Soon, they were moving through the corridors, their boots echoing faintly against stone. They neared the Great Hall, from which loud and careless laughter drifted, alive with renewed hope.
“Cannae believe that man actually left a will!” Gregor roared with laughter.
“Well, he wasnae entirely stupid,” Fergus snorted.
William stopped just short of the threshold, listening intently. Their words made his blood boil. His hands clenched into fists as he listened, palms itching to spill blood.
Keegan’s voice followed, smug as ever. “Imagine the look on the new Laird’s face when he finds out there’s nothing for him to inherit.”
The traitorous bastards!
William clenched his fists. Myles noticed immediately, stepping closer and lowering voice.
“Save yer strength, me Laird,” he urged. “What awaits inside will be worse than their mouths.”
William closed his eyes for a breath.
For me parents. For the boy I was. For… Sorcha.
He opened them again, feeling grounded. And then he stepped into the lions’ den.
The laughter died down the moment William crossed the threshold.
Not abruptly, no. It faltered at first, before turning into something ugly and thin.
They remember me.They just pretend they daenae.
Gregor leaned back in his chair the moment he had composed himself. His lips curled at the sight of William, as if amused. Fergus exchanged a look with Keegan.
William saw it clearly. The mockery. The triumph. The belief that the castle had been snatched from its rightful leader.
They think me uncle won in the end. They think I came back to beg for scraps. Good.
He had made them believe that his uncle had left a will that excluded him from inheriting. A will that gave each of them generous shares of Dunrath lands. And he was glad they had easily taken the bait like blinded fish.
William moved forward with measured steps and claimed the tallest seat at the table—the Laird’s seat—without asking permission, without hesitation. The wood creaked beneath him as he sat, his spine straight, his gaze sharp.
Myles remained standing at his side, his arms crossed as he surveyed the crowd of vultures.
Gregor cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “Well then,” he said lightly, “this is… unexpected.”
“Aye,” Fergus agreed, his smile sly. “But who could skip a discussion about inheritance?”
Keegan chuckled, swirling the wine in his cup. “Yer uncle was generous, after all.”
William’s lips curved. Not a smile, but a warning. Still, none of the men noticed.
“I thank ye for coming,” he said calmly. “I ken how busy men like yerselves can be.”
Gregor laughed. “Busy enough to honor a will, me Laird.” He drew out the title, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
William let out a laugh. It began soft, low in his chest, but it did not stop. It rose, echoing through the hall, carrying no warmth at all. It was the kind of sound that raised the hair on men’s arms.
Keegan was the first to frown. Fergus followed, shifting in his seat. Gregor’s grin faltered.
It was as though the three men were questioning his mental state.
When his laughter finally ceased, William muttered, “What a joke.”
