Sorcha could already imagine the teasing glint in the girl’s eyes, the way she would demand every scandalous detail over a stolenpint of ale. Then Rhea, sweet and steadfast, would hug her fiercely as she murmured blessings for a bright future.
But Caelan? Caelan would be the happiest of all. Her cousin would be glad to hear that they didn’t have to leave. That they didn’t have to start anew in a faraway village. His face would light up like the midsummer sun.
No more packing trunks, no more tearful goodbyes. She could call this place home now.
She hummed louder as she crossed the old halls, her gown brushing against the floor.
Suddenly, she heard a noise behind her, like the scuff of a boot on stone. Then, a shadow fell right next to her.
Her breath hitched.
She turned her head, when a dark blur shot from the wall like a nightmare given form. Before she could react, a large hand clamped over her mouth from behind, muffling her startled cry.
Panic ripped through her as she twisted against the iron grip.
Who? Why?Her mind screamed the questions as her body fought for freedom.
But her attacker was too strong. Suddenly, a foul-smelling cloth was pressed against her lips and nose. The acrid scent burned her throat, making her eyes water.
She struggled even harder, her nails digging into his skin. But the more she twisted, the more his grip tightened, until it became almost painful.
Her heart hammered wildly. She tried to scream again, but his hand muffled every sound.
With the last bit of energy she had, she wrenched her head to the side. She was desperate to catch a glimpse of her assailant.
Was he one of William’s enemies? Or was it something worse, tied to her curse?
The questions had barely formed when a wave of dizziness hit her. Her lungs burned for air.
Nay,I willnae go down like this. Nae now, nae when I’ve just found love.
She twisted again, desperate to break free, when she received a sharp blow to the back of her head.
Just like that, the word dissolved into oblivion, everything going black.
32
Peace had always been the most dangerous thing. William had learned that years ago.
He stood at the tall window of his study, watching the landscape. Sunlight spilled lazily across the hills. The sky was clear, the breeze moving softly.
It was an uneventful day. The kind of day men trusted. And that was why it reminded him of a certain day when blood spilled freely in a certain corridor. Both days had the same clear sky.
Memories flooded in.
His father’s body in the courtyard. His mother’s scream cut short. His uncle’s hand steady on the hilt of a sword.
William inhaled slowly through his nose, composing himself. He had waited years for this. Years of patience, of restraint, of watching the men responsible grow comfortable in their rot.
Today, all of that would end.
And yet, damn him, his thoughts still circled back to Sorcha. The way she had looked at him that morning—soft, bright, alive. The way her fingers had held his shirt tightly, as though he were something different in a world that had never been kind to her. The way she had… trusted him.
That trust was the reason he had done what he had done.
A knock sounded at the door.
“Enter,” he called.
