Page 6 of The Wolf Laird's Obsession
“I am Sorcha, me Laird. It is an honor to be yer bride.”
The low, smooth timbre of her voice caught him off guard. She looked him right in the eye, unwavering.
Sorcha.
He rolled the name silently in his mind. Not the name he’d traveled for. Not the name on the agreement. But it suited her.
He wondered how her name would taste on his tongue.
Suiting her isnae the question. She isnae me bride.
If he accepted this without challenge, the story would travel faster than any rider: MacLaren came for one bride and took another without protest. Careless at best, weak at worst.
But rejecting her in front of Sinclair’s men would not end well. Pride would answer pride, and his people would pay the price.
Behind him, he sensed his own men waiting.
He kept his eyes on Sorcha as he spoke, “This isnae a matter for the crowd.” He gestured for her to follow his lead.
She quickly looked at Callan, who gave her a reluctant nod of approval before she followed behind.
Reluctant. A hesitation so small that most would miss it.
Callan hesitates. Does he fear what I might do to her? Or what she might say to me?
Murmurs chased them as they crossed the yard, boots of guards scraping the stone behind as they were escorted to the solar. She didn’t look scared to be alone with him. She confidently walked at his side despite his long strides.
His jaw tightened at the sight.
Devoid of any fear, her gaze alone forced him to reevaluate every assumption he’d made about this match.
“What is this, then?” He did not waste time the moment they were left alone, his voice firm. “Ye think ye can stand in another’s place?”
But she was not disconcerted. She didn’t reach for the latch or glance over his shoulder. She stood her ground.
She should be frightened.
“Honor isnae a fragile thing, me Laird, that it belongs to one sister only.”
Rowan’s mouth curved faintly, but he was anything but amused. “A fine answer,” he said. “But it doesnae change the terms of an agreement.”
“Agreements change when circumstances do,” she replied, her even tone irritating him further.
“Convenient,” he scoffed. “For the Sinclairs, at least.”
Enough games. I didnae ride all this way for riddles.
“Where is she?” His voice was lower now, sharper. “The truth, Sorcha Sinclair. Did she flee, or did ye hide her?”
He watched her face for the smallest crack, but she did not waver. She held him as if she could hold a blade the same way.
“I willnae speak ill of me sister.”
“I didnae ask ye to insult her.” Rowan stepped closer, shrinking the space between them until she had no choice but to tilt her chin up to keep looking at him. “I asked ye where she is.”
The rise of her chest betrayed a shallow breath she couldn’t hide, despite her steady appearance. He thought she would finally give in.
“This is the Sinclair ye’re marryin’,” she said quietly.
