Murderer,witch…
The words echoed in her head, and the faces morphed into the girls’. She tried to call out to them, to beg for theirunderstanding, but her voice was muted. She could only watch, a victim of their accusations.
Avery clapped her hands, cutting into the gruesome thoughts. “Let’s play a game.”
“How would that drive the Laird away?” Sorcha asked, her anxiety ebbing.
“We shouldnae waste more time on that dastard. Instead, we should have fun. Who kens, maybe we could frustrate him that way.” Avery beckoned Rhea over.
Rhea rose from her seat and joined them, looking everywhere but at Sorcha.
As she explained the rules of the game, Avery moved around the room. “I would hide an object.” She picked up a candleholder and removed the candle. The brass base must have weighed a ton, for she struggled to hold it up. “Then ye three would search for it.”
Caelan made a sound as if he thought himself exempt from their childishness.
“The weather’s too bad to play outside, so we stay here.” Avery shooed them out of the room, claiming that she also needed to set the stage. Sorcha shuddered
Once they were outside, Rhea took her hand. She lifted her head from the closed door and turned to her. “I am sorry again, I really didnae mean to?—”
Sorcha waved a dismissive hand. “I am nae angry with ye.”
Before she could say anything else, the oak doors swung open.
Her eyes trailed over the void Avery had left. She could still make out the upholstery as light spilled in from the corridor, but once they were in the room and the door shut behind them, they would not be able to make out much. She quickly mapped the room, superimposing her earlier memory over the present, and the shadows took form.
Whilst she pondered on a strategy, Caelan and Rhea rushed past her with a childlike eagerness. Sorcha was not particularly competitive, but on that day, she rifled through her personalities and pulled out a conqueror’s sword. The weapon, bestowed upon her on the day of her birth, granted her perceptiveness. She bravely swung the sword to victory.
Before the door closed, she rushed toward the biggest shadow. Her hand came in contact with the cold gilded edge of a couch. But she could not celebrate the small achievement just yet.
Her second course of action was to listen for her map. She listened for Rhea and Caelan’s cries as they bumped into one object after another. She noted the parts she should avoid and the places their feet freely padded through.
She decided that the rug at the center of the room was the most hazardous thing.
Of course, her plan wasn’t perfect. On her first step, she ricocheted off a hard surface. Caelan laughed as he steadied her.
She would also have to dodge moving traps. Noted.
She maneuvered her way through the room, following her mental map. Rhea had bruised enough limbs to complete the map. It was unlikely for another accident to occur.
Suddenly, Sorcha bumped her knee against something and stumbled forward. She put her arms out in front of her. Luckily, the item was a stool, which must have been dislodged during the chaos. She balanced herself on the flat surface and tried to stand.
To her dismay, the stool was a dessert trolley. The wheels wobbled, and she came tumbling. She yelped, and a crash followed as the trolley collided with the hard bark of something.
She did not meet the floor, for a pair of muscular arms wrapped around her waist and held her up. She leaned gratefully against her cousin’s shoulder.
“Thank ye, Caelan,” she sighed.
His fingers pressed into her spine, forcing her to arch into him. His grip was aggressive. It did not feel like her cousin’s, nor did his body. She had wanted to rest her head against his shoulderwhen she collided with his chest. It wasn’t a miscalculation; the man holding her could not be her cousin.
William bowed his head and hissed, “Are ye enjoying yerself?”
Sorcha stiffened as his breath fanned her ear. How could she have thought this imposing figure was her cousin?
Light peeked in from where he had slipped in. When she looked away, she noticed how the whole room had come to a halt. Even Caelan seemed threatened by him.
“Open the curtains.”
Muslin dresses rustled at his request.
