He could only imagine what was going on in her head. The ugly guilt of accepting that danger always followed her. The belief that she was cursed.
At that moment, he wanted nothing but to chase away those thoughts. However, he simply continued to pat her head.
When she finally spoke, her voice was steady enough to convince anyone else. “I’m all right.”
But William wasn’t anyone else.
He pulled back just enough to look at her properly. His hands slid over her arms, shoulders, searching for pain, for blood, for anything he might have missed.
His gaze traced her face, searching every line intently. Her blown pupils, the faint flush in her cheeks, the slight swell of her lower lip.
She was too close. Damn too close.
Before she could pull away, he bent and scooped her up into his arms. She gasped softly, and he ignored it, despite the brush of her breath against his neck.
“I’m takin’ ye inside,” he declared, his tone leaving room for no argument.
Sorcha looked at him then, truly looked at him. Something flickered in her eyes. Surprise, yes, but also trust.
She remained quiet, not fighting him, not pushing him away. Her body melted against his, soft curves against hard muscle. The sensation fanned the fire inside him.
Eventually, his feet led them to the study. He shouldered open the doors and carried her inside. Only when he set her down on the long seat by the hearth did he step back, putting distance between them.
Sorcha cleared her throat, smoothing her skirts with trembling fingers. “There was nay need for all of that,” she said softly. “I’m truly fine.”
William remained standing. He studied her carefully, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. He saw the fear she tried to hide. He saw it in the way her shoulders hunched over, the way she avoided his gaze.
He inhaled slowly. His heart hurt to see a lass like her living in fear. She was not cursed, and he desperately wanted her to believe that.
“If ye were tryin’ to provoke me,” he spoke at last, “ye should’ve made sure the maids did a better job. That could’ve killed ye.”
Her gaze dropped instantly; his words clearly landed hard.
He did not intend to scold her. He felt a pang of regret when her face tightened with guilt. However, he did not take back his words.
“I didnae mean for it to happen,” she murmured.
Silence settled between them, punctuated by the crackle of the fire in the grate. Shadows danced against the walls.
William stood where he was, his frame tall and broad, painfully aware of how badly she could have been hurt.
He had been worried about her, and that frightened him more than any enemy ever could.
He drew in another steadying breath. Then, before his mind could catch up, he lowered himself onto one knee before her.
Her lips parted in shock, but he didn’t mind. He reached for her ankle and gently lifted her foot from the floor.
“What—what are ye doin’?” she stuttered.
He did not answer. Instead, he examined her foot, then the other. His thumbs brushed her flesh, checking for swelling, the smallest sign that the frame had hit her.
Too close,the voice at the back of his head warned. But he dismissed it. All he could focus on was how warm her skin felt beneath his touch.
His grip gentled without him meaning to, as though the feel of her skin calmed his nerves.
Slowly, his gaze lifted.
She was watching him. Not with fear, but with dark curiosity that had been roused by the way his hand cradled her foot, the way his thumb moved in lazy strokes.
