“I’m nae sure why I reacted that way yesterday,” he admitted. “But I’m sorry. For taking ye on such an intense ride.”
She gaped at him.
William apologizing. When had he grown so… soft? Or was this something else? A strategy? An attempt at forming some sort of alliance between them?
Utterly breathless, unsure of what to say, she nodded. Just once.
The smallest of smiles touched his mouth, before he smoothed it away, gone so quickly she might have imagined it. Still, the glimpse of it made her chest ache with an emotion she couldn’t name.
Before silence could settle between them, he bowed stiffly, as if awkwardness had settled over him like a cloak. Then, without another word, he turned around and walked away.
Sorcha watched him go. All she was aware of was her frantic heartbeat.
The night was gentle. Sorcha loved every bit of it. She had soaked in a warm bath, letting the day slowly fade from her muscles.
By the time she was dressed for sleep, a knock sounded at her door.
Her head snapped up. Who could it be?
She crossed the room and opened the door, only to freeze at the sight before her.
William stood there.Again.
Seeing him coming to her for the third time that day felt unreal, like a fantasy she hadn’t woken up from.
She had not been expecting visitors, and had made no effort to dress properly. Her biggest guess had been Poppy, coming to serve a nightcap.
His gaze dipped before returning quickly to her face.
“May I ask what ye’re doing here?” she said softly.
He hesitated, as though carefully gathering his thoughts. Then, he spoke. “Would ye mind accompanyin’ me to the fair?”
For a long moment, Sorcha could only stare at him. She wasn’t sure she had heard him right, and whether he meant what he had said.
She was definitely stunned.
A fair meant many things. Too many. Time together. Public attention. Perhaps searching for suitors. Perhaps something else entirely.
Did he simply want to spend time with her? Or was this another step in a plan she couldn’t yet glean?
William MacLean was a confusing man. Still, she knew better than to refuse him.
Slowly, she nodded. “I wouldnae mind.”
He released a slow breath, as though he had been holding it in for hours. The awkwardness returned at once.
“I’ll let ye sleep, then,” he said, turning away.
She watched him leave. And once again, all she could feel was her frantic heartbeat.
22
Sorcha hardly ever visited fairs. They belonged to a world she had only ever watched from afar.
To her, they belonged to families that could laugh easily, that didn’t measure their daughters by the worth of the men they would marry.
Her childhood was probably similar to most maidens’—orderly and structured. Suitors discussing their futures in low voices. Futures that were planned without asking what she wanted.
