And beneath all those thoughts lay one that made her blood freeze: William could have died.
Her breath itched as the realization struck her anew. Her heart squeezed painfully.
“Always someone near me,” she whispered. “Always danger, always loss. Maybe I really am cursed.”
But then she recovered some sense. She was not betrothed to William. She had no claim on him, no right to his safety or his secrets. Whatever had happened that night had nothing to do with her. Nothing at all.
Taking a deep breath, she decided to try again. After the day’s exertion, she needed sleep.
However, just then, a flicker of light hit her window. It was quick, like something not intended by someone passing below. It made her go still.
Another flicker hit the glass, brighter this time.
“Torchlight?” She frowned.
She pushed herself upright, the sheets pooling around her waist. Soon enough, she climbed out of bed and went to the window. She parted the heavy curtains enough to peer out.
Below, in the courtyard, two figures moved through the dark.
She squinted her eyes slightly, and recognition struck. William walked ahead, the torchlight accentuating the contours of his broad frame. Beside him walked Myles, watchful as ever.
They both looked as though they had just returned from a horse ride. It was evident by the cloaks they wore.
Her breath slowed as her gaze locked on William. He looked different at night, which she had noticed. More severe, more dangerous. The light in his dark hair and the sharpness of his jaw only made her heart flutter.
When he turned his head briefly, she caught a glimpse of his dark brown eyes, and within them was something unreadable.
Irresistible,a voice whispered at the back of her head.
She swallowed.
The two men eventually crossed the courtyard, disappearing from view. It was only then that Sorcha leaned her forehead against the cool glass.
She exhaled slowly. “Of course,” she murmured to herself. “Ye would be thinkin’ of him now.”
Her reflection stared back at her. Her eyes were too bright, cheeks the same shade as her hair. A cold draft seeped through her thin nightgown, the perfect reminder to step back from the window.
She closed the curtains, when another memory resurfaced. His sharp voice had ordered her away that night. His anger had felt less like cruelty and more like protection.
She frowned. “He snapped at me because he was worried,” she said slowly, testing out the words. “Because he wanted to keep me safe.”
The suspicion burned and settled deep. It made her fingers curl at her sides, her courage growing amidst doubts. It grew with a certain need to see him.
It was foolish and reckless. Yet, she needed an answer. She needed to confirm her suspicion.
So she had to see him. Not tomorrow, not when daylight and sense returned, but now.
With her resolve hardening, she turned around. Before she could talk herself out of it, she was already moving toward the door.
“This is madness,” she muttered to herself as she reached for the doorknob. “Pure madness.”
But her fingers did not hesitate.
With one last glance at her darkened room, she stepped out the door, her heart pounding in her chest.
Standing before the door to his study, Sarcha had nearly lost her nerve.
The courage that had burned brightly back in her room now turned into the greatest betrayal. It faltered like a candle caught in the wind.
