“I certainly did.”
“Where did ye get the dye?”
“Picked some heathers and lichen for their pigment and made sure to add it to the water for his laundry.”
“How did ye get access to it? I thought his maids did that chore.”
“Well, the maid in charge of the Laird’s laundry is me friend. I just had to convince her to accept me help.”
“Wouldnae that put her in trouble?” Sorcha asked, biting her lip.
“Nay, it willnae. I let everyone ken that I was the one who washed the Laird’s clothes. Most of them think I did it because I wanted to be praised for the effort. But I did it so that me friend will be spared, in case the Laird came to complain.”
“Ye would get in trouble for me?”
“I am nae afraid of the Laird. I have always wanted to give him a piece of me mind. I just might have the opportunity now.”
“But—”
Before Sorcha could finish, the door burst open, and William barged in, wearing an unbuttoned pinkish shirt. Seeing him in such a ridiculous color, so angry he could not talk, she had to bite back a laugh.
“What did ye do to me shirts?” he bit out.
“I washed them.”
“Then ye must have dyed them as well.”
Sorcha just shrugged. Turning to Poppy, she whispered, “Go, spend time with yer friend.”
“But—” Poppy started, her eyes darting between them, obviously worried.
“Go,” Sorcha urged with a reassuring smile.
There must have been something reassuring about her expression because in the next moment, Poppy bolted out of the room, leaving her alone with William.
The moment her maid left, Sorcha turned to study William. No matter how hard he frowned, the expression was ruined by the feminine color.
She could not help but laugh, amused by the picture he presented. But he was not amused, and the sound of her laughter seemed to anger him further.
Pulling off the shirt, he crumpled it into a ball and threw it down with so much force that her laughter died down.
The man was a veritable sculpture, his chest and abdomen a wall of hard muscle with no hint of fat anywhere. She swallowed, appreciating the beauty of the man before her.
“Sorcha,” he hissed, jolting her out of her lustful daze. “Who would take responsibility for this?”
“Well, that is me. Ye must have decided I was the culprit, since ye came here.”
“What are ye going to do about this?” he fumed, his muscles rippling distractingly.
Sorcha had to take a deep breath and focus on his angry face instead of his naked chest.
“Nothing,” she answered. “This is yer punishment.”
“Punishment for what?” he growled, prowling toward her.
She should probably run, but instead of feeling scared, she was aroused, enjoying being the focus of such raw intensity.
Swallowing hard, she replied, “For dismissin’ me last night when I only wanted to help.”
