Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
Aquiet unease settled in Sorcha’s chest the moment MacLaren Castle came into view. Even in the dark, she could make out the massive stone walls looming over them as they approached.
Men stood along the walls above, watching as they rode through the gates.
No one cheered their Laird’s return.
No one celebrated the arrival of his new bride.
I daenae think anyone is happy I’m here.
Her stomach twisted, but she kept her head high and straightened her back.
Rowan swung down from his horse first, leaving her to dismount on her own. No matter how hard she tried, no poised landing presented itself. She descended in a humiliating scramble, her cheeks burning bright.
Me first step as Lady MacLaren, and I already look like a fool.
She glared at the back of Rowan’s head as he handed the reins to a waiting stable boy without even glancing in her direction. Sore, hungry, and exhausted, she did not have the energy to protest.
But at least me legs daenae hurt so badly anymore.
She followed Rowan towards the keep, acutely aware of the servants going about their work. Some slowed as they passed, their eyes trailing over her mud-stained dress and messy braid.
They’re wonderin’ why their Laird brought home a mess instead of a bride.
She did not falter, keeping her head high despite the weight of their glances. Rowan stopped abruptly before the great doors, and she nearly walked straight into him.
A tall elderly woman stepped forward. She had silver hair braided tightly against her head with eyes to match, stark against her dark attire.
She looked first at Rowan, bobbing a curtsey. “Me Laird.”
Then she looked at Sorcha, her sharp eyes assessing her in a single sweep from boots to hair.
“So, this is the new Lady MacLaren?” she asked bluntly.
Sorcha stiffened at her tone.
How can he let the housekeeper talk to me like that?
She glanced at Rowan and saw his mouth curve. A real smile. It changed his face entirely. The harsh lines softened, the scar across his eye pulling slightly as the expression reached it.
She could not look away.
So, he does ken how.
His eyes lifted and caught hers. His smile vanished at once, his expression hardening into the mask she had seen since the moment they met.
A sharp pang struck her chest.
Of course, it disappeared the moment he looked at her.
The elderly woman cleared her throat, drawing Sorcha’s attention back to her. Heat rose in Sorcha’s face as she realized she had been caught staring.
Here I was thinkin’ she was rude.
“I am Sorcha Sinclair,” she managed to say despite her nerves. She did not know this woman, but something in her gaze told her it would be wise to earn her favor.
She went still as the woman assessed her once again. She became painfully aware of the state she was in.
God above, I look like I crawled here from the road.
She braced herself for the woman’s disapproval. Instead, the woman gave an approving nod.
“Aye,” she said simply. “Ye’re Lady MacLaren.”
Sorcha felt strange hearing her new title, but she felt the warmth in the woman’s acceptance.
She gave a small smile. “Thank ye. Though I fear I daenae yet ken who to thank.”
The woman’s mouth twitched faintly. “Morag,” she said. “I keep this place from fallin’ apart.”
Rowan snorted quietly behind her.
“Morag will take ye to yer chambers,” he said. “Get her cleaned up and fed.”
That’s all? He’s whisked me across half the Highlands, and now he is leavin’?
Rowan paused as the guards opened the doors for him.
“Rest,” he added dryly. “I’ll see ye tonight.”
And then he was gone.
For a moment, Sorcha stared after him.
Tonight.
Her stomach dropped.
Oh God.
“Aye,” Morag said, startling her as she appeared next to her. “Best we get ye to yer room.”
Tonight, I’m going to share a bed with a stranger. But I didnae come this far to shrink now.
Morag quickly moved through the halls of the keep, surprisingly spry for her age. Sorcha found herself having a harder time keeping up with her than with Rowan.
After a few turns, Morag climbed a short flight of stairs and stopped outside a heavy oak door.
“This will be yers,” she announced, opening the door and ushering her inside.
The moment she crossed the threshold, a sudden wave of heat from a blazing fire rushed out to greet her.
Sorcha sighed in relief as the warmth soothed the chill in her bones. She walked to the middle of the room, taking a slow spin. The room was sparsely furnished, the only warmth coming from the hearth. Her trunks had not arrived yet.
“The rest of yer things will come with the carriages,” Morag said, as if reading her thoughts.
“Thank ye.”
Morag turned toward the doorway and called out, “Hot water. And fresh clothes for Her Ladyship.”
Footsteps hurried away at once.
Sorcha shifted awkwardly as she stood in the middle of the room. “Oh, that isnae necessary,” she said quickly. “Me maid, Flora, will arrive with the others. I can wait.”
Morag slowly turned back toward her, raising an eyebrow. “Me Lady,” she said plainly, “ye look like ye’ve rolled through a field, and ye smell like one too.”
Sorcha froze, unsure of whether to laugh or be insulted.
She isnae lyin’ though, is she?
“We may wait for yer maid for many things,” Morag continued calmly, as if speaking to a child. “But a bath willnae be one of them.”
Two young maids appeared, carrying steaming buckets of water. Morag gestured toward the tub near the hearth.
“There now,” she said. “Problem solved.”
“Very well,” Sorcha relented stiffly.
The maids poured the hot water into the wooden tub, steam rising toward the rafters. Then they took a small bottle of oil, and poured them into the water, their floral scent drifting in the air.
After they poured the water, one of the maids placed folded clothes beside the tub. They looked at her expectantly, and she realized they were waiting for her to undress.
Heat rushed to her face. Her fingers tightened instinctively on the laces of her dress, but she did not move.
“I can manage from here,” she declared, trying to keep her tone polite. “Ye may leave the rest to me.”
The two maids hesitated, looking at Morag. Morag studied her for a moment, then waved the maids away with a small nod.
“Very well,” she said. “We’ll send up food shortly.”
Sorcha waited until their footsteps faded down the hall before letting her shoulders sink.
The day finally seemed to catch up with her.
Her legs throbbed from the fall into the grass, while the long ride left her body stiff and aching. She stepped toward the tub and tested the water with her fingers. The heat seeped into her chilled skin, making her sigh.
She stood there briefly, staring at the steam curling into the air. Rowan’s voice whispered in her head, Tonight.
She gripped the edge of the tub, trying to steady the sudden flutter in her chest.
Of course, he would say it so plainly, as if it were just another duty to be done. But that is what this is, is it nae? A duty.
Her fingers drifted absently to her wrist. For a fleeting moment, she could feel the ghost of his grip from earlier that day. The memory alone sent an unwelcome warmth through her chest.
Sorcha dropped her hand at once.
Ridiculous. The man had barely spoken to me the entire ride, and yet…
Her body betrayed her.
She remembered the way his arms had wrapped around her while they rode. The heat of his chest against her back.
She closed her eyes.
Why does me body have to remember that?
Sorcha shook her head and reached for the laces of her dress.
It meant nothing.
A faint rustle came from behind her, and her fingers stilled on the fabric.
I’m the only one here, am I nae?
She slowly straightened, her pulse quickening.
The attack in the field flashed through her mind, the men emerging from the trees.
“Who’s there?”
Silence answered her.
For a moment, she wondered if exhaustion was playing tricks on her. But then the sound came again, from under the bed.
Her heart lurched. “Show yerself.”
A shadow shifted under the bed.
And Sorcha’s breath caught as a figure crawled out.