Page 44 of The Wolf Laird's Obsession
“Anyone can tell something is wrong, what with how tense ye are. Ye didnae even answer me when I came in and mentioned supper. That alone tells me enough.”
Sorcha smiled bashfully, realizing she had been so deep in thought that she had not heard Flora enter the room. “I’m nae hungry.”
“Aye,” Flora answered teasingly, “and that has nothin’ to do with the fact that Laird MacLaren will be there.”
Sorcha scoffed, focusing on her knife. “It has everythin’ to do with the fact that I have nay appetite,” she insisted.
Flora sighed, leaning back in her seat. “Ye can tell me the truth, me Lady. What’s troublin’ ye?”
Sorcha’s lips pressed together, the truth held hostage in her throat. It felt too raw to give shape to, too uncertain to speak without sounding foolish.
What can I say? That I daenae understand him? That I cannae stand in the same room as him without losing meself?
She swallowed it back before any of it could reach her lips. “There’s nothin’ to say.”
“Then why does it look like ye’re about to carve that poor thing in half?” Flora’s gaze flickered to Sorcha’s hands in concern.
Sorcha looked down at the small piece of wood in her palm, its lines uneven and rougher than they should be. She exhaled dramatically, laying the knife on the table.
“I daenae ken what to make of him,” she admitted softly. “One moment, he treats me like nothin’ more than an obligation; the next…” she trailed off, lifting her hand to the back of her neck. “The next, he speaks as though…”
“As though what?” Flora prompted.
Sorcha shook her head, lowering her hand. “It doesnae matter.”
Flora’s expression softened. “He unsettles ye.”
Sorcha let out a breath that was part laugh, part sigh. “Aye, he does.”
Silence settled between them for a moment, Sorcha staring at the rough carving in her hand.
She had entered into this marriage as she had been taught—steady, agreeable, willing to take her place without complaint. She had asked for nothing, expected little, and done exactly what was required of her. And still, Rowan turned away from her. As though she were something he could simply… set aside.
The thought unsettled her. There was no guidance for this, no rule she could follow to make it right. She felt hopeless.
“What am I doing wrong?”
Flora placed her hand on Sorcha’s over the carving, squeezing it. “There isnae anythin’ wrong with ye. If anythin’, the fault lies with him, walkin’ around like he doesnae ken what to do with ye. Ye’d think ye were the Wolf, what with the way he keeps away from ye.”
Sorcha huffed a quiet laugh as the tension in her shoulders eased. Flora always seemed to have the right thing to say in these moments, always lifting her spirits.
“If he insists on keepin’ his distance,” Flora continued, “then I’ll happily take advantage of it. It means I have ye to meself a while longer.”
Sorcha felt the kindness in her words. She was very grateful to have found a friend in Flora.
If she werenae here, I daenae ken what I’d do. At least with her here, I’m nae alone.
Flora’s expression softened again, and she let out a soft sigh. “Give it time, me Lady. Ye’ve done everythin’ right since ye arrived. That much I swear on.”
Sorcha cleared her throat, her eyes stinging with unshed tears. She gave Flora a soft smile, picking up her knife to carve again. “Thank ye, Flora.”
Flora studied her, then rose to her feet and went to the trunk at the foot of the bed. “Whether ye like it or nae, it’s near time for supper. Ye should change.”
“I willnae go.” The words came quicker than Sorcha had intended. Even though her talk with Flora had quelled some of her unease, she still was not ready to face Rowan. She was not sure when she would be ready to.
Flora paused, glancing back at her. “Ye’re certain?”
“Aye.”
