Chapter 22
Sorcha hardly ever visited fairs. They belonged to a world she had only ever watched from afar.
To her, they belonged to families that could laugh easily, that didn’t measure their daughters by the worth of the men they would marry.
Her childhood was probably similar to most maidens’—orderly and structured. Suitors discussing their futures in low voices. Futures that were planned without asking what she wanted.
So when the carriage stopped outside the fair, her heart clenched with something she couldn’t quite name.
Summer couldn’t be prettier. The day was clear and warm. And yet, as much as she wanted to be happy, memories of her childhood kept stealing her joy.
If her father were here…
She had been dreading that thought.
If her father were here, he would have stood tall beside her, his sharp eyes scanning every corner as if danger lived in music and laughter. He would have told her which stalls were proper and which were not. Which men to avoid. Which smiles were too bold.
It was strange. She had spent so long resenting that control, but now she missed him.
The man beside her shifted.
The sudden movement startled her out of her thoughts. Blinking quickly, she twisted slightly to find William facing her fully.
He looked impossibly refined, deliciously handsome. Well-styled hair, tailored coat, fitted gloves.
How could a man look so good?
They were seated inside the carriage, his frame blocking the sunlight from pouring through the window and assaulting her eyes.
“Is somethin’ wrong, me Lady?” he asked in an almost soft tone.
The words brought her back to her senses. Nothing was wrong. It was just that she had yet to let go of the past.
Sorcha inhaled and nodded. “I am fine,” she told him, nodding once again. “I am just excited to go to the fair.”
He studied her for a moment. She hated it when he did that because somehow, he could always read through her lies.
“Ye daenae sound certain,” he noted, eventually.
She hesitated. He had seen the cracks as expected.
The truth hung heavy on the tip of her tongue. She could have swallowed it. She could have smiled and laughed and pretended. Instead, her voice softened, wanting to let part of the truth out.
“It’s just…” She paused, her fingers curling into the hem of her sleeve. “Visiting places like this reminds me of me faither.”
William went very still. He did not interrupt her. Did not rush to speak. He only looked at her. And it was his look that unsettled her the most.
There was no impatience in his gaze, not even discomfort, only genuine interest. As though her words mattered more than she knew. As though her feelings were worth listening to.
It frightened her.
Most men looked at her as a problem to solve or a prize to claim. They saw mischief. Defiance. Something to tame into a wife.
No one had ever looked at her like this. Like she was a person with a whole complicated world inside her. Like he wanted to see all of it.
She exhaled sharply and shook her head, forcing a small smile. “But daenae worry, me Laird. Let’s just have some fun. I daenae want to ruin the day.”
William’s lips parted, as if he wanted to say something more. Perhaps to ask. But then his eyes darkened with curiosity, his attention sharpening.
For a moment, she thought he might push. Might ask the questions no one ever had. But William, being William, simply took a breath.
He looked away briefly, and when he looked back, the intensity had softened into restraint. “That’s fine,” he relented.
He stepped down first, his boots hitting the ground softly.
Even before she moved, Sorcha could hear and feel the liveliness of the place. It only made her excitement grow.
She couldn’t believe it. It was really happening.
Spending time with a handsome man while pretending her heart wasn’t doing strange, reckless things would be difficult. Still, she wanted this.
“Sorcha?”
Her breath caught in her throat.
He had said her name?
The last time he had spoken it like that, without a title, without distance, when they had been…
Her eyes closed for half a heartbeat.
Daenae go there.
She opened them again to find his gloved hand extended toward her, waiting.
The gesture was simple, proper, yet the intent behind it almost made her swoon.
Without hesitating, she placed her hand in his. His grip steadied around her as he guided her down the steps. Soon, her shoes met the ground.
The color surrounding them drew her gaze. The fair looked so alive.
Children darted between stalls, their laughter bright and wild. And Music came from all directions and still managed to blend into one lovely melody. The air was filled with the smell of baked bread, sugar, and smoke.
For the first time in a while, she took a deep breath.
She felt alive.
Her gaze returned to William, searching his face, wanting to know how he felt about everything.
His expression was calm and unreadable as always. Still, she noticed the way his gaze flickered to her every now and then, making sure she was all right.
They started to walk, first at a quick pace then he slowed to a sedate stroll and turned to look at her.
“What would ye like to do first?” he asked.
She smiled at the question. It made warmth spread through her chest. Then she looked around, searching. But everything looked… unfamiliar. There were games she didn’t understand and stalls she had never seen.
She glanced back at him, her lips twitching. “Me Laird, since ye’ve been here more often than I have, why daenae ye suggest a game instead?”
The smile she gave him was impossible to resist.
Something shifted in his expression. It was not sadness. Not exactly. More like distance.
He looked past her, even beyond the fair. “I’ve nae been here often,” he admitted flatly. “Me parents were murdered when I was a boy.”
The words landed like a slap.
Instantly, her smile vanished. The noise of the fair faded into silence, crushed by the weight of his revelation.
Sorcha could only stare at him, and the longer she did, the more her chest tightened. She did not know what to say.
He didn’t look upset. Didn’t even look broken. If anything, he looked composed—too composed. Like someone who had spent years learning how to hide the weakest parts of himself.
Sorcha wondered how much of him had been shaped by loss.
She swallowed thickly. She had to quell the emotion swelling in her chest. But how? Her fingers itched to pull him into a hug.
Even though he stood so controlled, so unreadable, she couldn’t help but think that maybe he was sad. Maybe he had simply grown used to carrying the grief alone.
She was the one who was supposed to say something comforting. Yet, before she could say anything, William spoke.
“Daenae look sad.” He let out a low chuckle
The sound was so deep and unexpected that it completely caught her off guard. A quiet laugh in this moment, out of all moments?
“It happened many years ago,” he added, as though it were a simple fact that could make the reality better. As though it could change the fact that two lives were taken without mercy.
Sorcha blinked slowly. She felt the urge to ask him everything.
Did ye feel alone after?
Did anyone take care of ye when it happened?
Do ye still miss them?
But she swallowed back the questions. It wasn’t the right time. Besides, she knew that look. It was the look of a man who had decided long ago that some things were better kept locked away. And she knew, deep in her bones, that she was not the person he would choose to open that door for. Yet.
So she chose something else: light.
Taking a steadying breath, she lifted her shoulders slightly and said, “Since we’re both new to this, why daenae we just wander? Up and down. Through the stalls and the games. We’ll stop when something catches our interest.”
The suggestion felt small, harmless. Safe.
William studied her for a moment, then nodded. “All right.”
He did not sound particularly eager or commanding, just content to be included. To let her lead.
They resumed walking.
Their steps were slow and unhurried, allowing the joy in the atmosphere to swell around them. They passed stalls laden with jars of honey and carved trinkets. They passed through games where men shouted and laughed. The harmonious melody continued to drift through the air like a living thing.
Sorcha’s steps slowed as she took it all in. The fair was less frightening than she had initially thought.
Her eyes landed on a particular stall tucked between two larger ones. The table was covered in ribbons, combs, and little ornaments meant for lasses.
“So pretty,” she murmured, stepping closer without thinking.
The items were simple. Nothing extravagant. But the lovely colors drew her in all the same.
“Beautiful, is it nae?” the woman behind the stall asked kindly.
Sorcha nodded. “Aye. How much?”
Her smile dropped when she heard the price. She hadn’t taken enough money with her.
She forced a polite smile, stepping back. “Thank ye.”
She turned away at once, lifting her chin as though it did not matter, even though a sharp little ache was already forming in her chest.
Even if she had taken enough money with her, the items were far too expensive. It did not help that she had no access to her inheritance until she remarried. So, until then, she could not afford everything she wanted.
She turned back to find William engaged in conversation with a man nearby. His back was turned to her, and she was grateful for that. At least, he wouldn’t have witnessed the embarrassment she had just endured.
“We can go now,” she whispered, as though nothing had happened at all.
He nodded. Once he had ended his conversation, they began to move at once. By the time they stopped at a game that caught their attention, the sun had begun to sink.
They played. Poorly at first. Sorcha laughed when her ring missed repeatedly. William played a little better, though his misses were closer.
“Ye’re overthinking it,” she teased him during breaks.
“And ye’re enjoying this far too much,” he retorted.
They tried again and again until the sky had turned dark and the lanterns were lit one by one. The melody in the air softened.
Somewhere between the third and fifth rounds, Sorcha realized that William had not brought her here to find her a suitor. This wasn’t about duty or obligation. He had simply wanted… company.
Butterflies fluttered in her stomach. The realization was sweet and dangerous.
Every time they played, she found herself growing more aware of his proximity, of how her heart responded to him.
I cannae fall into this, she told herself again and again.
I cannae want this.
But want never asked for permission.
When the final round ended, William turned toward her. He moved closer, bending slightly to bring his mouth to her ear.
“Wait here for me,” he murmured.
The words had been quiet, meant only for her. But before she could unleash her pride and act like she didn’t care, her body reacted. She reached out her hands to grip the lapels of his coat, a shaky breath escaping her lips.
She knew she was too old for that reflex. Too old to fear being left behind like some forgotten bairn. Yet some fears never truly went away.
William noticed every single thing. She saw it in his assessing eyes and the subtle shift in his expression. It was like a blend of something soft and dark.
Slowly, deliberately, he lifted his hands. He moved even closer, sliding his fingers over her shoulders.
Sorcha fought the urge to lick her lips. The contact was electrifying. It was almost feverish.
“I will be back,” he assured her.
She believed him.
“Aye.” She nodded. “I’ll be waiting.”
He stepped back, holding her gaze for a long moment, before walking away. Soon, his figure was swallowed by shadow and lantern light.
Sorcha stood where he had left her, her heart beating far too fast.
I just have to wait for him.
Despite that, a question kept niggling at her mind: what had he gone to do?