Page 68 of The Wolf Laird's Obsession
“I am listening.” Rowan looked at Sorcha. “What do ye think? Would ye like to host a cèilidh?”
Sorcha’s eyes widened slightly, as though she had not expected him to ask for her opinion. “I… Ye daenae have to do this on me account. I am fine. I am recovering. There is nay need for a celebration.”
“But I want a celebration,” Elspeth said. “And Da wants ye to be happy. Right, Da?”
Rowan’s jaw tightened. He did not like that his daughter could read him so easily.
“A cèilidh would remind the clan that there is a new lady in this castle,” he said, keeping his voice neutral. “It would give them a chance to meet ye properly. There was nay wedding feast, nay celebration. This would… It would help.”
He did not say what he really meant.
It would give ye importance. It would show everyone that ye arenae just a substitute, nae just a duty. It would show them that I?—
He stopped that train of thought.
Sorcha was watching him with an expression he could not read. “If ye think it is best.”
“I think it is necessary.”
“Then aye.” She nodded slowly. “We can host a cèilidh.”
Elspeth clapped her hands together. “I am goin’ to tell Morag! I am goin’ to tell her right now!” She ran for the door, thenstopped and turned back. “Lady Sorcha, ye have to promise to dance with me. At least once. Maybe twice.”
“I promise,” Sorcha said, and her smile was genuine this time, soft and warm.
Elspeth disappeared through the door, her footsteps echoing down the corridor.
Flora rose from the chair by the window. “I should go with her. That child will have Morag plannin’ a feast for a hundred people if someone doesnae intervene.”
She left, and the door closed behind her.
Rowan stayed where he was, his back to the door, his arms crossed over his chest. Sorcha looked down at her hands, which were clasped in her lap. The silence between them was heavy, thick with all the things neither of them knew how to say.
“Ye didnae have to agree to the cèilidh,” he said finally.
“Elspeth wanted it.”
“Elspeth wants many things. That doesnae mean she gets them.”
Sorcha looked up at him. “Ye agreed too.”
He did not have an answer for that. He had agreed because he wanted to give her something. Because he wanted to show her that she mattered. Because he wanted…
I daenae ken what I want. I only ken that I cannae stop thinkin’ about her.
“Ye look better,” he said, because he did not know what else to say.
“I feel better.” She paused. “Weak still, but better.”
“The healer said ye need to rest.”
“The healer says many things.”
Rowan’s mouth twitched. “She said ye were stubborn.”
“She wasnae wrong.”
He almost smiled. Almost. But the memory of Sorcha’s pale face on the pillow, of the healer’s grim expression, of the fear that had clawed at his chest like a living thing—those memories were still too fresh.
