“How about ye go fetch yer tool,” he said coldly to the stunned musician, “instead of kissing strangers.”
The man did not argue. He simply backed away, more interested in saving his instrument.
Sorcha rounded on William, her eyes blazing. “What is yer problem, me Laird?” She stepped toward him, as if that was the only way to let him feel her anger. “I’m doing exactly what ye asked for, and ye keep getting in the way?—”
She did not finish. She couldn’t. For William bent, hooked his arm under her knees in one possessive motion, and threw her over his shoulder.
Sorcha yelped. Her hands slammed against his back, raining blows on him, but none of it seemed to faze him.
“William!”
He did not slow down. He did not answer. He carried her straight to the carriage, ignoring every stare. Once inside, the door slammed shut behind them, hiding them from the rest of the world.
Sorcha wriggled off him with a huff. Her heart raced as she glared daggers at him.
“What is wrong with ye?!” she cried. “Why are ye sabotagin’ me?”
William turned toward her slowly. His voice was calm, but she could sense the leashed anger beneath it. “Because ye’re meant to be a wife, nae hunting kisses like a?—”
She shook her head sharply, cutting him off. “What if ye see it that way because ye’re jealous?”
Silence ensued, so thick and heavy that even the carriage wheels rattled. Still, William didn’t respond. His eyes bored into hers, but she refused to be intimidated by him.
Then, with a heavy breath, he tore his gaze away.
“Daenae be delusional,” he said slowly. “In the end, ye’re still the usurper’s wife.”
Coming from him, and not from Keegan this time, it landed deep. Deeper than before. It hurt so much that her shoulders hunched inward.
She turned her face away, her lips pressing together. She did not speak again.
The rest of the journey passed in silence.
24
“Only ye would suggest horse rides this early on a day meant for rest.”
Avery’s voice carried sharp sarcasm, but her grin proved she was happy about the idea.
She tugged at her gloves and then adjusted the strap of her saddle, her eyes bright with her usual mischief. “Truly, Sorcha, some of us enjoy sleep.”
Sorcha gave a small smile.
“Anyway, at least it’s better than being trapped inside the castle all day,” Avery continued lightly. “We get air. Space. A bit of adventure.” She tilted her head, studying her. “Aye, Sorcha?”
No answer.
The sisters exchanged a look.
Sorcha stood beside her horse, one hand resting on the warm curve of its neck. Absentmindedly, her fingers drew small circles, her gaze fixed ahead.
“Ahem.” Avery cleared her throat and stepped closer. “Earth to, Sorcha.” She reached out and tapped her arm.
Sorcha started, blinking as if pulled back from another world. “Oh… sorry,” she murmured.
Avery’s eyebrows rose. “Goodness. What have ye been thinkin’ about?”
Sorcha hesitated. What was she supposed to say? That she was still furious about what had happened at the fair? That she replayed every word William had thrown at her, every look, every breath between them? That she hated how deeply it hurt? That William saw her as nothing but his uncle’s wife? An abandoned widow?
