Deciding the night was nothing to be kept a secret, he recounted what had happened. Leaving out certain parts, of course.
“She’s a handful,” Myles commented.
William grunted in agreement. He was loath to speak any further of her, especially when images of her body kept tormenting him.
5
Dawn took its sweet time in arriving, but when her maid walked in and opened the curtains, letting the rays of the early morning sun caress her face, Sorcha immediately opened her eyes.
“‘Tis strange,” Poppy said, her mouth dropping open in shock.
“What is?” Sorcha asked, sitting up and throwing her mussed hair over her shoulder.
It would take quite a while to untangle the mess it had become, no thanks to her brilliant plan to behave like a demon-possessed lass in the hope of scaring the new Laird away.
Now that she thought about it, it was a foolhardy plan. Not only did it not work, but now she also had to deal with the humiliation of being bested at her own game and untangling her hair.
“Ye never wake up on yer own. Imagine me shock to see ye wide awake this morn’. It didnae seem like ye had enough sleep. What is the matter?” Poppy replied, concern and suspicion warring in her grey eyes.
The maid was way too perceptive for her own good. It was almost difficult to hide anything from her.
“There is nothing amiss. I might have just decided to turn a new leaf, set a good example as the lady of the castle.”
“Hmmph,” Poppy snorted. “And I’m sure I would spot pigs flyin’ if I look out the window.”
“Poppy!” Sorcha chided.
“I am nae a bairn, me Lady. Ye have giant black rings around yer eyes,” Poppy said, gesturing to her face. “And yer hair looks like a bird’s nest. I am guessin’ we will have a devil of a time untanglin’ it. I wager that ye spent last night doing something other than sleeping. Something that reeks ofmischief. But that nay concern of mine. Come.” She took her hands and helped her out of bed.
Damn her quick mind. She was correct in a way. Instead of sleeping, Sorcha had been trying to drive the handsome Laird away and lusting after him.
The man was infuriating, and that was the reason why she had yet to find sleep since he had left her room after laying waste to her carefully laid plans and her senses as well.
Even now, she could still feel his touch on her lips, the press of the ribbon around her mouth. She remembered the amused satisfaction in his eyes as he had made her aware that he had caught on to her game. She also remembered when that amusement had turned into lust as he had stared at her lips.
She had wanted what his eyes had promised, even though she had known just how life-altering indulging him would be. But it had not mattered.
It was his fault. He could have stayed wherever he was and not returned to Dunrath to turn everything on its head and order her around, as if she were unwanted furniture instead of the lady she was.
By all accounts, she was the widow of the former Laird. It was certainly improper for William to barge into her bedchamber at such a late hour, and it was even more improper for him to touch her lips, even if it was to chase away her ‘nightmares’ in a sense.
Somehow, she did not think that a man who had embraced the title of a traitor’s son would care for what was proper. Perhaps it was normal for him to behave in such an uncouth way, but she had no excuse for the thrill that had coursed through her when he had touched her. And God, she had frozen when he tied the ribbon around her mouth.
Shaking off the heated images, she rushed to disabuse Poppy of her conclusion.
“I daenae ken what ye speak of. I might just have had a nightmare.”
“Except ye daenae have night terrors. Ye could sleep like a bairn on a battlefield, so there is nay chance of that. The truth is, I am grateful for that. Any other lass would be waking up in a cold sweat every night if she had suffered even half of what ye’ve been through,” Poppy said, her voice softening. It brought a smile to Sorcha’s lips.
For all her censure and nagging, Poppy reminded her of a mother hen. She was still a dear friend who understood and loved her the most—apart from her father and Caelan, of course.
Quietly, Sorcha allowed Poppy to lead her to the steaming bath. She lowered herself into the water and closed her eyes in pleasure as her muscles relaxed and the tension left her shoulders. At least for a short while.
Poppy moved around the room, possibly choosing and laying out dresses. Not that there was anything exciting about her dresses. Since her husband died, Sorcha had to wear mourning weeds and had only just switched to colors like brown and grey. Depressing colors, as far as she was concerned, but it was custom, even though the man had only been her husband for barely half a day before he cocked up his toes.
The moment the priest had pronounced them man and wife, she had accepted that she had become his widow. But there was something she never understood: his daughters.
While she was far removed from grief, since she had no feelings for him, her stepdaughters seemed even more distant. They had barely reacted when they learned that their father had died.
