Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Rowan walked through the corridors, his heart heavy as he made his way to the Great Hall. He’d almost decided to skip breakfast to avoid Sorcha, but his pride would not let him.
There was also a part of him, a part he would rather not acknowledge, that wanted to see her face. Guilt had wound itself around his heart, and he wondered how she was doing after he had failed to show up last night.
Shaking his head, he tried hard to reason with his guilt.
I didnae do anythin’ wrong. I did what was necessary.
He had reached the bottom of the stairs to her chambers last night before memories of his first wife froze him in place. Then he had retreated to his study and stayed there until dawn.
Coward.
The word echoed in his mind over and over.
Exhaling through his nose, he pushed that thought down where it belonged.
Nae cowardice, but control. I shouldnae have told her I was comin’ at all.
The urge to retreat seized him again as the doors to the Great Hall came into view. Beyond the doors, Sorcha’s laughter mingled with Elspeth’s.
Suddenly, he remembered her laughter by the pond yesterday. How the sound had made his heartbeat quicken and eased the tension in his body at the same time. How it had pulled him to her before he could stop himself.
The harder he tried to deny himself, the harder it became for him to avoid her. It seemed fate wanted nothing more than to push her into his path. How much longer before he could no longer resist?
The guards opened the doors as he approached.
Elspeth sat with Morag, her head on the table as she watched the turtle eat from her hand. Sorcha was sitting across from them, smiling softly at Elspeth.
Rowan found himself holding his breath, waiting for the moment when Sorcha would look into his eyes. Waiting for the anger he thought he would see.
But she did not look up at him when he approached. Not even when Elspeth called out, “Da!”
He stepped up to Elspeth and briefly patted the top of her head. Morag dipped her head in greeting.
Sorcha bowed her head, but she did not look at his face. “Me Laird.”
Polite but cold.
Does she nae care that I didnae come to her room last night?
As he sat, his eyes lingered on her profile longer than necessary. Even when Elspeth began talking about Mr. Turtle, he could only nod absently, unable to shake his focus.
He thought it best to take her lead. Keep things cordial and polite. There was no need to make breakfast uncomfortable for everyone.
He cleared his throat. “Did ye sleep well, Lady Sorcha?”
Morag choked on her drink.
Sorcha’s eyes widened slightly.
Rowan realized his mistake much too late, his attempt to ease the tension failing miserably.
What a dobber.
Morag’s eyes flickered between the two in the tense silence that followed. She sighed, turning to Elspeth. “That’s enough, Lady Elspeth. I’m sure Mr. Turtle is missin’ his family.”
Elspeth looked confused for a moment, but then smiled and picked up her turtle. “Time to see yer ma, Mr. Turtle!”
Morag gave Rowan and Sorcha one final look before leading Elspeth out of the Great Hall, the child’s voice fading as the doors shut behind them. The quiet that followed settled heavily, filling the space where her chatter had been.
Sorcha still did not look at him or answer his question, reaching for her cup instead to take a slow sip, letting the tension thicken.
Rowan had expected defiance. A sharp word, perhaps. But this felt worse. She met him not with anger, but with distance.
He had meant to keep his distance. To control the pace of this union before it turned into something he could not undo. Yet she had taken that distance and shaped it into something else entirely.
Something that did not include him at all.
“Ye have little to say this mornin’,” he remarked calmly, though the silence had begun to wear on him.
Sorcha lifted her gaze, and his hand flexed under the table as she did. She looked him right in the eyes, her expression neutral.
“I daenae have much to say.”
“To me?” he asked. “Or at all?”
Her expression did not shift as she answered, “Both.”
She broke eye contact first. And though it was a small gesture, it felt strangely dismissive, making him uneasy. The lack of emotion on her face and in her voice left him nothing to grasp.
I should be relieved. This is what I wanted. So why does it feel so wrong?
He watched her take a slow, measured breath. Then she lifted her eyes to his, direct and unyielding.
“Will ye visit me tonight, me Laird?”
There was no plea in her voice, no shy invitation. It strangely sounded like a command rather than a question. He noted the faint flush rising in her cheeks, though she refused to look away.
Saints preserve me, what have I done to her? If she asks me like that again…
A slow smirk curved his lips. He sat and leaned back in his seat, his eyes studying the flush in her cheeks.
“Are ye that eager?” He let the edge remain in his voice, watching for the moment she might retreat.
“I speak of duty.” Her jaw flexed, and her eyes flashed. “Or doesnae that matter when it comes to me?”
Something stirred in his chest at the spark in her eyes, a dangerous, unwelcome heat. He shouldn’t crave her reaction, shouldn’t find satisfaction in breaking through her walls. Yet there he was, being pulled toward her despite himself.
He rose then, pushing his chair back with a deliberate scrape that echoed off the stone walls. Sorcha did not flinch, nor did she turn to watch him as he circled behind her. He bent slightly, close enough that his breath stirred the hairs at the nape of her neck.
“If ye keep speakin’ of duty,” he purred, “I’ll show ye what it truly means to make an heir.”
He heard the hitch in her breath, watched as her hands fisted in her lap. He felt the thrum of his own pulse in his temples, the heat of her skin so close he could taste it. Then he straightened, stepping away as quickly as he had approached her.
Have I gone too far?
Making his way toward the door, he could not stop himself from turning his head slightly, catching sight of her one more time.
Her eyes followed him, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. Her lips, slightly parted, betrayed the composure she fought to maintain.
Nae far enough.