She told herself not to notice those things, that they could be pure coincidences. But she did. And now she regretted it, because as she stood by the window of her chamber, he was all she could think about.
Her thoughts continued to betray her, inviting memories she wanted to forget entirely. She remembered the tea party, and she had to suppress a snicker.
William had walked in as if he belonged there, tall and dark among silk and ribbons. The shock on everyone’s faces had been stark, and yet she had found his appearance strangely endearing.
The corner of her mouth lifted before she realized it. Thoughts of him made her chest warm in a way she couldn’t help.
Her thoughts continued to swirl until?—
Poof!
Powder burst into her face, causing her to sneeze. Sorcha blinked rapidly, trying to see through the white dust floating in the air. Laughter followed immediately.
Rhea burst into giggles, clutching her belly. “Well, now I have a reason to laugh, too. Ye looked like ye were havin’ the grandest thoughts in that pretty head of yers.”
Sorcha rolled her eyes, before reaching for a cloth to wipe the dust from her face. “I wasnae laughing,” she mumbled.
She wiped her face again and then schooled her features into calm.
Across the room, Avery was not laughing at all. She sat still, her hands resting on her lap. Her eyes were fixed on Sorcha with the kind of focus that could penetrate. She was not smiling, though her eyes held a knowing look.
And that made Sorcha uncomfortable.
Rhea returned to sit on the edge of the bed, still amused.
Avery spoke before Sorcha could change the subject. “We’re here for a reason. Nae to tease ye. Nae to daydream.”
The statement seemed aimed at both Sorcha and Rhea.
Soon, Rhea’s smile faltered, while the warmth in Sorcha’s chest faded.
“We gathered here to speak of our main goal,” Avery continued.
She nodded, knowing exactly what Avery meant. The plan. The danger. The reason she was still here at Dunrath Castle.
“The Laird willnae wait forever,” Avery warned, her voice firm. “I hope ye’re ready, Sorcha.”
Sorcha nodded again. “I am,” she said quietly.
She opened her mouth to speak further, when a scream rent the air. A high, frightened one. It sounded like a woman’s voice, panicking and apologizing. It was so loud that it echoed down the stone corridors.
All three women froze.
Rhea frowned. “What was that?”
As though the question was their cue to gather information, they moved at once. They gathered their skirts in their hands, threw their embroidery aside, and rushed to the window.
Sorcha reached it first. She looked down… and gasped.
In the courtyard below, a maid was kneeling on the ground. Broken plates were scattered around her, food smeared across the stone. Her shoulders were visibly shaking, and her hands were tied together as though she were a prisoner. And standing over her was Gregor Fulton.
The seneschal stood tall, his frame threatening in every manner. Even from above, Sorcha could see the authority in his stance. When he spoke, his mouth moved quickly, his hands gesturing in a way that made the maid flinch.
Avery pressed her nose to the window. “What’s going on?” she asked sharply.
Rhea turned toward her sister, her eyes bright with interest rather than concern. “I’ve heard things,” she said, lowering her voice as though sharing gossip.
Sorcha tore her gaze from the scene below. “What things?”
