Before she could voice her thought, a noise interrupted the quietness. Another thud, but it sounded even closer.
Sorcha stood abruptly. “That’s it,” she snapped.
“Easy—” Caelan began, but she was already moving.
She marched toward the sound, her skirts gathered in her hands. Her heart pounded with a mix of anger and resolve. She rounded the trees as quickly as she could and grabbed the figure before it could flee.
Myles froze mid-step, one hand lifted as though he had been about to escape. For a second, they both stared at each other. One showed anger; the other could only wince.
Eventually, Myles straightened, regaining his composure like a well-worn cloak.
“Evening, me Lady,” he greeted mildly.
Sorcha stomped her feet and folded her arms. “Daenae.”
His eyebrow rose. “Daenae what?”
“Daenae pretend that this is a coincidence,” she huffed. “I’m nae buyin’ it.”
Caelan approached her from behind, chuckling.
Myles sighed, wriggling out of her grasp. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking away. “I was hopin’ ye wouldnae notice.”
“I notice everything,” Sorcha replied coolly. “Now, tell me, why are ye followin’ me so relentlessly?”
“For yer safety.”
She scoffed. “Safety? Within me home?”
“Aye.”
She stepped closer, lowering her voice. “From what, exactly?”
Myles hesitated, his eyes flicking briefly to Caelan before returning to her. He didn’t seem ready to spill anything but Sorcha kept an impatient look on her face that somehow made him speak.
He sighed in resignation. “Do ye remember the other night?” he asked carefully.
Everyone kept asking about that night.Of course, she remembered it. In fact, she remembered it too much.
“Aye,” she replied. “I heard something.”
As though not wanting to be overheard, Myles stepped closer and leaned into her ear. “There was an attempt on the Laird’s life.”
9
Sorcha had discerned that much from the sounds she had heard in his chambers but his confirmation of her fears shocked her more than she had expected.
His words followed her into bed, lying next to her in the darkness of her chamber. Their presence was heavily felt, making sure she was trapped in the recurring echo.
No matter how many times she tossed and turned, no matter how hard she tried to shoo the thoughts away, they remained.
“There was an attempt on the Laird’s life.”
“Stop it,” she hissed. “Just stop thinkin’ about it.”
Obviously, the opposite happened. The questions came instead, one after the other, each sharp and insistent.
Who would dare do such a thing? And why now?
