Chapter Seven #3
“Do nae tell me what to do,” she replied, trying, he suspected, to sound indignant, but her slurred words proved his point in a rather comical way.
The pattern repeated at the next two cottages, and each time Lillith’s protests grew more colorful and less coherent.
The mead was definitely taking its toll on her.
Her cheeks were flushed, and her gait unsteady.
As they exited the next cottage, he realized he was feeling the effects of the mead as well.
There was a pleasant warmth spreading through his limbs, despite the cold.
“Ye’re cheating,” Lillith accused as they both set off toward the next cottage. Masie trotted between them, seemingly unconcerned by her mistress’s increasingly unsteady strides.
“Nay, lass,” Rory replied, unable to keep the amusement from his voice. “I’m using a fair strategy. There’s a difference.”
Lillith made a sound that might have been a laugh or a hiccup—possibly both. “Ye’re insufferable,” she said, though there was more warmth than venom in the words. “And ye’re nae going to win.”
“I already am besting ye,” Rory pointed out, steadying her with a hand at her elbow when she stumbled over an exposed root. The contact sent a jolt through him that had nothing to do with the mead. “I’ve claimed nearly all the cottages ye and I went to.”
“Ye tricked me,” she accused, jabbing a finger at his chest but missing entirely, which only made him chuckle.
They were halfway to the next cottage when a horn blast cut through the night—three long notes that echoed across the frost-covered hills.
“The time is up,” Rory said, recognizing the signal that he was instructed to listen for. “The race is over.”
Lillith blinked owlishly at him, her blue eyes reflecting the starlight. “Over? But I’ve nae yet beaten ye.”
“Mayhap yer team best mine,” he offered, though he doubted it. “Let’s return to the courtyard to see who’s won.”
Lillith tilted her head to one side in a gesture that reminded him, absurdly, of her hound. He had to stifle a laugh. “That sounds like a fine idea!” she announced, her voice merry with mead.
As they started toward the castle, Lillith weaved an unsteady path through the frost-covered grass, and she seemed to laugh at the slightest provocation.
She tripped twice over nothing but air. Each time, she grabbed his arm to steady herself.
He didn’t know if he was imagining it or not, but each time she clutched him, she held on longer than seemed necessary to regain her balance, and he didn’t mind it one bit.
The mead had transformed her from fierce competitor to something softer.
There was an unguarded quality to her now that he suspected few were privileged to see.
“Did ye see the look on old Duncan’s face?” she asked as she walked.
“Was that the man at the last cottage?”
“Aye,” she replied, rounding a corner and stumbling a bit one more, but this time, she managed to steady herself.
“When ye drank yer mead faster than me, and we started arguing! Duncan looked appalled!” Lillith chortled so hard that she bumped into him.
He instinctively grabbed her elbow, and Masie barked up at him, as if to say, ‘mind my mistress’.
“Ye’ve a loyal hound there,” Rory observed, watching as the beast adjusted her pace to match Lillith’s increasingly erratic steps. “She guards ye, and she has nae left yer side all night.”
Lillith looked down at Masie with a softness in her eyes that made something tighten in Rory’s chest. What would it feel like to have that soft gaze turned on him? He found he wanted to know, and the thought shocked him.
“Aye,” she said, her voice losing its mirth for a moment. “Masie will nae leave me until she has to one day. But she’s a hound, so mayhap my heart will nae be broken so badly by it.”
He frowned at the odd statement as he strolled beside her. “What do ye mean by that?” he asked, genuinely curious.
Lillith hiccupped, then waved her hand dismissively. “Do nae mind me.” She grinned ruefully. “’Tis the mead talking.”
He didn’t think that was true, but he also got the sense that pressing her would get him nowhere, so instead, he considered a roundabout way he might get to know more about her. “Has yer heart been broken by someone before?”
Lillith squinted at him as if she was struggling to bring him into focus. “Nae in the way ye’re thinking,” she finally said. “Has yers?”
“Nay,” Rory replied honestly. “I’ve nae given my heart to anyone to break.”
Her gaze widened. “Truly?”
He nodded.
She gave him a teasing look. “’Tis hard to believe the lasses are nae begging for yer heart considering yer The Hammer of the Highlands.”
His neck went hot at her exaggerated use of the moniker he detested. “I did nae say the lasses were nae begging,” he replied with a wink, though his embarrassment now made his face warm as well.
She snorted. “Ye’re cocksure.”
“Mayhap,” he agreed.
“So, if the lass’s have begged, why have ye nae given one yer affection? Are ye afraid?”
Her direct question caught him off guard. Was he afraid? He’d never thought of it that way. “Nae afraid,” he answered, because she was staring at him with an expectant look. “Just waiting, I suppose.”
“For what?”
He inhaled a long breath, considering how honest he wanted to be. “For time to run out.”
Her frown deepened. “I do nae understand,” she said, hiccupping once more and swaying as she walked. “What do ye mean?”
He didn’t currently understand himself either.
He thought he’d had everything figured out.
He had long told himself he would wed eventually, but not until necessary.
He knew it was his duty as heir, but he’d not looked forward to fulfilling the duty, given the constant strife he’d endured between his parents and the tension it created in their home.
So when duty had come calling, by edict of the king, he’d known he had to fulfill it, and he’d set his mind to wed whichever one of the MacLeod sisters was the most biddable.
Yet, Lenora did nae entice him in the least, and here he was with his blood stirring for the one who did not seem biddable at all.
Yet maybe simply seeking a biddable wife had been a bad strategy?
He didn’t want a strained marriage, but neither did he want to be wed to someone who bored him to death and whom he wasn’t attracted to.
Mayhap his parents’ contentious marriage had less to do with his mama being headstrong and argumentative, as his da had long claimed, and more to do with them not being suited to wed yet being forced to do so.
“’Tis rude nae to answer me,” Lillith said as she pouted prettily at him.
He found himself staring at her lips for a moment, wondering what they might feel like under his.
He cleared his throat and forced himself to consider what to say.
“My da and mama have always fought, and our home has been filled with tension. It did nae make me want to wed until I had to.”
“It sounds to me like yer parents are nae a good match.”
“Aye,” he agreed. “My da always said it was because my mama was nae biddable.”
Lillith snorted. “He would say that. ’Tis just like a man to blame it on the woman.”
Rory opened his mouth to disagree, but he promptly shut it. Hadn’t he blindly believed his da without questioning it? He had. Guilt slammed into him for being so easily swayed and judgmental of his mama.
Lillith suddenly gasped and clutched his arm. “Ye want Lenora because ye have judged her the biddable sister! Ye want a biddable wife!”
He scrubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “The notion had crossed my mind that a biddable wife might make things easier.”
“Had?” she said, releasing her hold on his arm and taking a step away from him. A look of unease now settled on her face, and he vowed she had picked up her pace, which he matched.
“Aye,” he said slowly, new realizations coming to him. “I may be questioning things,” he admitted.
“Oh!” She stopped and faced him. “Do nae do that!”
If the situation were not so comical, he might be offended that she so clearly did not want him to consider her for his wife.
He knew what he was afraid of, but what was causing this almost visceral reaction in her to the notion of wedding him.
Was it him or marriage to anyone? “What are ye afraid of?” he asked.
“I’m nae afraid of anything!” she said hotly, but something in her voice said differently. “I wish to be a warrior, nae a wife, ’tis all.” She started toward the castle once more.
“And ye think ye kinnae be both?” he said, catching up to her.
She gave him an incredulous look. “Would ye allow me to be a warrior?”
He frowned. “Ye are nae a hound, Lillith. It would nae be my place to tell ye what to do.”
Her lips parted in obvious surprise. “Ye do nae intend to lord over yer wife?”
“I would hope we could discuss things,” he said, speaking aloud the things he had never fully considered about marriage until this moment.
She eyed him suspiciously. “But, but…ye were seeking a biddable wife!”
He nodded. “Aye, to avoid strife, but mayhap I should have been seeking a lass I’m best matched to.” He wasn’t entirely sure now.
“’Tis nae me!” she declared, looking almost fearful of him.
Before Rory could try to uncover why she looked fearful, they rounded a bend in the path, and the gardens of Dunvegan came into view. Without warning, Lillith raced ahead to the center of the garden with Masie yapping at her heels. There, she threw her arms wide and began to spin in slow circles.
“What are ye doing?” Rory called, closing the distance between them.
“Soaking up the beauty!” she said, spinning faster now.