Chapter Seven
Rory and Alana had been walking for a few hours already. They had left just after daybreak since they’d both awakened early. The air was heavy and he kept an eye on the sky above as the fat clouds, thick with rain, moved over them, threatening them with a good drenching.
A right dreich day it was. He quickened their pace, hoping to beat the rain and seek shelter inside an abandoned croft that he kenned wasn’t too far from here.
But his efforts were all for naught. Within minutes, the rain was coming down hard and fast, soaking them to the bone.
Rory scanned the trees. The croft was close. He could just see the outline of the thatch roof through the fat drops falling from the sky, landing in heavy plops on his head.
“This way.” He grabbed Alana’s arm and pulled her forward.
“Where are we going?”
“Someplace dry,” he roared over the loud rain.
With hurried steps they approached the croft, but as it came into view, Alana pulled on him to slow down.
“What is amiss?”
She pointed to the abandoned building and shook her head. “I am no’ going in there.”
He clenched his jaw. “’Twill keep us protected from the storm. We’ll stay dry and be warm. I can start a fire.” He opened his arms. “We can dry our clothes.”
Her eyes darted to the croft and back to his, her teeth chattering as she began to shiver.
“Ye’re freezing, lass. Ye need shelter.”
“Nay, I refuse to—”
Lightning flashed overhead and within seconds thunder boomed. Alana shrieked and grasped at his arm. He pushed her inside and she let him, but quickly turned to him, her nose wrinkled up in disgust.
He ignored how cute she looked with her face scrunched up and her wet hair hanging in strands framing her bonny face.
“’Tis freezing in here,” she declared, rubbing her hands up and down her arms to warm herself up.
Barring the door, he dropped his pack by the entry and moved to the hearth so he could build a fire.
Luckily, the last person that had occupied the croft had left wood and kindling in the wire basket beside the hearth.
Also, a bucket of pine needles and a hardened mound of sap.
With all of those, he’d be able to build a hearty fire in no time and since the space wasn’t overly large, it should warm up quickly.
“Take yer pack off and get out of those wet clothes afore ye catch yer death. I willnae have ye die on my watch.”
“No’ only is it cold in here, it smells of must and stagnation.”
“As abandoned crofts do.”
“I cannae stay here.” Disgust dripped from her words.
Lightning crackled across the sky, lighting the space up for a brief moment and Alana jumped.
“We havenae any other choice unless ye want to be out there with the storm.”
She harrumphed but began to pull items out of her pack. Trying dry herself off with the few items that hadn’t soaked through, she continued to complain.
Frustrated, he turned his attention back to starting the fire, mumbling to himself about how ungrateful she was being. “Mayhap yer betrothed should just come and fetch ye himself.”
“Pardon?” Alana snapped.
Rory finished blowing on the small flame. “I believe ye heard me just fine.”
“Weel, we wouldnae be in this situation if ye hadnae dragged me into this disgusting place.”
He stood quickly and stalked to where she stood with her hands on her hips, and towered over her. His stance forced her to crane her neck so she could look him in the eye.
“Ye are welcome to go back outside. I willnae stop ye.” He jabbed his finger toward the door.
She crossed her arms defiantly. “Ye have a duty to protect me.”
He wet his lips, nodding. “Aye, I do. But if ye are going to be stubborn and ungrateful and insist ye will be better off someplace other than in a dry shelter in the middle of a raging storm, then dinnae let me hold ye back.”
He spun and returned to the fire, poking at the wee flames that began to sputter. Blowing on them, he added kindling and broke off a piece of sap, throwing it onto the pile with a sizzle.
Refusing to look back at her, he kenned she wouldn’t leave. But when he heard her sniffle, guilt consumed him. He should apologize. He hadn’t meant to be so harsh with her, but she was frustrating. Infuriating really. Stubborn and pig-headed in her ways.
“Ye ken I am only doing my duty to my family. I dinnae ken how many times I have to apologize for taking ye away from yer planned hike. That instead of having the freedom to spend yer days as ye wish, ye are stuck here with me. But ’twasnae my suggestion.”
He laughed bitterly. “Nay, ye only insisted that someone appear and escort ye to yer betrothed.”
Looking back, Rory saw Alana snap her mouth shut.
Aye, she couldn’t deny that fact. He’d heard from the villagers. And his da as well. Alana was quite demanding when her carriage had crashed.
“Ye have nay right to sit there and judge me. Ye arenae in my boots. Ye ken naught of what demands have been placed upon my shoulders.” Her narrowed eyes bore into him.
Rory scoffed. “Ye ken naught of hardship. All that ye have has been given to ye. Showered upon ye.”
Alana laughed in disbelief. “Ye dinnae ken me at all. If ye did, ye would ken that was no’ true. Ye speak of duty. Of honor. Yet ye arenae acting verra honorable in this moment, Rory Hart,” she spat.
Her use of his full name took him aback. This argument was serving no benefit to either of them. But her passionate fight was stirring up something within him that he didn’t want to acknowledge.
Tension hung thick in the air as they stared at each other.
He pushed from the floor and stalked toward her. Planting her feet, she crossed her arms and watched his every step, her mouth set into a firm line, her head cocked to the side.
They were so close. Rory only need to straighten his fingers and he would be curling a tendril of her rain-soaked hair around his hand. Her chest heaved with heavy breaths as anger seeped from every pore in her body. Her cheeks tinged pink.
He wondered what it would be like to pull her close to him. To feel her body mold against his. He kenned it would fit perfectly.
Neither of them moved. They stood in front of each other in a silent stand-off. A duel of emotions being fought betwixt them.
Lightning flashed, and Alana jumped. In the brief illumination, Rory saw another emotion on her face. Not anger. But fiery passion of a different sort.
It mirrored his own look, he was for certs.
One step.
That’s all it would take.
One step and he could wrap her in his arms.
He took a step, but it wasn’t forward, it was backward. And with that step, he crossed his arms as his gaze clashed with hers. He clenched his jaw, irritation flowing through him at the onslaught of conflicting feelings running through his veins and preventing him from thinking rationally.
Dropping into the chair, he broke their eye contact and turned his attention to the fire, which was now burning brightly, heating up the small space.
She settled on the bed, shoulders straight, her eyes also focused on the flames licking up the sides of the hearth.
He didn’t ken how long they stayed that way. Listening to the rage of the storm as it beat against the roof and battered against the walls. A constant rhythm that eventually lulled him into contentment, along with the sounds of the crackling fire.
Whether it did the same to Alana, he couldn’t be sure. He did notice that her breathing had calmed, and she had relaxed her shoulders so she wasn’t sitting as stiffly as afore.
He would take that as a good omen. Even if his own mind was conflicted with what was actually happening betwixt them.
Of how she could make him so fiercely angry and so desperately long for her touch at the same time.
If he were home at Hartsmoor, it would be a conversation he would have with his older brother, Alpin.
The man was currently engaged to be married.
He would for certs have some advice for Rory on how to handle this situation.
But since Rory was alone, he would have to navigate whatever was going on betwixt them on his own.
One thing he could honestly say with no regret—if Alana was his betrothed, not only would he not send a measly two guards to escort her to her new home, he would lead the charge himself—with a whole team of men.