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Stillness fell.

For the first time since the trial began, Sorcha saw genuine uncertainty flicker across Calder’s face before he buried it beneath indignation.

“You would place a clansman of standing under suspicion based upon the words of a forger?” Calder demanded.

“I would place any man under questioning where unanswered questions remain.” Gavan’s tone sharpened slightly now. “That is the duty of this court.”

Calder held his gaze for one taut moment too long before bowing stiffly. “As the provost commands.”

But Sorcha saw it then. Not outrage. Fear. Small. Carefully hidden. But real. And for the first time since William’s arrest, hope stirred painfully alive inside her chest.

The tension inside the courtroom did not ease after Calder sat down. It merely changed shape. Whispers moved along the crowded benches in cautious waves now, quieter than before, yet infinitely more dangerous. Men who had entered expecting a straightforward judgement suddenly found themselves measuring one another instead.

The clerk bent over his parchments while Gavan remained motionless in the provost’s chair, though weariness now shadowed the hard lines of his face beneath the discipline holding him upright.

At last, he spoke again. “This court will recess until tomorrow morning.” His voice carried cleanly through the chamber. “William Sutherland will remain confined until testimony resumes.”

A rustle swept through the room as people rose slowly from the benches. No one hurried now. Everyone lingered, hungry for rumour before the doors had even fully opened.

Sorcha barely noticed them. Her eyes remained fixed on William. The guards stepped towards him carefully, one putting the shackles back on his wrists. Yet, for the first time since the proceedings began, some of the rigid strain had left his shoulders.

As the guards turned him towards the side corridor leading below the hall, William glanced back once. His gaze found Sorcha immediately.

Neither spoke. They did not need to. She saw apology there still as well as shame, fear, and also resolve. The look lasted only a heartbeat before the guards led him away. Chains jingled as he walked, fading gradually into the depths beneath the courtroom. The sound hollowed her chest unexpectedly.

“He did well.” Gavan’s voice came quietly beside her.

Sorcha startled slightly, so consumed by watching William disappear she had not realised Gavan had stepped down from the provost’s chair. Up close, the strain of the morning showed more clearly upon him now. Responsibility sat heavily on him still, though he carried it with the same steadiness he carried everything else.

“He admitted enough to condemn himself,” she whispered.

“Aye.” Gavan’s gaze remained upon the corridor where William had vanished. “Which makes the rest of his testimony harder to dismiss as self-preservation alone.”

Around them, the courtroom slowly emptied. Calder’s party departed quickly, their low conversations clipped and tense. Hugh Calder himself did not look towards either of them as he left, though Sorcha noticed the tightness in the man’s jaw now. The certainty he had worn earlier had cracked.

“You frightened him today,” she said softly.

Gavan’s expression hardened slightly. “Good.” The single word carried no triumph. Only warning.

Sorcha drew a slow breath. “Will he return tomorrow?”

“He must.” Gavan glanced towards her then. “Refusing a summons from the provost’s court would raise more suspicion than appearing.”

“And if he lies?”

A faint, grim curve touched Gavan’s mouth. “Then we shall see how practised he truly is at it.”

The attempt at dryness should not have warmed her as much as it did. Yet, after so much fear, so much uncertainty, the smallest thread of steadiness felt precious.

Outside the narrow courtroom windows, snow had begun falling again, softening the harsh outlines of Dingwall beyond the glass. Winter pressed inward while, somewhere beneath it all, truths long buried were finally coming into the open.

Chapter Fifteen

Instead of taking the stairs two at a time like he usually did, Gavan went up to his provost quarters at a measured pace, aware of Sorcha just behind him. By the time he reached his door, the ache in his shoulder had settled deep, but he ignored it. He had endured worse.

His quarters were located above the stone-built merchant house near the courthouse.

He pushed the door open and stepped aside, allowing her to enter first. “My quarters are not grand,” he said, brusquer than he intended.