Page 57 of The Wolf Laird's Obsession
Sorcha had been wandering the keep for the better part of an hour, searching every corridor and every chamber for where Flora might have disappeared to.
But her maid was nowhere to be found.
Where has that woman gone off to?
She’d already checked the kitchens, the Great Hall, and even the solar, but there was nothing. The only place left was the eastern courtyard, where the work sheds and barns stood.
She sighed, lifting her skirts as she stepped out into the grey afternoon. The wind had picked up, carrying the scent of damp earth and coming storm. The clansmen went about their work, nodding as she passed, but none had seen Flora.
The barn door stood slightly ajar. She pushed it open without thinking, stepping inside to escape the rising wind, and froze.
Rowan stood with his back to her, stripped down to the waist, his shirt draped over a nearby beam. His muscles flexed and shifted beneath his skin as he worked, his arms braced against a timber he was testing for weakness. Sweat trickled down his spine despite the cool air.
Sorcha’s breath caught.
God above.
She had seen him clothed. Armored. But this… this was different. The way his shoulders bulged. The way his back narrowed to a lean waist.
The pale scars that stretched across his ribs were stories she could not read. And there, just above his hip, was a mark she found herself staring at before she could stop herself.
Heat flooded her cheeks.
What are ye doing, Sorcha? Look away.
But she could not.
He turned then, perhaps sensing her presence, and the full sight of him struck her. His chest was broad, dusted with dark hairthat narrowed to a line down his stomach. Every muscle was defined, carved from years of labor and battle.
His eyes found hers.
She watched his expression turn from surprise into something else. His gaze swept over her once, then returned to her face.
“Lady Sorcha.” His voice was low. “Ye’ve lost yer way?”
Say somethin’. Anythin’.
“I…” She swallowed hard, her tongue suddenly useless. “Flora. I was lookin’ for Flora.”
His eyebrow rose slightly, and the corner of his lips quirked up. “In the barn?”
“I checked everywhere else.” The words came out too fast. She sounded like a fool. “I thought… she might have come to fetch firewood. For the chambers. For the evening. Because it gets cold and…”
Stop talkin’.
Rowan’s mouth curved again. “Is that so?”
“Aye.” Sorcha forced her gaze to stay on his face, though every instinct urged her to let it drift lower. “And what areyedoing here?”
He turned back to the timber, running his palm along its length. The movement drew her eyes to the flexing muscles in his arm and shoulders.
“The reconstruction of the eastern barns is nearly complete,” he said. “But this one needs work before winter. The roof leaks. The supports are rotted in places.”
She watched him test another beam, his muscles straining against the weight.
“Ye do this yerself?” The question slipped out before she could stop it.
“I wouldnae ask me men to do what I wouldnae do.”
