“Please, daenae be confused.”
Just then, she spotted the candleholder Avery claimed to have hidden in the exact same spot she had retrieved it from. In a burst of disbelief, she rushed for it.
William grabbed her wrist just as her fingers wrapped around the bronze, looking horror-stricken. “If ye plan is to bash me head in, I assure ye, I willnae go down that easily.”
“I assure ye, if I intend to kill ye, ye willnae see me coming.”
He yanked her back, and she slammed into him, her breath whooshing out of her. If he were any closer, their lips would be touching.
The thought repulsed her.
“I give ye three months to make yer decision. If ye daenae come to me with an answer by then, I will throw ye out into the streets without a bit of sympathy.”
“Only if I daenae manage to get rid of ye first.”
“Ye can only be rid of me when ye leave me castle.” He turned around and walked away. “Daenae test me further; I can change me mind any minute and throw ye out.”
“Ye forget that I am a laird’s daughter, nae some random lassie.”
The candleholder hit the closed door, leaving a deep dent.
She could not help but be bothered by his threats. She now had three months. Three months to either cave to his will or get rid of him. On any other day, she would plan. But tonight, he would not get a good night’s rest.
4
William woke up in a cold sweat despite the chill of the night. Something had shocked him awake but the night around him seemed still and unbothered. He ran a hand over his face on a sigh.
He didn’t know when he had fallen asleep, all he could recall was that he had passed out the moment his back touched the warm bedcovers.
A loud, feminine voice cried out again, shocking the last dregs of sleep from his person.
“What the bloody hell is that?” he said, stumbling to his feet.
The voice was hoarse and raw, and it came from the corridor, that much he noticed. He stumbled in the dark until he reached the heavy wooden door and yanked it open.
The low light only added to his sense of doom as he felt his way down the corridor. He was still battling delirium when an epiphany hit him like harsh waves against a sailor’s ship.
He stumbled backward. That voice… he knew it.
Sorcha.
He bolted.
He did not care much for her person. It was only duty that pushed him forward to prevent such a calamitous event on his first day as Laird.
Her injury or death would no doubt lead the blame to fall on him or worse would have them revoke his claim on the title for his inability to protect the clan. It wouldn’t be a hard thing for them to do seeing as they were yet to accept him after all.
A dark thought came to his mind. This could be their plan. They had sided with his uncle so quickly after the man had murdered his parents. It wouldn’t be so difficult to take another life so easily to further their goals.
He pushed the memory away and barreled into her room.
Moonlight shone over her still form. His chest heaved as he watched her, unconscious and unharmed. He stalked to her, and her lips parted, releasing another bone-chilling scream.
He stood over her, and her lids fluttered just enough for him to realize her ploy. She was not sleeping. Rather, she waspretending, disturbing him in his sleep with petty little tricks.
What would she gain? What was her motive?
She was small and frail in his arms, so when he shook her, her neck bobbed dangerously. “Lass, wake up!”
