“Aye,” Sorcha replied flatly.
“Well, he’s nae subtle,” Poppy said, craning her neck toward the archway. “Skulkin’ about like a thief who’s proud of it.”
Sorcha kept walking. She did not need to know who it had been.
Myles.
He had been everywhere today. Not just today, but also yesterday and the day before.
He had been near the kitchens when she inspected the supplies, by the stables when she checked the deliveries, lurking at the edge of the hall whenever she paused to give instructions. Near enough, but never close enough to speak, and always far enough to disappear when needed. Like a shadow, he would appear, vanish, and return.
“I daenae ken why he keeps doin’ that,” Poppy continued, lowering her voice. “If he’s supposed to watch, he could at least stand still and do it properly.”
Sorcha’s mouth tightened. She was not sure whether to laugh or sigh again.
“I have nay idea either,” she said after a moment. “But it is clear that me every step is being watched and measured, as if I were the threat.”
Poppy stopped again, her expression sobering. “Why is that, me Lady? Do ye owe him something?”
Sorcha turned to face her. She knew her overly worried maid could get. “I have done nothin’ wrong,” she stated quietly. “Yet I cannae move without seein’ him lingerin’ somewhere nearby.”
Poppy shifted on her feet, glancing around before leaning closer. “Are ye certain it’s wise for us to stay?”
The question wasn’t supposed to land as hard as it did, because it evoked William’s warning.
“Ye think this place a home, but ye’re in a nest of snakes that would so easily bite ye once ye’re deemed weak.”
It had sounded both like concern and a made-up story just to make her leave. But what if he had been serious?
Sorcha’s chest tightened. If he had not been exaggerating, then certainly this place she had claimed as a sanctuary might have been dangerous long before his return.
She exhaled slowly, shaking her head as though forcing the thought away.
“Nay,” she uttered, as firmly as she could. “I will be fine.”
That did nothing to erase the doubt on Poppy’s face.
Her maid searched her face, but all Sorcha offered was a defiant expression. “We have work to do,” she reminded her briskly. “The cèilidh willnae organize itself.”
Poppy hesitated, then nodded. “Aye. Ye’re right.”
They turned and walked on, the sound of their footsteps echoing softly.
And though Sorcha kept her gaze ahead, she could not shake the feeling that even now, someone was watching.
By the time the light had turned golden, Sorcha could feel the stress of the day in her bones.
The preparations had been quite tiring but fulfilling. The servants had been dismissed, some retreating with tired smiles despite their aching backs.
Dusk covered the land in fading hues of gold and for the first time that day, Sorcha found herself alone. She had left the halls and wandered until her feet carried her to a familiar path where the air was cooler.
The loch was quieter that night, its surface smooth as glass. The sight was exactly what she needed then. Lowering herself onto a flat stone near the shore, she exhaled slowly and let her thoughts wander.
Her mind flashed back to her father. The days had been rough. As much as she had pretended not to give it enough thought, she still blamed herself sometimes.
The Laird is probably dead because of me.
She tried not to entertain such thoughts, but it was difficult.
