Page 15 of The Wolf Laird's Obsession
Men stood along the walls above, watching as they rode through the gates.
No one cheered their Laird’s return.
No one celebrated the arrival of his new bride.
I daenae think anyone is happy I’m here.
Her stomach twisted, but she kept her head high and straightened her back.
Rowan swung down from his horse first, leaving her to dismount on her own. No matter how hard she tried, no poised landing presented itself. She descended in a humiliating scramble, her cheeks burning bright.
Me first step as Lady MacLaren, and I already look like a fool.
She glared at the back of Rowan’s head as he handed the reins to a waiting stable boy without even glancing in her direction. Sore, hungry, and exhausted, she did not have the energy to protest.
But at least me legs daenae hurt so badly anymore.
She followed Rowan towards the keep, acutely aware of the servants going about their work. Some slowed as they passed, their eyes trailing over her mud-stained dress and messy braid.
They’re wonderin’ why their Laird brought home a mess instead of a bride.
She did not falter, keeping her head high despite the weight of their glances. Rowan stopped abruptly before the great doors, and she nearly walked straight into him.
A tall elderly woman stepped forward. She had silver hair braided tightly against her head with eyes to match, stark against her dark attire.
She looked first at Rowan, bobbing a curtsey. “Me Laird.”
Then she looked at Sorcha, her sharp eyes assessing her in a single sweep from boots to hair.
“So, this is the new Lady MacLaren?” she asked bluntly.
Sorcha stiffened at her tone.
How can he let the housekeeper talk to me like that?
She glanced at Rowan and saw his mouth curve. A real smile. It changed his face entirely. The harsh lines softened, the scar across his eye pulling slightly as the expression reached it.
She could not look away.
So, he does ken how.
His eyes lifted and caught hers. His smile vanished at once, his expression hardening into the mask she had seen since the moment they met.
A sharp pang struck her chest.
Of course, it disappeared the moment he looked at her.
The elderly woman cleared her throat, drawing Sorcha’s attention back to her. Heat rose in Sorcha’s face as she realized she had been caught staring.
Here I was thinkin’ she was rude.
“I am Sorcha Sinclair,” she managed to say despite her nerves. She did not know this woman, but something in her gaze told her it would be wise to earn her favor.
She went still as the woman assessed her once again. She became painfully aware of the state she was in.
God above, I look like I crawled here from the road.
She braced herself for the woman’s disapproval. Instead, the woman gave an approving nod.
