Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
The door slammed shut behind Sorcha as she stepped into her room. She quickly set the torch back into the iron bracket beside the door, its light joining the softer glow from the hearth.
What has gotten into him?
She leaned back against the door, one hand rising instinctively to her chest as she tried to steady her heartbeat. The corridor outside had been cool, holding the chill of the evening, yet her skin burned as though she had run the length of the keep.
She did not move for a moment, trying to catch her breath, but her pulse refused to settle.
She closed her eyes, and the moment replayed itself before she could stop it. The heat of his palm, the strength of his grip. Her fingers twitched slightly at her side, as though they still remembered his touch.
Her eyes flew open at the thought.
Daft girl. Get a hold of yerself.
She had expected Rowan to be many things. Cold, perhaps. Distant. Even resentful of the marriage forced upon him. But that confrontation in the corridor had been something else entirely.
He had looked at her with those steel-grey eyes as though he were trying to peel her apart piece by piece.
And the questions? I answered honestly.
Duty. It was the truth any reasonable person would understand. Yet he had seemed to be expecting more from her.
She shook her head, sighing as she made her way to the bed and sat on the edge.
Did he think I came willingly? Begged for the match?
She nearly laughed at the thought.
Does me reason even matter at all?
She was here now. That was the only truth that held weight.
A soft knock sounded at the door, interrupting her thoughts. She lifted her head, her stomach twisting at the possibility of it being Rowan.
The door opened only a crack, before a familiar voice called, “Me Lady?”
Relief washed over her as soon as she heard that familiar voice.
“Flora?”
The door swung open fully, then Flora stepped inside with a rush of cold evening air in her wake. Her cheeks were flushed from travel, her green eyes bright as they landed on Sorcha.
“Oh, me Lady!” she exclaimed, grabbing both of Sorcha’s hands before she could even rise from the bed. “I am so sorry to be late. The wagons moved slower than a herd of stubborn cows the whole way here.”
Sorcha squeezed her hands, warmth spreading through her chest at the sight of her maid. “I was beginnin’ to think ye abandoned me.”
Flora gasped dramatically. “Never.”
Behind her, servants carried in a large trunk and set it beside the wall. A few others entered, scattering vases of lavender around the space. They all bowed politely before leaving the room.
Sorcha exhaled in relief.
Thank God she’s here.
Suddenly, the keep did not feel so foreign.
Flora shrugged off her cloak and tossed it over a chair before pacing around the room, as if assessing whether it was up to standard. “The room is… nice.”
Sorcha snorted. “It isnae much of a home, is it?”
Flora reached out and gave her arm a gentle squeeze. “Nae yet, but it will be. Ye’ll see.”
I’m nae sure about that.
“Well,” Flora said, changing the subject. “Ye’re married now.”
Sorcha let out a heavy sigh. “Aye.”
Flora’s expression softened. “Oh… It has been a long day, has it nae?”
Sorcha’s mind flashed through everything that had happened, a lifetime crammed into a single day.
“The longest of me life,” she muttered.
Flora hummed sympathetically before opening the trunk, rummaging through Sorcha’s belongings until she pulled out a small satchel.
“Come,” she said, gesturing toward the chair near the hearth. “Sit. We’ll make ye presentable before yer Wolf comes lookin’ for ye.”
He’s nae me Wolf. As if I could tame the beast.
Sorcha lowered herself into the chair with a quiet sigh as Flora uncorked a vial. The scent of lavender filled the air almost immediately.
“Ye daenae need much. Yer bath oils did all the work. Just need some final touches.”
Flora dipped her fingers into the oil and gently worked it into Sorcha’s hair, the soothing scent wafting through the room.
It should have felt calming. Instead, the quiet only gave Sorcha’s thoughts room to wander to things she’d rather avoid. She fiddled with the hem of her sleeve, unsure of how to bring up the subject.
“Flora…”
Flora paused, clearly sensing her hesitation. “Me Lady?”
“Ye’ve heard things, havenae ye?”
“Heard things?”
“Ye ken.” Sorcha gestured vaguely. “About… the weddin’ night.”
There was a brief moment of silence. Sorcha wondered if the maid had heard her.
“Oh,” Flora said awkwardly, clearing her throat. “Well, nae from experience.”
Silence fell again.
“Ye’re nay help at all.”
They both burst into laughter.
“Well, I do ken one thing.”
“What is that?”
Flora leaned slightly closer, lowering her voice. “If ye’re nae sure what to do, let him take the lead.”
Sorcha tilted her head, eyebrows drawn together. “What do ye mean?”
“He’s a laird, me Lady,” Flora stated, wiping her hands on a cloth. “And I doubt very much ye’re the first woman he’s ever seen without a dress.”
Sorcha blushed despite herself. But then her mind wandered somewhere else entirely.
Flora noticed the change in her demeanor immediately. “What?”
Sorcha bit her lip, looking down at her lap. She wasn’t sure if she should say this to anyone.
She’ll find out, eventually. It’s nae like it is a secret… I think.
“He was married before.”
Flora’s eyes widened, her hand going straight to her mouth as she gasped. “What?”
Sorcha nodded slowly, looking back up at her. “I daenae ken to who, only that she passed away.”
“Passed away? How?”
“Givin’ birth to their daughter.”
Flora’s jaw nearly touched the floor. Then closed. Then opened again. “D-d-daughter?” she stammered.
“Aye.”
Flora stared at her as though she had just announced pigs could fly.
“Her name is Elspeth.”
“How old?”
“Five. Perhaps six.”
Flora leaned against the table, stunned. “I cannae believe it,” she murmured. “The North Wolf raisin’ a daughter by himself.” She shook her head, her eyes drifting as if trying to picture it. “That does change how I see him. But just a wee bit.”
Sorcha allowed a small smile to touch her lips.
Me too.
Flora straightened, shaking her head as if to shake off the surprise. “Well, if we continue gabbin’, ye willnae be ready when yer husband arrives.”
Sorcha groaned. “Must ye remind me?”
Flora laughed, moving toward the trunk again. She pulled out a folded white shift, holding it up for inspection. It was made of fine linen but unadorned. Despite its simplicity, the fabric caught the light in a way that made it seem luminous.
“This will do nicely,” she declared.
Sorcha stared at it, a flutter starting in her stomach. The room suddenly felt hot, too hot.
This is really happenin’.
Flora motioned for her to stand up. She helped take off her dress and replaced it with the white shift. When she crouched briefly to adjust the hem, her hands stilled.
Sorcha noticed immediately.
“What is it?”
Flora gently turned her leg toward the firelight, revealing faint purple bruises across her knee.
Ah, the fall.
“Good heavens, me Lady,” she breathed. “What happened to ye?”
“I’ll tell ye another time.” Sorcha nodded toward the door. “I am certain Rowan will be here soon.”
Flora hummed thoughtfully, following her gaze. “Well, all right. Daenae think I’ll forget.”
Stepping forward one last time, she smoothed the shoulders of the shift before taking Sorcha’s hair out of its braid.
“There,” she said, admiring her work. “Perfect.”
Sorcha huffed. “Hardly.”
Flora gave her a knowing smile. “He’s a man, me Lady. I doubt he’ll be terribly critical.”
At the door, she turned back to Sorcha with a warm smile.
“Ye’ll be all right,” she said gently, before leaving the room.
There was no avoiding it now. Sooner or later, Rowan would come for his bride.