Page 39 of The Wolf Laird's Obsession
But she did not look up at him when he approached. Not even when Elspeth called out, “Da!”
He stepped up to Elspeth and briefly patted the top of her head. Morag dipped her head in greeting.
Sorcha bowed her head, but she did not look at his face. “Me Laird.”
Polite but cold.
Does she nae care that I didnae come to her room last night?
As he sat, his eyes lingered on her profile longer than necessary. Even when Elspeth began talking about Mr. Turtle, he could only nod absently, unable to shake his focus.
He thought it best to take her lead. Keep things cordial and polite. There was no need to make breakfast uncomfortable for everyone.
He cleared his throat. “Did ye sleep well, Lady Sorcha?”
Morag choked on her drink.
Sorcha’s eyes widened slightly.
Rowan realized his mistake much too late, his attempt to ease the tension failing miserably.
What a dobber.
Morag’s eyes flickered between the two in the tense silence that followed. She sighed, turning to Elspeth. “That’s enough, Lady Elspeth. I’m sure Mr. Turtle is missin’ his family.”
Elspeth looked confused for a moment, but then smiled and picked up her turtle. “Time to see yer ma, Mr. Turtle!”
Morag gave Rowan and Sorcha one final look before leading Elspeth out of the Great Hall, the child’s voice fading as the doors shut behind them. The quiet that followed settled heavily, filling the space where her chatter had been.
Sorcha still did not look at him or answer his question, reaching for her cup instead to take a slow sip, letting the tension thicken.
Rowan had expected defiance. A sharp word, perhaps. But this felt worse. She met him not with anger, but with distance.
Hehadmeant to keep his distance. To control the pace of this union before it turned into something he could not undo. Yet she had taken that distance and shaped it into something else entirely.
Something that did not include him at all.
“Ye have little to say this mornin’,” he remarked calmly, though the silence had begun to wear on him.
Sorcha lifted her gaze, and his hand flexed under the table as she did. She looked him right in the eyes, her expression neutral.
“I daenae have much to say.”
“To me?” he asked. “Or at all?”
Her expression did not shift as she answered, “Both.”
She broke eye contact first. And though it was a small gesture, it felt strangely dismissive, making him uneasy. The lack of emotion on her face and in her voice left him nothing to grasp.
I should be relieved. This is what I wanted. So why does it feel so wrong?
He watched her take a slow, measured breath. Then she lifted her eyes to his, direct and unyielding.
“Will ye visit me tonight, me Laird?”
There was no plea in her voice, no shy invitation. It strangely sounded like a command rather than a question. He noted the faint flush rising in her cheeks, though she refused to look away.
Saints preserve me, what have I done to her? If she asks me like that again…
