Page 48 of The Wolf Laird's Obsession
“I’ll be ridin’ out at first light. I need to see the damage for meself,” he continued.
She seemed to hesitate. “And me?”
Rowan went still. “What of ye?”
“What do ye expect me to do while ye’re gone?”
The question hung heavily between them.
He had not considered it before. The keep would run as it always had. Morag would manage the household, the men would care for the land, and Sorcha…
What do I expect her to do?
The answer came too quickly.
Nothing.
And that was a failing he found hard to ignore.
He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to retreat even as something primal urged him closer.
The way Sorcha held his gaze made his blood run hotter than it had any right to. He didn’t trust himself to stay near her, not when the pull in his chest was so sharp.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Sorcha held his gaze as the silence stretched between them. She was surprised that his usual unreadable expression was now one of hesitation.
“Elspeth,” he said at last. “She’ll be lookin’ for me when I’m gone.”
Of course. What else would he say? That I’d ride with him? That I have a place beside him?
She sighed at her foolish thoughts.
“Stay with her,” he continued, more deliberate now. “See that she’s nae left to run wild through the keep. Morag will have enough to manage as it is.”
“Ye’ve nothin’ to worry about,” she replied. “She’ll be cared for.”
She shouldn’t have expected anything more from him, but her heart sank all the same.
He didn’t say another word as he crossed to the table, his attention now focused on the maps spread across it.
For several seconds, she waited, half believing he might say something more. Something that belonged to them as husband and wife, rather than Laird and subject. But nothing came. Instead, he just stared at her in a way that made her skin prickle.
She sighed with indignation, walking toward the door.
It would have been easy to leave. To step out and return to the safety of distance, to let the night pass as the others had. That would have been the wiser choice. But her hand refused to pull the door open, her knuckles white from her grip.
The past days pressed in all at once. The waiting. The silence. The words he had spoken and left unanswered. The way he came close only to withdraw again, as though he were testing her.
“It has been three days,” she said, still facing the door. The strain in her voice was obvious. “Three days of words spoken and nae kept, of ye nae wantin’ me in yer bed.”
Steadying herself as best as she could, she continued to speak, but she could not bring herself to face him.
“I ken what yer duties are. I ken what it means to carry them. But I willnae be treated as though I am to stand idle and wait for ye without so much as a word. If ye shut me out completely, the servants will start to talk. Yer council will start to talk. And their whispers will soon turn into doubts about the strength of this marriage… and the strength of this alliance.”
Her words were met with silence. He did not interrupt or correct her. It settled over her like confirmation, one that sat heavy in her chest.
Her thoughts turned inward before she could stop them, bitter and unforgiving.
