She couldn’t believe it. It was really happening.
Spending time with a handsome man while pretending her heart wasn’t doing strange, reckless things would be difficult. Still, she wanted this.
“Sorcha?”
Her breath caught in her throat.
He had said her name?
The last time he had spoken it like that, without a title, without distance, when they had been…
Her eyes closed for half a heartbeat.
Daenae go there.
She opened them again to find his gloved hand extended toward her, waiting.
The gesture was simple, proper, yet the intent behind it almost made her swoon.
Without hesitating, she placed her hand in his. His grip steadied around her as he guided her down the steps. Soon, her shoes met the ground.
The color surrounding them drew her gaze. The fair looked soalive.
Children darted between stalls, their laughter bright and wild. And Music came from all directions and still managed to blendinto one lovely melody. The air was filled with the smell of baked bread, sugar, and smoke.
For the first time in a while, she took a deep breath.
She feltalive.
Her gaze returned to William, searching his face, wanting to know how he felt about everything.
His expression was calm and unreadable as always. Still, she noticed the way his gaze flickered to her every now and then, making sure she was all right.
They started to walk, first at a quick pace then he slowed to a sedate stroll and turned to look at her.
“What would ye like to do first?” he asked.
She smiled at the question. It made warmth spread through her chest. Then she looked around, searching. But everything looked… unfamiliar. There were games she didn’t understand and stalls she had never seen.
She glanced back at him, her lips twitching. “Me Laird, since ye’ve been here more often than I have, why daenae ye suggest a game instead?”
The smile she gave him was impossible to resist.
Something shifted in his expression. It was not sadness. Not exactly. More like distance.
He looked past her, even beyond the fair. “I’ve nae been here often,” he admitted flatly. “Me parents were murdered when I was a boy.”
The words landed like a slap.
Instantly, her smile vanished. The noise of the fair faded into silence, crushed by the weight of his revelation.
Sorcha could only stare at him, and the longer she did, the more her chest tightened. She did not know what to say.
He didn’t look upset. Didn’t even look broken. If anything, he looked composed—too composed. Like someone who had spent years learning how to hide the weakest parts of himself.
Sorcha wondered how much of him had been shaped by loss.
She swallowed thickly. She had to quell the emotion swelling in her chest. But how? Her fingers itched to pull him into a hug.
