“Aye,” she replied, waving a dismissive hand. “Perfectly well. I was only thinking.”
Rhea arched an eyebrow. “That sounds dangerous.”
Sorcha snorted despite herself. “I was thinking of other ways to vex the Laird. As usual.”
The sisters shared a look. Then, Avery tilted her head. “Ye do seem… quieter than usual.”
Before Sorcha could answer, Rhea crossed her arms and spoke with brutal honesty. “If that’s yer aim, ye might be challengin’ the wrong man. He doesnae strike me as one who goes down easy.”
Sorcha certainly did not need the reminder. She exhaled through her nose, frustration prickling beneath her skin.
Of course, that was how they saw it. To them, it was all politics and pride. Power and perception. A widow refusing to be brushed aside. A woman determined to prove that she was not something fragile to be discarded simply because her husband was dead.
They had no idea how close to the truth that was, and ironically, how far. Because what troubled Sorcha now had little to do with defiance and everything to do with how much her encounters with William had begun to matter.
Too much. Far too much.
It was a bitter thing to admit, but she couldn’t deny it. What had happened in the gallery, when he had lifted and set her on the table as though she weighed nothing at all, had shattered something inside her.
She knew a boundary had been crossed, and she feared that she could not find her way back.
Pressing her lips together, she willed her thoughts into order.
Rhea spoke again, her eyes narrowing. “Ye were absent most of the night. One moment, ye were there; the next, ye were… gone.”
Avery nodded. “The last we saw ye was with Keegan Adamson.”
Sorcha stiffened. Now that she remembered how she had let him invade her personal space, she regretted it. Perhaps William was right.
The two sisters watched her expectantly.
Sorcha hesitated, not knowing exactly what to say.
“I—he invited me to see some paintings,” she finally responded.
The sisters shared another look.
“I guess… he had been to the castle often,” she added carefully. “Even before I arrived.”
“He was close to Faither,” Avery noted. “And then? He didnae try to…?”
“Nay,” Sorcha said quickly, shaking her head. The mere thought of something like that happening aggravated her. “Nay. Of course nae.”
At that moment, the melody of a flute ceased. Caelan, who had been lounging near the hearth with his instrument, froze. His gaze flickered up as he lowered the flute.
Clearly, their conversation had drawn his attention.
Sorcha could feel his protectiveness despite the distance. Still, she forced herself to continue.
“I found a way to excuse meself,” she said, smoothing her skirts. “But I didnae return to the party. I was tired.”
The sisters exhaled at that, the tension leaving their shoulders.
Rhea smiled faintly. “That’s understandable. It was a long night.”
Sorcha only nodded, grateful they had accepted the half-truth. Because the rest… the real reason she had not returned wasn’t something she was ready to voice. Not yet.
She had barely sighed when Caelan spoke again.
