Rhea pressed a hand to her chest, finding the most dramatic pose. “Gregor’s been cruel to the servants. Always findin’ fault. Snappin’ at them over nothing. Folks say he’s become a right terror.”
Sorcha’s stomach twisted. “I didnae ken,” she said softly, her eyes returning to the kneeling maid. The sight of her being tied was wrong.
As Lady Dunrath, she should have known.
Then, her thoughts picked up someone along the line.
“Is it because the Laird is gone?” she asked. “Is that why he dares?”
Avery and Rhea exchanged a look.
“Our faither trusted Gregor,” Avery said carefully. “Too much, maybe.”
Rhea nodded. “He always thought himself important. Like Dunrath owed him something. Like power was his by right.”
Sorcha shook her head, her jaw tightening. “That doesnae matter,” she declared, her determination growing. “The servants daenae deserve this.”
Before her words could settle, she had already turned away from the window and crossed the room, her skirts swishing with purpose.
Her decision was already made even before she reached the door.
“Lady Dunrath!”
“Sorcha!”
The voices followed her, loud enough to draw her attention, but Sorcha did not slow down. She stepped through the open doors and into the courtyard, the cool air kissing her skin.
Her steps were quick, as though anger fueled them. Perhaps duty, too. And the simple truth that she could not stand still and witness cruelty.
Soon, she stopped a short distance from Gregor.
Up close, the scene was even worse. There were ugly red bruises on the maid’s skin—marks left by a cane, certainly. Gregor was still looking down at her without any remorse on his face, his shadow swallowing her.
Sorcha drew in a breath. With calm grace, she moved closer, her hands clasped neatly before her.
“What is the matter?” she asked calmly. “Why must this maid kneel on broken pieces?”
The maid flinched at the sound of her voice, as though frightened to even look up.
Before Gregor could respond, another maid hurried forward. Judging by her cap, she was the head maid. Her face looked pale and strained.
She bowed to Sorcha. “Me Lady,” she greeted in a hushed tone, glancing nervously at Gregor. “Please, it’s best ye daenae meddle. He’s… he’s actin’ possessed again. The only man he fears is the Laird, and the Laird isnae here.”
Sorcha listened, but only for a moment. She nodded her acknowledgment anyway, then stepped past the maid. Soon, she had closed the distance between her and Gregor.
His attention immediately shifted to her. Upon seeing her, his lips pressed into a thin line, and his eyebrows knitted together in displeasure.
She did not let that stop her, though.
“Is there truly nay other way to discipline a servant without humiliating them so?” she asked calmly.
Gregor said nothing at first. He studied her openly, as though weighing her worth. When he finally spoke, his voice was cold.
“This is how things are done in Dunrath. A newcomer like ye couldnae understand that.”
The insult was clear. Sorcha felt it. It was carefully worded, meant to sting.
Well, it did to a certain extent. Still, it wasn’t enough to make her step back. Instead, she stepped closer.
