Saints preserve me.
His gaze lowered without permission.
Her stance wasn’t steady. It was subtle, but still there. She was swaying slightly, as though the ground wasn’t level. Or her feet could not decide whether to stay still or not.
She almost stumbled, slapping her palm quickly against the wall for support. Then she dropped her hand, before letting out a low laugh.
William’s eyebrows squeezed with confusion. What was going on with her?
There could only be one explanation.
“Have ye been drinking?” he asked, before he could stop himself.
She ignored him. Instead, she stepped closer. Too close.
Her steps were quick, as if she couldn’t wait to bridge the space between them.
“I asked ye something,” she said, blinking up at him with plain curiosity. “When did ye return?”
She was talking, but all he could focus on was her scent—sweet, dark, and familiar.
Wine.
Now he understood why she was acting that way. Standing in the middle of a dim corridor wouldn’t help her situation.
“Sorcha—” he began.
She moved again, recklessly. She was still struggling to keep her balance, her foot slipping in a way that made her body tilt sideways.
William stepped forward without thought, his arm locking around her waist. He stopped her fall with effortless strength.
Even in her condition, it left her breathless. The sight was tempting.
He was supposed to let go now, but he pulled her in instead. Close enough until her breasts pressed against his hard chest, until her warmth seeped through his clothes. He could sense the slight tremor she tried to hide. It was like a needy gasp that echoed between them.
Sorcha lifted her chin slowly to look into his eyes. The scent of wine was stronger now, mixed with her natural sweetness. Heady and intoxicating.
William did not release her, not when he could feel her body soften in his hold, as though begging him to take more. It made his fingers twitch, slightly grazing the swell of her hip.
He fought the urge to pull her closer until she could feel his growing arousal.
“Ye’re unsteady,” he stated quietly. “I wasnae gone long enough for ye to pick up drinking habits.”
She laughed again, the sound more careless. And then, deliberately, she stepped back, slipping free of his grasp.
The loss of contact hit him harder than he had expected, leaving his body throbbing with need. He watched her carefully, frowning as she spun once again. She let out a louder laugh.
What has come over her?
She lifted her arms as though she was dancing to music that only she could hear.
“What’s wrong with ye?” William was forced to ask, confusion lacing his voice.
She faced him again. Her pupils were blown, and she swayed her hips with a deliberate sensuality that made his mouth go dry.
“They say that drinking late makes it easier,” she said, her voice lowering. “Easier to speak with the unseen.” She leaned in, close enough that he could smell her again. “And to get possessed.”
Those last words made his eyebrows draw together in concern. Whatever she had just said obviously made no sense. Yet the deliberate way she moved made him suspect this was not just about drinking.
