Poppy stepped inside, closing the door carefully behind her. She dipped into a quick curtsy, her hands folded neatly before her. “Ye sent for me, me Laird.”
William turned away from the window to face her fully. His expression was cool, calm, unreadable. He had worn this face for years.
“I did,” he replied evenly. “I need ye to take Sorcha out of the castle today.”
Poppy blinked, surprise flickering briefly across her face. “Out, me Laird?”
“Aye.” He nodded once. “Take her to the fair. Or the market. Anywhere beyond these walls. Make a day of it.”
Curiosity sharpened her gaze, but she did not pry. Poppy was clever enough to know when questions were unwelcome.
“If she asks why?” she ventured carefully.
William’s jaw tightened. “Tell her that ye wish to spoil her. Or that she needs fresh air. Anything that keeps her away till nightfall.”
Poppy studied him for a moment longer. Something passed between them, like an understanding that this was not a simple errand.
“Aye, me Laird,” she answered quietly, bowing. “I’ll see it done.”
When the door closed softly behind her, William exhaled for the first time in what felt like hours. He had done the right thing.
She’ll be safe today. Away from this. Away from me.
He crossed the room and opened a particular Violet chest. Inside lay a sword. Not just any sword. The blade caught the light as he lifted it. Wrapping his fingers around the hilt, the familiarity was instant.
This was not just steel. It was history. The same sword his uncle had driven through his father’s chest. The same sword William had pulled from his father’s body as a boy.
Back then, he had sworn that this blade would deliver justice one day. Not just to his uncle, but also to the men who had helped him.
Gregor. Fergus. Keegan.
His grip tightened.
Another knock sounded at the door, firmer this time.
“Come in,” William called, without looking up. He already knew who it was.
Myles stepped inside, his expression grim.
“I’ve arranged the meeting,” he announced. “Just as ye asked. They took the bait.”
William lifted his gaze. “They didnae question it?”
Myles scoffed quietly. “Nay. As soon as they heard that yer uncle left a will, they came runnin’ like hounds after scraps.”
A mirthless laugh escaped William’s lips. “Greed never disappoints.”
“They think ye’re a fool,” Myles continued. “That ye’ve been kept in the dark all these years.”
William slid the sword back into its sheath before fastening it beneath his coat. “Let them.”
Myles hesitated, then said softly, “Ye sure about this? Once we go there, there’s nay turnin’ back.”
William met his eyes. “There was nay turning back the moment they left me parents to die.”
The words were honest and his pain naked that even Myles grimaced.
“Let’s go,” William said.
