But it was different this time. She could feel it. It wasn’t because of the workload, but because ofhim.
Her hands were busy sorting ribbons meant to decorate the wooden pillars of the Great Hall. Despite how important it was, her mind was nowhere near the task. It had no interest in fabric, flowers, or lanterns. Rather, it only lingered stubbornly on a single moment, replaying it far too many times since dawn.
It was absurd how acutely she could still feel it. How his warm breath had brushed her lips. How he had held her, touched thenape of her neck as though his hand didn’t belong anywhere else.
And now that she remembered how his lips had pressed against hers, she suppressed a whimper. Apparently, she failed.
Yet, the worst part was the hunger he had left in his wake. She had never felt this before, had never badly wished for something that had always been so frightful.
Longing. Breathless longing. That was what had been left in her pounding heart the moment he had released her and walked away.
Then, longing turned into chaos, so unbearable that she could hardly focus on her daily tasks.
“What is wrong with ye, Sorcha?”she had asked herself far too many times. Because she had not been this helpless.
But that wasn’t even the most unsettling part. It was how she had stood there and let it happen. Had leaned into him without thought, without caution, without remembering all the reasons she was supposed to pull away.
She had never kissed a man before him, and yet her first kiss had been… like that.
Honestly, it was better than she had ever imagined. Better than those foolish daydreams she had. Kissing William had felt likefire and restraint in a tangled mess. It felt like seduction and a warning trapped together.
She flushed just thinking of it.
Sorcha shifted the basket against her hip and forced herself to breathe. Servants hurried past her; everyone was focused on their tasks. It felt like she was the only one trapped in a daydream called William MacLean.
“Me Lady.” Poppy’s soft voice cut into her thoughts.
Sorcha started, nearly dropping the basket. However, she caught it just in time, before placing it gently on the floor and straightening up.
“Yes?” she answered, almost too sharply.
Poppy didn’t say a word at first. Sorcha could already feel her maid’s amusement without turning around.
“Ye’ve been woolgathering all morning,” Poppy remarked, moving closer.
“I havenae,” Sorcha replied, then cleared her throat. “I am merely thinkin’ ahead.”
“Aye,” Poppy said lightly. “Ahead of what, exactly?”
Sorcha sighed, dismissing the maid’s curiosity. Perhaps because it was too embarrassing to answer.
She picked up her basket again and began to walk, her steps brisk. “Less talkin’, more movin’. We still need to take this to the east hall.”
Poppy fell into step beside her, but her gaze remained curious. “If thinkin’ ahead makes ye blush like a bairn caught stealin’ bannocks, I’d hate to see what happens when ye actually stop to think.”
Sorcha’s ears almost burned.Blush? If it were that easy to see, then she really needed to get a grip on herself.
“That is enough,” she muttered, not having any other riposte. “The hall willnae decorate itself.”
Poppy dutifully fell silent.
Together, they rounded the corner to the inner courtyard. Sunlight streamed across the stone, warming their faces. Sorcha was grateful for it; anything else to blame for the heat that had crept into her face.
They were crossing the courtyard when familiar movement caught her eye. A figure, unmistakably male. Just like the previous times, it was gone before she could call out.
Sorcha rolled her eyes and heaved a sigh, tightening her grip on the basket. Poppy, however, stopped short.
“Did ye see that?”
