Childish. Pointless.
“I have nay interest in playing games,” he said evenly. “All I care about is finding her a suitor.”
Myles’s grin grew impossibly wider. “Are ye sure?” he asked lightly. “Even though she’s currently—” He paused, as ifsearching for the right words. “—standin’ atop a fountain ledge, claimin’ she could hear voices tellin’ her secrets?”
“Nay,” William replied flatly. “Still daenae care.”
Myles eyed him narrowly, his amusement mixed with something more serious. When he spoke again, his voice was lower.
“Even if she just challenged Gregor Fulton to a horse race?”
William stiffened. The world halted around him, narrowing to those words. His eyebrows knitted together.
Gregor? Of all men?
“A horse race,” he repeated, rising from his seat before realizing it. “With Gregor?”
Myles nodded once, clearly satisfied with his reaction. “Aye. The winner walks away clean. The loser gets punished in front of the servants.”
William thought he must have misheard. Because that was so ridiculous. Blatant folly.
Punished? In front of the servants?
It was enough to make his jaw tighten. The calm mask he had been wearing for so long fractured.
“What brought this about?” he demanded.
Myles stepped further into the room, casually brushing dust from a nearby lamp as though discussing the weather. “I heard there was a confrontation between Sorcha and Gregor. Words were exchanged.” His lips twitched. “And now they’re finishin’ what they started.” He chuckled softly.
That was enough.
“She’s mad,” William muttered under his breath. “Possessed, indeed.”
Without another word, he strode past Myles, his boots striking the stone floor with sharp annoyance.
The laughter spilling across the courtyard irritated him instantly, but nothing aggravated him more than Sorcha.
He saw his cousins up close, still wrapped up in whatever delightful secret they were sharing. However, their laughter died down the moment they saw him, and their smiles turned sly.
His gaze swept past them, searching for the source of all this nonsense. Then he saw her.
Sorcha was straddling a horse, her posture proud despite the chaos she was causing. Her cousin stood beside her, adjusting the reins with exaggerated care, in William’s opinion.
He approached them in no time, his strides long and measured, passing his cousins without acknowledging them. His attention was focused solely on Sorcha.
Eventually, she noticed him, too. Her lips twitched, her eyes bright with something dangerously close to satisfaction.
Even at that moment, he tried not to focus on her mesmerizing beauty. Tried not to focus on the way the morning sun caught the ginger in her hair, turning it into dark fire.
She looked nothing like the trembling, half-drunk woman from the night before. This Sorcha was alert, waiting to be challenged.
“Well,” she said lightly, tilting her head as he stopped before her. “I was wondering when ye’d come. The game is about to start.”
His eyes flicked over her. Every part of this was deliberate. Every inch of it. She wanted to step on his toes.
“What are ye doing?” he asked quietly.
She leaned forward just enough for him to notice. “Entertaining the castle.”
