Page 23 of The Wolf Laird's Obsession
Rowan watched her until she disappeared down the passage. Only when the door closed behind her did the pounding footsteps reach the bottom of the stairs.
“Me Laird!” A guard ran up to him. “The southern grain stores,” he panted. “They’re on fire.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
The door slammed shut behind Sorcha as she stepped into her room. She quickly set the torch back into the iron bracket beside the door, its light joining the softer glow from the hearth.
What has gotten into him?
She leaned back against the door, one hand rising instinctively to her chest as she tried to steady her heartbeat. The corridor outside had been cool, holding the chill of the evening, yet her skin burned as though she had run the length of the keep.
She did not move for a moment, trying to catch her breath, but her pulse refused to settle.
She closed her eyes, and the moment replayed itself before she could stop it. The heat of his palm, the strength of his grip. Her fingers twitched slightly at her side, as though they still remembered his touch.
Her eyes flew open at the thought.
Daft girl. Get a hold of yerself.
She had expected Rowan to be many things. Cold, perhaps. Distant. Even resentful of the marriage forced upon him. But that confrontation in the corridor had been something else entirely.
He had looked at her with those steel-grey eyes as though he were trying to peel her apart piece by piece.
And the questions? I answered honestly.
Duty. It was the truth any reasonable person would understand. Yet he had seemed to be expecting more from her.
She shook her head, sighing as she made her way to the bed and sat on the edge.
Did he think I came willingly? Begged for the match?
She nearly laughed at the thought.
Does me reason even matter at all?
She was here now. That was the only truth that held weight.
A soft knock sounded at the door, interrupting her thoughts. She lifted her head, her stomach twisting at the possibility of it being Rowan.
The door opened only a crack, before a familiar voice called, “Me Lady?”
Relief washed over her as soon as she heard that familiar voice.
“Flora?”
The door swung open fully, then Flora stepped inside with a rush of cold evening air in her wake. Her cheeks were flushed from travel, her green eyes bright as they landed on Sorcha.
“Oh, me Lady!” she exclaimed, grabbing both of Sorcha’s hands before she could even rise from the bed. “I am so sorry to be late. The wagons moved slower than a herd of stubborn cows the whole way here.”
Sorcha squeezed her hands, warmth spreading through her chest at the sight of her maid. “I was beginnin’ to think ye abandoned me.”
Flora gasped dramatically. “Never.”
Behind her, servants carried in a large trunk and set it beside the wall. A few others entered, scattering vases of lavender around the space. They all bowed politely before leaving the room.
Sorcha exhaled in relief.
Thank God she’s here.
