Page 8 of The Wolf Laird's Obsession
She stepped forward despite herself, but Rowan spoke again before she could breathe a word.
“Tell yer braither that I’ll take ye here. Prepare the ceremony. Let it be done properly.”
She let out a shaky breath, but the tightness in her chest did not ease. Relief did not follow as it should have. Her clan would be spared humiliation.
Then why do I still feel like the ground is unsteady beneath me feet?
She had imagined this moment a hundred different ways when Ailis first spoke of the match. None of those visions had Sorcha in the bride’s place.
Yet here she stood, her breath shallow, the walls listening. The decision had been made so quickly that she had not even been asked if she could bear it.
“Ye speak true?” she finally spoke, looking intently at his eyes for signs of mockery or deceit. But his face held nothing. Not even anger.
Instead of responding, he turned away from her, quietly leaving the solar.
Sorcha stood there, his words still echoing off the walls.Her fingers trembled as she pressed them to her chest. She could not understand what had possessed him to agree.
Is it pity? Is there something else he wants?
She stepped out into the corridor, voices carrying from further down the hall out of sight. Rowan’s deep voice carried first, sending a shiver down her spine.
“Proceed with the ceremony.”
There was a brief silence, before Callan answered in a steady tone, “Aye.”
By the time Sorcha stepped further down the hall, Rowan had already disappeared.
Callan remained where he stood. He looked at her, and though his expression remained stern, his eyes were not. She saw his worry.
“Are ye well?”
For one reckless moment, she wanted to tell him the truth. That she had not asked for this.
But that would only place the burden back on him. On their clan. On her sister. So instead, she squared her shoulders and forced a small smile.
“Aye,” she said softly. “All is well in the end.”
When Sorcha reached her chambers, Flora was waiting beside the bed. Two maids stood with her, sewing needles and threads in hand.
Sorcha stopped when she saw the dress.
Ailis’s wedding dress.
Deep green wool, the same as Clan MacLaren’s, with Clan Sinclair’s blue threaded through the fabric. A plaid was draped across her left side. Her throat tightened as she approached, touching the sleeve carefully.
Ailis… I hope she is doing well.
Tears threatened to fall, but she bit them back, nearly shaking from the effort.
“May I, me Lady?” Flora looked at her knowingly. She raised the dress in her hands, asking in a silent way for permission to help her put it on.
Sorcha took a deep breath, looking over the dress one more time, before nodding and stepping into her fate.
The maids worked quickly once the gown was on. Adjustments were made, as she was slightly taller and slimmer than Ailis. After they’d finished, everyone had left but Flora.
“How are ye feeling, me Lady?” Flora led her toward a chair by the window, preparing a green ribbon to thread through her hair.
“As well as one can in such circumstances.”
