Chapter 33
The first thing Sorcha heard was the hoot of an owl.
The low, hollow sound felt like a warning meant only for her. It roused her from a deep sleep.
Her lashes fluttered, the world spinning as though she had been hit in the head. Perhaps it did happen, because the last thing she remembered was a blow before a complete blackout.
Her breath caught, her gaze darting around.
She was inside a carriage.
Confusion washed over her immediately. She pushed herself up, her palms pressing against the cushioned seat. The light from lanterns spilled inside, illuminating the polished wood.
How…?
She could still remember being giddy with excitement and humming a tune. She had been daydreaming about telling Avery and Rhea that she was not leaving. Then, a hand had appeared out of nowhere and clamped over her mouth, cutting off her breath.
She remembered the panic that flooded her. She remembered how her heart had thundered, how her fingers had curled into the stranger’s arm.
The memories brought back the panic. Worse, she didn’t understand why she was in a carriage.
“Easy… easy.”
Sorcha froze. That voice… it came from below.
She lowered her head, and her breath hitched to see someone kneeling before her in the cramped space between the benches.
The lanternlight revealed a familiar face as he shifted. Kind eyes, eyebrows pulled together with concern.
Caelan.
Relief crashed over her so hard that it nearly made her dizzy.
“Oh,” she breathed, her shoulders sagging. “Caelan…”
Caelan rose and took the seat opposite her, offering her a small smile. “Are ye all right, Sorcha?”
She was all right, except she had a lot of questions. For now, she simply blinked at him, trying to steady herself. Only then did she notice that he had just wrapped a cloth around her ankle.
Her gaze dropped to it.
There were faint bruises on her skin, along with red marks that she had no idea where they had come from. They throbbed slightly beneath the cloth.
“I-I didnae even ken I was hurt,” she murmured.
“Aye,” Caelan said softly. “Ye took a blow to the head. Ye were out cold.”
Her breath stuttered. He was right.
The struggle. The strength of her assailant. The darkness rushing in.
Someone had attacked her. But how did her cousin know all of this?
She looked back at Caelan. Thinking about it, he had always ensured her safety. He had been her shadow since childhood.
“Did ye save me?” she asked, her voice quivering. “Was it ye?”
He held her gaze. “From bad decisions?” he said gently, before nodding. “Aye.”
He was not making sense. But she would worry about that later. The most important thing was that he had saved her from the assassin. For now, she just had to find the man who had been creeping her out lately.
She let out a shaky breath. “Thank ye.”
He tended her wrist then, his fingers lingering a second longer than necessary before he pulled back.
“Are ye hurt anywhere else?” he asked.
She shook her head slowly. “Just… sore.”
He studied her face for a moment, a hint of something… intimate flickering in his eyes. It was not the teasing warmth she was used to, but something deeper.
Nay, I must be seeing things.
She shook her head. He probably was just concerned after what had happened. So, she smiled.
“Well, I have news,” she announced, her joy from earlier returning despite everything. “Caelan, I—”
The carriage bounced and slowed. The wheels dragged over gravel before finally coming to a stop.
The rest of her words died on her tongue.
Caelan rose smoothly and reached for the door. He opened it, letting the sunlight spill inside. He stepped down first, then turned back toward her, extending his hand.
“Come,” he said. “Careful.”
Sorcha took his hand but as she descended the first step, he took her by the waist and lifted her to the ground. His hands stayed on her waist longer than he usually would, one hand rising to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
Caelan had never been this polite. Unease coiled in her gut. Something wasn’t right, but she wasn’t sure what. Still, she accepted his hand.
His fingers wrapped around hers, his thumb brushing her knuckles in a way that set off alarm bells in her head.
He helped her down. Once she had placed her foot on the ground, she looked up… and froze at the sight before her.
This was not the castle. Instead, trees and greenery surrounded them. And right ahead was a chapel. A small, old stone structure, its arched doors open wide. Flowers decorated the entrance, as though prepared for a celebration.
Her heart skipped a beat.
What is going on?
She slowly turned to Caelan. “Where are we?” she asked, her eyes searching his face.
He gave a smile, but not the crooked one she knew. This one was composed, too satisfied.
“To attend a wedding, me Lady,” he replied.
Her eyebrows knitted together with confusion. “A wedding?” she echoed faintly.
Out of the blue?
“Aye.” His grip tightened slightly on her hand. “Follow me.”
Her instincts screamed at her to flee, but her feet followed him anyway. Because he was Caelan, and she trusted him far too much to have any doubts.
Each step she took toward the chapel felt heavier than the last. Somehow, the beauty of the place felt too staged. Maybe because it was too glorious. Too quiet. Too perfect.
As they crossed the threshold, her unease grew. How could it not, when they had just walked into an empty chapel?
The wooden pews were vacant. No murmurs. No guests. Not even a priest.
What sort of wedding is this?
Only sunlight welcomed them, painting the floor in colors that felt wrong somehow.
Her pulse quickened.
“Caelan…” She slowed down, then stopped altogether. “What kind of wedding is this?” Her voice echoed faintly in the cavernous space. “Why is it empty?”
She was met with silence at first. Then Caelan’s voice followed. However, it was no longer gentle. No longer warm.
“Because it is our wedding.”
The words sounded heavy and final.
Her mouth dropped open, but no sound came out.
Our wedding? This has to be a joke. A cruel one, but still a joke.
Her cousin loved to tease her, but he had gone really far with his one.
She forced a small laugh. “Caelan, this isnae funny. I am serious.”
But he did not laugh, did not seem amused at all.
“I believe we daenae need guests,” he said evenly. “This is between ye and me.”
Her heart slammed against her ribs. She spun around to face him, fixing him with a glare cold enough to quell his jokes.
But maybe she shouldn’t have done that, because she was greeted with a sight she would never forget. Her breath whooshed out of her.
Caelan was on one knee. Right there on the chapel floor, one knee pressed into stone, his arms held out before him as though this was the most natural thing in the world.
He smiled up at her. But she did not recognize that smile at all.
Sorcha might have gone deaf at that moment—courtesy of shock—but she certainly had not gone blind.
Her cousin was on his knees—No. He was on one knee, inside an empty chapel, talking about weddings.
Isnae that insanely comical?
Her mind refused to accept it at first. Maybe if she laughed hard enough, the image before her would vanish.
Alas, despite her stiff chuckle, Caelan remained there. Still on his knee, still proposing.
“Are ye messing with me right now?” she asked, her voice strained.
Her lashes fluttered. Her brow creased with confusion as she stared at him. Another dry, hollow laugh slipped out.
“This must be a trick,” she declared, shaking her head. “It has to be.”
Her laughter faltered when her gaze landed on something. At that moment, the world slowed down. Her eyes narrowed on his coat pocket.
She could see it. The cloth peeking out. The same one that had been pressed to her nose and mouth.
Sickening realization dawned on her: Caelan was the same man who had jumped from her chamber window, the same man who had knocked her out in the corridor. Why else would that cloth be tucked in his pocket?
The deeper the realization sank in, the tighter terror gripped her.
“Nay,” she whispered, shaking her head.
Her eyebrows rose to her hairline, disbelief pulling at her face until it hurt.
“Nay… nay,” she repeated, backing away.
Who exactly is Caelan?
Her heart sank with dread.
“Was it ye, Caelan?” she asked, her voice hoarse with emotion. “The one who seized me? The one who knocked me down?”
Just like that, Caelan’s expression shifted. Like a mask falling off after years of plastering it on.
It wasn’t dramatic at first. Rather, it was subtle. It started with a slow curl of his mouth, a smile that bent wrong. His expression contorted, too sharp.
Then he let out a laugh. But not the laugh she knew. This one didn’t come with teasing or bickering. It didn’t come with any warmth at all.
Slowly, he rose to his feet, never once taking his eyes off her.
“I told ye,” he said calmly, “I was saving ye from bad decisions.”
His words felt like ants crawling over her skin.
He stepped forward. And for the first time, she backed away from him in fear. Again. And again.
Her mind reeled. What was wrong with him? This had to be madness. A nightmare she had not yet woken from.
“Save me from bad decisions?!” she screamed with frustration, her voice cracking. “Save me from what? What the hell are ye even saying?!”
“I’m saving ye from ruining yer life!” he shot back. “Ye’ve always been foolish anyway.”
She shuddered. She had never thought he would ever call her that.
He took another step closer, no longer hiding his fury. “Thinking any of those men belonged to ye, when ye,” he growled, “belong to me!”
His eyes widened with shock. He looked like her worst nightmare come true. She stumbled backward, her shoulders hitting the wall.
She was trapped, trapped before a cruel reality with the most painful betrayal.
Caelan closed the distance between them. Standing so close now, he lifted his fingers to trace her face, as though he owned her, as though he had already claimed her. His touch made her skin crawl.
“Ye belong to me,” he said, his voice dropping to a terrible whisper, obsession lacing every syllable. “Do ye hear me?”
Sorcha could only blink; she could not form a word. There was so much to say that she wasn’t sure how to even start.
“I’ve always been in love with ye.”
Those words… they would haunt her for the rest of her life. She wasn’t supposed to hear them from her cousin. From family. It felt like a poison-laced blow.
But he wasn’t finished yet.
“And daenae be foolish again,” he bit out. “Jumping into marriages.” He brought his mouth to her ear. “Or else another man will die.”
What?
Her breath came in pants. Her body trembled so violently that the wall behind her was the only thing anchoring her.
Nay, nay, it cannae be.
The realization was horrifying. It was unbearable. All she could do was breathe, shaking violently.
“Those men…” she whispered. “Me previous husbands…” Her eyes searched his face, desperate for denial. “Ye were the one who killed them?”
She was on the verge of breaking.
Caelan opened his mouth, releasing a harsh laugh.
“Aye,” he said simply, shrugging. “And I will do it again if ye try to give another man what belongs to me.”
Time slowed down, her breath stuttered. Memories flashed before her eyes—her husbands’ corpses, the rumors that had followed her, whispers of her being cursed. Caelan had been with her throughout, supporting her, urging her to be strong. When in fact, he was…
She inhaled shakily. Suddenly, her fingers felt too cold. Her knees nearly buckled beneath the weight of the truth.
Innocent men had died because of her. Because she had trusted him. Because she had loved him like family.
A sob escaped her lips.
“How could ye do this?” she cried. “How could ye kill innocent—”
His hand shot out, and his fingers closed around her jaw, forcing her mouth shut. “Nay,” he snarled in her face. “Ye killed them.”
Her breath hitched painfully.
“Ye planned to give yerself to them,” he continued, his eyes wild, “when ye belong to me!”
Spittle flew from his mouth and hit her cheek, his face contorted into something monstrous. She barely recognized him. This was no longer Caelan. Caelan was just an image she had always had in her mind.
Then, his expression smoothed, giving way to something more deliberate and cruel. Something more sinister.
“I ken about ye and William,” he admitted. “And I willnae hesitate to end his life if ye try to return to him.”
The certainty in his voice was what shattered her the most. He didn’t sound angry. The words didn’t even sound like a threat. It was the certainty of an evil man willing to do the same evil deed over and over.
Sorcha could see it clearly. If he had killed before, he would kill again without mercy. And William? William might never stand a chance. For Caelan had murdered three lairds—three heavily guarded men.
Worry wrapped around her heart and squeezed painfully.
She fought a scream, struggled not to collapse altogether. All she could do was let her tears fall, hot with the sting of betrayal.
“So,” Caelan said, straightening, his voice almost pleasant again, “come with me.” He extended his hand. “Let’s go far away. Start anew. As lovers.”
Her stomach churned.
“Where ye’ll be mine forever,” he added, “and nay man will have to suffer for yer negligence again.”
Sorcha stared at his hand, feeling like her world was ending. The one thing she had always sought slipped from her fingers yet again—freedom.
She wanted to scream. She wanted to fight. But she still didn’t want to risk William’s safety. So when Caelan took her hand, she did not resist.