Provoking?
Her mind reeled.
If anything, the thought was almost laughable. Because the previous night was about far more than provoking him. If anything, it was filled with painful restraint and pleasure.
She swallowed. “I daenae ken what ye’re talkin’ about,” she said, confused.
Caelan studied her again, longer this time. He folded his arms over his chest as he tilted his head, taking in her expression, tone, and posture. His scrutiny was unnerving.
She resisted the urge to fidget.
Finally, he exhaled. “Either ye’re an excellent actress,” he said slowly, “or ye truly daenae ken.”
“Ken what?” she pressed.
He stepped aside and gestured to the doors of the Great Hall. “Why daenae ye find out yerself?” he said. “Ye’re on everyone’s lips this morning.”
Her eyebrows knitted together. “That doesnae sound comforting.”
Caelan’s smile returned, faint but unmistakably fond. “Ye never were one for comfort.”
Sorcha glanced at the doors. She could hear the murmurs from within; they rose and fell with something close to excitement and appreciation.
Whatever it was, it made her stomach tighten.
“Fine,” she said quietly, more to herself than to him.
Without another word, she moved toward the Great Hall… and whatever awaited her there.
The double doors opened.
The warm air hit her at once, followed by the delicious aroma of fresh bread, roasted meats, and honeyed oats.
It should have felt comforting, familiar. But Sorcha felt none of that.
Her mind was lagging, drifting somewhere far from breakfast, far from hunger. Instinctively, she lifted her gaze. More like something at the high table caught her eye.
William sat at the head, his back rigid, his shoulders squared like he was carved from stone. His dark hair was neatly styled, his jaw set.
As usual, his eyes were cold and distant. Worse, he looked nothing like the man who had touched her with such tenderness the night before. Nothing like the man who had held her as though she were something precious, something that could shatter if handled without gentleness. Nothing like the man whose warmth she could still feel on her skin.
The contrast was almost cruel.
Sorcha went still, her fingers curling instinctively into the fabric of her dress. Her breath hitched in her throat.
“Lady Dunrath,” William announced evenly, “will be leavin’ the castle in three days’ time.”
It was not instant, the effect of those words. They struck her like a physical blow, the kind that winded and left a bruise.
For a moment, Sorcha was certain she had misheard him. Because he most definitely didn’t mean it.
Why would she leave? And in three days?
Her mind struggled to catch up as he continued. His tone remained neutral, as though he were announcing nothing more than a shift in guard duty.
“I willnae force her into another marriage, nor will I send her back to her family. Instead, she’ll be free to settle in a nearby village, where she may live as she pleases, safe, provided for, and unencumbered.”
Freedom.
