Chapter 32
Peace had always been the most dangerous thing. William had learned that years ago.
He stood at the tall window of his study, watching the landscape. Sunlight spilled lazily across the hills. The sky was clear, the breeze moving softly.
It was an uneventful day. The kind of day men trusted. And that was why it reminded him of a certain day when blood spilled freely in a certain corridor. Both days had the same clear sky.
Memories flooded in.
His father’s body in the courtyard. His mother’s scream cut short. His uncle’s hand steady on the hilt of a sword.
William inhaled slowly through his nose, composing himself. He had waited years for this. Years of patience, of restraint, of watching the men responsible grow comfortable in their rot.
Today, all of that would end.
And yet, damn him, his thoughts still circled back to Sorcha. The way she had looked at him that morning—soft, bright, alive. The way her fingers had held his shirt tightly, as though he were something different in a world that had never been kind to her. The way she had… trusted him.
That trust was the reason he had done what he had done.
A knock sounded at the door.
“Enter,” he called.
Poppy stepped inside, closing the door carefully behind her. She dipped into a quick curtsy, her hands folded neatly before her. “Ye sent for me, me Laird.”
William turned away from the window to face her fully. His expression was cool, calm, unreadable. He had worn this face for years.
“I did,” he replied evenly. “I need ye to take Sorcha out of the castle today.”
Poppy blinked, surprise flickering briefly across her face. “Out, me Laird?”
“Aye.” He nodded once. “Take her to the fair. Or the market. Anywhere beyond these walls. Make a day of it.”
Curiosity sharpened her gaze, but she did not pry. Poppy was clever enough to know when questions were unwelcome.
“If she asks why?” she ventured carefully.
William’s jaw tightened. “Tell her that ye wish to spoil her. Or that she needs fresh air. Anything that keeps her away till nightfall.”
Poppy studied him for a moment longer. Something passed between them, like an understanding that this was not a simple errand.
“Aye, me Laird,” she answered quietly, bowing. “I’ll see it done.”
When the door closed softly behind her, William exhaled for the first time in what felt like hours. He had done the right thing.
She’ll be safe today. Away from this. Away from me.
He crossed the room and opened a particular Violet chest. Inside lay a sword. Not just any sword. The blade caught the light as he lifted it. Wrapping his fingers around the hilt, the familiarity was instant.
This was not just steel. It was history. The same sword his uncle had driven through his father’s chest. The same sword William had pulled from his father’s body as a boy.
Back then, he had sworn that this blade would deliver justice one day. Not just to his uncle, but also to the men who had helped him.
Gregor. Fergus. Keegan.
His grip tightened.
Another knock sounded at the door, firmer this time.
“Come in,” William called, without looking up. He already knew who it was.
Myles stepped inside, his expression grim.
“I’ve arranged the meeting,” he announced. “Just as ye asked. They took the bait.”
William lifted his gaze. “They didnae question it?”
Myles scoffed quietly. “Nay. As soon as they heard that yer uncle left a will, they came runnin’ like hounds after scraps.”
A mirthless laugh escaped William’s lips. “Greed never disappoints.”
“They think ye’re a fool,” Myles continued. “That ye’ve been kept in the dark all these years.”
William slid the sword back into its sheath before fastening it beneath his coat. “Let them.”
Myles hesitated, then said softly, “Ye sure about this? Once we go there, there’s nay turnin’ back.”
William met his eyes. “There was nay turning back the moment they left me parents to die.”
The words were honest and his pain naked that even Myles grimaced.
“Let’s go,” William said.
Soon, they were moving through the corridors, their boots echoing faintly against stone. They neared the Great Hall, from which loud and careless laughter drifted, alive with renewed hope.
“Cannae believe that man actually left a will!” Gregor roared with laughter.
“Well, he wasnae entirely stupid,” Fergus snorted.
William stopped just short of the threshold, listening intently. Their words made his blood boil. His hands clenched into fists as he listened, palms itching to spill blood.
Keegan’s voice followed, smug as ever. “Imagine the look on the new Laird’s face when he finds out there’s nothing for him to inherit.”
The traitorous bastards!
William clenched his fists. Myles noticed immediately, stepping closer and lowering voice.
“Save yer strength, me Laird,” he urged. “What awaits inside will be worse than their mouths.”
William closed his eyes for a breath.
For me parents. For the boy I was. For… Sorcha.
He opened them again, feeling grounded. And then he stepped into the lions’ den.
The laughter died down the moment William crossed the threshold.
Not abruptly, no. It faltered at first, before turning into something ugly and thin.
They remember me. They just pretend they daenae.
Gregor leaned back in his chair the moment he had composed himself. His lips curled at the sight of William, as if amused. Fergus exchanged a look with Keegan.
William saw it clearly. The mockery. The triumph. The belief that the castle had been snatched from its rightful leader.
They think me uncle won in the end. They think I came back to beg for scraps. Good.
He had made them believe that his uncle had left a will that excluded him from inheriting. A will that gave each of them generous shares of Dunrath lands. And he was glad they had easily taken the bait like blinded fish.
William moved forward with measured steps and claimed the tallest seat at the table—the Laird’s seat—without asking permission, without hesitation. The wood creaked beneath him as he sat, his spine straight, his gaze sharp.
Myles remained standing at his side, his arms crossed as he surveyed the crowd of vultures.
Gregor cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “Well then,” he said lightly, “this is… unexpected.”
“Aye,” Fergus agreed, his smile sly. “But who could skip a discussion about inheritance?”
Keegan chuckled, swirling the wine in his cup. “Yer uncle was generous, after all.”
William’s lips curved. Not a smile, but a warning. Still, none of the men noticed.
“I thank ye for coming,” he said calmly. “I ken how busy men like yerselves can be.”
Gregor laughed. “Busy enough to honor a will, me Laird.” He drew out the title, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
William let out a laugh. It began soft, low in his chest, but it did not stop. It rose, echoing through the hall, carrying no warmth at all. It was the kind of sound that raised the hair on men’s arms.
Keegan was the first to frown. Fergus followed, shifting in his seat. Gregor’s grin faltered.
It was as though the three men were questioning his mental state.
When his laughter finally ceased, William muttered, “What a joke.”
He reached for the leather-bound folder resting beside him and pushed it to the center of the table. Sheets of parchment slid out, thick and sealed with the Laird’s crest.
“The will,” he said evenly. “Each of ye will receive a fair share.”
The men’s reactions were immediate. Gregor leaned forward eagerly. Fergus reached for the first page without waiting. Keegan snatched the corner, a grin stretching his lips.
“Well then,” Gregor said, lifting his cup, “to the late Laird!”
They laughed again. The sound was too loud this time, too greedy. They began to flip the pages, reading eagerly.
William watched the exact moment everything changed.
Gregor’s smile fell first. His eyes darted across the lines faster, his lips parting slightly as though he couldn’t believe what he was reading.
Fergus stiffened next, all color draining from his face. “What is this shite?” he muttered under his breath.
Keegan’s face twisted, and his fingers trembled as he read further, his eyes widening.
By now, the silence was so thick that they could have heard a pin drop.
Slowly, the men lifted their heads to look at one another. Their faces contorted with several emotions—confusion, fear, and guilt—all crashing together in a storm of realization.
William continued to watch, patiently waiting for them to realize that they had all fallen into a well-laid trap. Eventually, one by one, they lifted their gazes to him.
He rose, his chair scraping across the stone floor like thunder.
“I hope ye enjoy the will,” he said calmly, his mouth curled into a sinister smirk. “It states quite clearly that yer time on this earth ends today.”
Gregor shot to his feet. “This is madness!”
“Is it?” William asked mildly. “For treason against me faither. For aligning yerselves with me bastard uncle. For murder. For lies. For dragging me family’s name through the mud.
” He gestured to the pages in their shaking hands.
“All the evidence is there. Letters. Payments. Signed confessions ye never thought would surface.”
Keegan snarled. “Ye cannae do this!”
William’s chin lifted. “I can,” he said softly.
He drew his sword in one fluid motion. The blade caught the light, reflecting his sharp gaze.
Gregor knocked his chair down as he scrambled away. Fergus ducked instinctively. Keegan raised his hands, his eyes widening in panic.
William swung his sword. Not to kill. Not yet. But to expose their cowardice in broad daylight. The blade cut through the air, making a sharp whistling sound. It sliced so close to Fregus that he cried out, falling on his behind.
Myles stepped forward to block them from running away, his sword already drawn. “Nay one leaves,” he declared coldly.
“William, listen to reason!” Gregor’s voice cracked.
William advanced on him slowly, his boots thudding against the stone. “Where was yer reason when me faither begged for mercy?”