spoke. “What is it that ye want?”
William tilted his head, just enough to assert his authority. When he spoke, his voice was smooth and casual, almost nonchalant.
“Wonderin’ if ye are still possessed by spirits,” he said. “Was just checking.”
Her eyes snapped back to him.
For a heartbeat, she simply stared. Then she saw it, the smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. It was too deliberate, entirely aware of the effect it had.
He was making fun of her.
Instantly, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. And perhaps something far more dangerous.
Drawing in a slow breath, she jutted her chin. “I was told about… last night,” she said carefully.
His eyebrow rose slightly.
“And I’m grateful,” she forced out, “for yer assistance.”
That was all. That was all she would give him.
Without waiting for a response, Sorcha turned on her heel and walked away. Away from the hall. Away from him.
She stepped outside, where the cool morning air brushed her face. It made her smile despite herself.
Well, until firm fingers wrapped around her wrist, pulling her to a halt.
Her breath hitched as she slowly turned back.
William was standing behind her, closer than before, his tall frame casting a huge shadow over her. His deep brown eyes held hers, even darker in the sunlight.
The sight made her pulse quicken.
William…?
Why had he followed her out?
He looked every inch the infuriating, handsome Laird, and she hated how aware she was of him. Of the breadth of those shoulders that carried quiet authority.
She hated even more that her body remembered the feel of his arm around her waist, the press of his fingers against her sex.
She didn’t want to be tempted. Trapped by him would be an even more evil choice.
Quickly, she yanked her wrist free. The contact broke, but that awareness remained.
“Why did ye follow me out?” she asked, forcing her voice to remain steady. “Are ye here to tease me? To lecture me about being possessed?” Her chin lifted. “Because I’m nae in the mood, me Laird. Let’s just forget what happened.”
Sorcha thought that would be the end of it. She turned, ready to step away. But then he snatched her wrist again. This time, even tighter.
She turned back to him with a sharp breath, her heart racing.
What was wrong with him? Why, of all mornings, in broad daylight, when half the castle was present for breakfast, was he being so daring?
He said nothing, only stepping closer.
The space between them shrank inch by inch until she could feel the heat of him. By now, her breathing was ragged.
She was trapped—exactly what she had tried hard to avoid. His hand released hers and rose instead to her cheek. A small gasp escaped her lips.
He brushed back a loose strand of her hair, his knuckles grazing her skin tenderly. She couldn’t help the shiver that ran through her.
Finally, he spoke, his voice low and quiet. “I was worried last night.”
Her lashes fluttered, and her heart skipped a beat.
Worried? William MacLean had been worried? Even after the way he had looked at her, as though she was nothing but a problem? Even after the anger?
His finger lingered on her cheek, stroking her skin in a way that made her knees weak. Heat pooled low in her belly, flaring with every tender stroke.
Sorcha was struggling, but she knew she had to say something. When she finally spoke, her voice came out breathy.
“I’m fine,” she said. “Ye had nothing to worry about.”
The moment the words left her lips, she knew they were wrong.
William’s brow furrowed, his expression darkening even further. It was as though he accepted her words as nothing but pure lies. As though there was nothing comforting in her answer. If anything, it disturbed him.
His eyes searched her face intently, as if he wanted to read whatever secret was hidden beneath her skin. To know what she was hiding from him… or from herself. She swallowed hard.
Her gaze flickered away, and that was when she spotted Avery and Rhea. They stood inside by a window, pretending very badly not to stare.
Sorcha’s face burned. Caelan was nowhere in sight, and she had no idea why that brought her relief, but it did.
Her attention snapped back to William when his fingers tilted her chin gently, returning her gaze to his.
His lips parted. “I followed ye,” he said slowly, “to apologize.”
His hand dropped from her face.
The loss of his touch was almost startling, inviting cold where heat had been.
Apologize?
Sorcha was stunned. Two times in a row, William spoke words she had never heard before.
He nodded, reading her expression.
“I’m nae sure why I reacted that way yesterday,” he admitted. “But I’m sorry. For taking ye on such an intense ride.”
She gaped at him.
William apologizing. When had he grown so… soft? Or was this something else? A strategy? An attempt at forming some sort of alliance between them?
Utterly breathless, unsure of what to say, she nodded. Just once.
The smallest of smiles touched his mouth, before he smoothed it away, gone so quickly she might have imagined it. Still, the glimpse of it made her chest ache with an emotion she couldn’t name.
Before silence could settle between them, he bowed stiffly, as if awkwardness had settled over him like a cloak. Then, without another word, he turned around and walked away.
Sorcha watched him go. All she was aware of was her frantic heartbeat.
The night was gentle. Sorcha loved every bit of it. She had soaked in a warm bath, letting the day slowly fade from her muscles.
By the time she was dressed for sleep, a knock sounded at her door.
Her head snapped up. Who could it be?
She crossed the room and opened the door, only to freeze at the sight before her.
William stood there. Again.
Seeing him coming to her for the third time that day felt unreal, like a fantasy she hadn’t woken up from.
She had not been expecting visitors, and had made no effort to dress properly. Her biggest guess had been Poppy, coming to serve a nightcap.
His gaze dipped before returning quickly to her face.
“May I ask what ye’re doing here?” she said softly.
He hesitated, as though carefully gathering his thoughts. Then, he spoke. “Would ye mind accompanyin’ me to the fair?”
For a long moment, Sorcha could only stare at him. She wasn’t sure she had heard him right, and whether he meant what he had said.
She was definitely stunned.
A fair meant many things. Too many. Time together. Public attention. Perhaps searching for suitors. Perhaps something else entirely.
Did he simply want to spend time with her? Or was this another step in a plan she couldn’t yet glean?
William MacLean was a confusing man. Still, she knew better than to refuse him.
Slowly, she nodded. “I wouldnae mind.”
He released a slow breath, as though he had been holding it in for hours. The awkwardness returned at once.
“I’ll let ye sleep, then,” he said, turning away.
She watched him leave. And once again, all she could feel was her frantic heartbeat.