Page 75 of The Wolf Laird's Obsession
The lady of the castle.
The words still sounded strange, like a dress that had been tailored for someone else.
“I will come in a moment,” Sorcha said. “I am watchin’ for me braither.”
Flora opened her mouth to argue, then closed it again, following Sorcha’s gaze to the gate. “Is that him now?”
A carriage had rolled through the gates, larger than the others, painted dark blue with the Sinclair crest emblazoned on the side. Sorcha’s breath caught in her throat.
Callan.
The carriage door opened, and her brother stepped out, tall and broad-shouldered, his black curls longer than she remembered, streaked with grey at the temples.
He looked tired. Older than his years. But when his eyes found hers across the courtyard, he smiled, and he was the boy she had grown up with again, the brother who had taught her to ride and held her hand at their parents’ funeral.
“Sorcha!” His voice carried across the chaos as he strode towards her, pushing through the crowd as though it were not there.
She met him halfway, and he swept her into a fierce embrace, lifting her off her feet and spinning her around like she was a child again. She laughed, the sound surprising her.
When he set her down, his hands were shaking.
“Sorcha,” he said again, softer this time. “Me sister. At last.”
“Ye came,” she said, her voice thick with tears she refused to shed. “I didnae think… I hoped, but I didnae ken…”
“I wouldnae have missed it.” He held her at arm’s length, looking her over with a critical eye. “Ye look well. Pale, but well. When I heard ye had been ill…”
“I am fine now. Truly.”
Callan’s jaw tightened. “Poison, they said. Someone tried to kill ye.”
“It was a mistake. A misunderstanding.” She did not believe that, and she could tell from his expression that he did not believe it either. But this was not the time or the place for such conversations. “We will talk later, I promise.”
He nodded reluctantly and stepped aside.
And there, behind him, was Ailis.
She looked smaller than Sorcha remembered, younger, more fragile. Her brown hair was pinned up in an elaborate style that did not suit her, and her blue eyes were red-rimmed, as though she had been crying.
She clutched her cloak with both hands, her knuckles white.
“Sorcha.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “I am so sorry. I should have been there. I should have?—”
Sorcha shook her head, stepping forward to take her sister’s hands in her own. “Nay, daenae. I understand, Ailis. I have always understood.”
“But I left ye. I ran away, and ye had to take me place.”
“Stop.” Sorcha’s voice was firm but gentle. “Ye are here now. That is what matters. Ye are here, and ye are safe, and I am glad to see ye.”
Ailis’s eyes brimmed with tears, and Sorcha pulled her into an embrace, holding her tight.
She is still a child.She is still so young, and I forgot that. I forgot that she was terrified, that she was alone, that she didnae have the same strength I do.
“I am sorry,” Ailis whispered into her shoulder. “I am so sorry.”
“I ken.” Sorcha smoothed her hair, the way she used to when they were girls. “I ken, Ailis. And I forgive ye. Now, dry yer eyes. We’re going to celebrate tonight, and I willnae have ye lookin’ like a drowned kitten.”
Ailis laughed, a wet, shaky sound, and pulled back to wipe her eyes with the back of her hand. “Ye always ken what to say.”
