Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
By the time the sunlight faded, Sorcha had spent most of the day in her chambers.
She’d gone looking for Elspeth after breakfast, only to learn she had gone out with Rowan to the pond.
The thought of the girl’s laughter had tugged at her, but the memory of Rowan’s warm breath against her skin and the low timbre of his voice was enough for her to keep her distance.
Was he serious? Or perhaps he was just mockin’ me so I would shut me mouth.
But there was little else to occupy her. While everyone else in the castle seemed to have their roles and duties, she had none. Forced to either wander through the halls like a ghost or return to her chamber.
And so she returned to her chamber. To the quiet. To the only thing that belonged to her.
The knife moved steadily in her hands, thin curls of wood gathering in her lap as the shape of the wood in her grasp began to take form. Each cut was guided more by habit than thought.
Her mind drifted back to him.
She cursed under her breath as she pressed the blade deeper than she had intended. She stopped at once, setting the blade down on her lap and flexing her fingers.
What is wrong with me? He’s made it clear that he wants to keep me at arm’s length, yet I cannae seem to keep him out of me mind.
The memory rose sharper now, his proximity difficult to forget. Goosebumps rose all over her skin at the memory of his breath on her neck, whispering to her words he probably did not mean.
He most definitely was mockin’ me.
She shook her head, picking up the knife again to continue.
“I can hear ye thinkin’ from across the room.” Flora’s voice rang out in the silence, light but knowing. She came to sit next to Sorcha, her arms loosely folded as she watched her.
“Am I that obvious?” Sorcha laughed, glancing at her.
“Anyone can tell something is wrong, what with how tense ye are. Ye didnae even answer me when I came in and mentioned supper. That alone tells me enough.”
Sorcha smiled bashfully, realizing she had been so deep in thought that she had not heard Flora enter the room. “I’m nae hungry.”
“Aye,” Flora answered teasingly, “and that has nothin’ to do with the fact that Laird MacLaren will be there.”
Sorcha scoffed, focusing on her knife. “It has everythin’ to do with the fact that I have nay appetite,” she insisted.
Flora sighed, leaning back in her seat. “Ye can tell me the truth, me Lady. What’s troublin’ ye?”
Sorcha’s lips pressed together, the truth held hostage in her throat. It felt too raw to give shape to, too uncertain to speak without sounding foolish.
What can I say? That I daenae understand him? That I cannae stand in the same room as him without losing meself?
She swallowed it back before any of it could reach her lips. “There’s nothin’ to say.”
“Then why does it look like ye’re about to carve that poor thing in half?” Flora’s gaze flickered to Sorcha’s hands in concern.
Sorcha looked down at the small piece of wood in her palm, its lines uneven and rougher than they should be. She exhaled dramatically, laying the knife on the table.
“I daenae ken what to make of him,” she admitted softly. “One moment, he treats me like nothin’ more than an obligation; the next…” she trailed off, lifting her hand to the back of her neck. “The next, he speaks as though…”
“As though what?” Flora prompted.
Sorcha shook her head, lowering her hand. “It doesnae matter.”
Flora’s expression softened. “He unsettles ye.”
Sorcha let out a breath that was part laugh, part sigh. “Aye, he does.”
Silence settled between them for a moment, Sorcha staring at the rough carving in her hand.
She had entered into this marriage as she had been taught—steady, agreeable, willing to take her place without complaint.
She had asked for nothing, expected little, and done exactly what was required of her.
And still, Rowan turned away from her. As though she were something he could simply… set aside.
The thought unsettled her. There was no guidance for this, no rule she could follow to make it right. She felt hopeless.
“What am I doing wrong?”
Flora placed her hand on Sorcha’s over the carving, squeezing it. “There isnae anythin’ wrong with ye. If anythin’, the fault lies with him, walkin’ around like he doesnae ken what to do with ye. Ye’d think ye were the Wolf, what with the way he keeps away from ye.”
Sorcha huffed a quiet laugh as the tension in her shoulders eased. Flora always seemed to have the right thing to say in these moments, always lifting her spirits.
“If he insists on keepin’ his distance,” Flora continued, “then I’ll happily take advantage of it. It means I have ye to meself a while longer.”
Sorcha felt the kindness in her words. She was very grateful to have found a friend in Flora.
If she werenae here, I daenae ken what I’d do. At least with her here, I’m nae alone.
Flora’s expression softened again, and she let out a soft sigh. “Give it time, me Lady. Ye’ve done everythin’ right since ye arrived. That much I swear on.”
Sorcha cleared her throat, her eyes stinging with unshed tears. She gave Flora a soft smile, picking up her knife to carve again. “Thank ye, Flora.”
Flora studied her, then rose to her feet and went to the trunk at the foot of the bed. “Whether ye like it or nae, it’s near time for supper. Ye should change.”
“I willnae go.” The words came quicker than Sorcha had intended. Even though her talk with Flora had quelled some of her unease, she still was not ready to face Rowan. She was not sure when she would be ready to.
Flora paused, glancing back at her. “Ye’re certain?”
“Aye.”
“As ye wish. I’ll send up a tray instead.”
“That’s nae necessary,” Sorcha replied, anxiety coiling in her stomach.
Flora gave her a look that she knew too well. “I’ll have it sent up anyway. Ye may change yer mind.”
Sorcha shrugged but did not argue. She knew better than to try.
Flora made her way to the door. “Daenae stay up all night thinkin’. It will do ye nay good.”
She stepped out of the room, leaving Sorcha alone with her thoughts.
Sorcha remained where she was for a moment, staring off into the hearth before resuming her carving. This time, her hands found their rhythm more easily, the familiar motion returning piece by piece.
Her thoughts drifted back to a happier time. To a time when she used to carve simple wooden figures for her family. How proud she was to show her mother and father what she had made.
She drew a long breath, setting the memories aside.
That life is gone. This is the one that remains.
A knock on the door made her go still, her fingers tightening around the knife. Before she could rise, the door opened, revealing a guard.
“Me Lady,” he greeted, bowing. “I apologize for the intrusion, but the Laird has requested yer presence.”
Her breath caught, her heart fluttering in her chest as excitement and resistance wrestled inside her.
Did he mean what he said earlier? It wasnae mockery, then?
“I need a moment,” she said, recovering her composure. “Fetch Flora to help me get ready.”
The guard seemed to hesitate, shifting from one foot to the other. “Me Lady, he said it was urgent.”
She inhaled sharply, grinding her teeth as she got up and placed her carving and knife on the table.
Of course, it is. Always on his terms.
“I understand,” she said with a nod, reaching for her shawl and draping it around her shoulders.
If Rowan wanted to see her now, then he would have to receive her as she was. And he’d better not complain about it.
As she looked up, she was drawn to her half-finished carving on the table. She frowned slightly as the firelight bounced off its edges, the shape becoming clear.
A wolf.
Her fingers curled into the hem of her shawl. It seemed that along with her mind, her hands had betrayed her, too.
Turning away with a huff, she followed the guard into the dimly lit corridor. It seemed to stretch endlessly as they walked through it, her unease rising with every step.
She’d meant to avoid Rowan tonight, to hold her ground if only in this one small way.
Nothin’ about him has proven easy.
Taking a deep breath, she hardened herself, preparing mentally for whatever was to come.
He had turned away from her time and again, yet here she was, offering herself to him.