Chapter Nine
Rory woke at dawn the next morn. Opening his eyes, he watched Alana as she slept.
She was facing him, long eyelashes sweeping her cheeks, her full lips slightly apart, her chestnut hair splayed across the pillow.
An unfamiliar pang hit him. One that made him want to wake up to this same scene every morn.
“Shite,” he mumbled under his breath.
He had no right longing for such things. But his heart wouldn’t listen. Instead it kept conjuring more images for him to see. Scenarios for him to wish for.
If their circumstances had been different, Rory could see a future with Alana.
If they had met at a Highland gathering or ceilidh, mayhap they would find themselves in a very different situation.
He could see himself drawn to her from across the room.
He could imagine the pull of her making his feet move to approach her and ask her to join him in a dance.
He had never been much of a dancer, but for Alana he would make an exception.
That alone told him he was letting himself be drawn in by her far deeper than he should.
Never afore had he had dreams of settling down with a woman.
Dancing with a woman. He wished he could seek guidance from Alpin.
His brother would tell him whether he was daft to even consider such things or if he was scared of the commitment.
The thought had entered his mind. Not that he jumped from bed to bed.
He did not. He preferred his days spent in solace. Was he scared of sharing his peace?
He took a deep breath and scrubbed his hands roughly over his face—to wake him up and to clear his mind from the errant thoughts that would serve him no purpose.
Mayhap Alana had bewitched him. It was the only explanation he could find plausible.
“Good morn,” Alana mumbled shyly, her lids still heavy with sleep, her voice low.
“Good morn,” Rory answered in a clipped voice. “I gather ye slept weel?”
“Aye.” Her arms popped out from under the blanket and she stretched, her fingers brushing against his chest.
He stiffened, and Alana didn’t seem to notice what she’d done as she withdrew her hand. He was thankful he had worn a tunic to bed. Though the thought to go to sleep bare-chested never crossed his mind. To do so would have been disrespectful, and he would do no such thing.
Her eyes went to the window and she cocked her head.
“The rain has stopped?” She asked.
“Aye,” he answered as he swung his legs off the bed and pushed himself up to stand, stretching his back as he did so. “We should ready ourselves and continue on our way.”
Thirty minutes later, their sacks were packed, and they exited the croft. Outside the ground was littered with leaves, pine needles, and branches that had fallen from the force of the rain and wind from the night afore.
“E’erything is amiss. The storm must have raged on e’en harder than I thought,” Alana said, adding, “I am glad ye found us shelter, Rory.” She placed a hand on his arm, and he straightened stiffly.
“I ken I was acting most difficult when we had first arrived, but I realize that ye were doing so for our safety. Ye are a kind man.”
Rory scoffed, but nodded, trying not to show how much her touch affected him. He cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders. Whatever feelings he had thought he started to feel this morn and his reaction to Alana’s recent statement irritated him. What the hell was he doing?
Alana was promised to another. He was her escort.
Her escort to her betrothed no less.
He needed to clear his head and get his mind straight.
Doing so meant that he could not give allowance to the thoughts he had pondered this morn.
Nay, he had no right conjuring up those images in his mind from earlier.
Clenching his jaw, he vowed to keep Alana at arm’s length.
To not let her in. He would not. He could not.
The ground below their feet was saturated and made squishy sounds as they walked away from the croft. “The path will be slick and slippery. Dangerous e’en. We will need to take care to ensure ye dinnae fall and hurt yerself,” Rory warned.
A gust of wind swirled around them, and Alana brushed her hair out of her face and nodded.
Cautiously, they ventured on, leaving the croft far behind.
They approached a wide gorge that required them to cross so they could continue on the other side.
A bridge built of rope and wood slats hung across the opening betwixt the two sides.
“We will need to cross.” As he spoke, the wind blew, causing the bridge to sway from side to side.
Rory waited for Alana to panic. Expected her to, but to his surprise, she nodded, bravado ebbing off of her in palpable waves.
“I will cross first to confirm ’tis safe.”
“What if ’tisnae? Ye will fall to yer death.” Her hazel eyes rounded with the first sign of fear she’d shown since learning they would need to cross.
“I willnae. I have crossed this bridge ofttimes. Some time has passed since the last time but it still appears sturdy. First, we need to ensure ye are ready to cross after me.”
She gazed at the bridge and then back to him as she worried her lip betwixt her teeth, but nodded.
“First, ye need to tie yer skirts. Ye dinnae need them to get caught in the ropes and cause issues. They will only trip ye up and that could be disaster. We dinnae want that.”
With shaking hands, Alana began tying her skirts as he said and listened intently as he gave her instructions on how to cross the bridge. Where to place her feet and where to hold on to.
“Ready?” He held her hands in his as he asked, a mistake because the gesture felt all too natural.
The urge to pull her into his arms and claim her mouth with his was strong.
He straightened and pushed his errant thoughts to the back of his mind.
It took all his strength to pull away and approach the bridge but he did so.
“Watch where my feet and hands are. Once I am on the other side, just mimic what I did and we will be on our way.”
She nodded and he turned to step on to the first board of the bridge.
“Rory,” she called out. “Be careful,” she said when he paused, his back stiff with tension.
He dipped his head and started to cross.
The bridge had looked sturdy enough when he had surveyed it earlier and now that he was on it, he didn’t see any structural issues.
Alana should have no issue crossing as long as she followed what he had told her.
He looked over his shoulder and saw that she was watching him closely, albeit whilst she was wringing her hands together.
Good.
That was exactly what he wanted her doing. Not wringing her hands together and fashing, but paying attention to his movements. His foot and hand placements.
He crossed easily and when he stepped onto the other side, he turned and called out to Alana. “’Tis yer turn now.”
She approached the bridge, her shoulders straight. No panic. Her brows furrowed with determination.
“Nice and easy. Just like I showed ye.”
Nodding, she took the first step, tentative at first, but with each following step, her confidence bloomed. Her steps became steadier and more sure-footed.
“Ye are doing great, lass,” he urged, providing words of support to spur her on the rest of the way. As she neared the mid-point, he called out, “Ye’re halfway thr—.”
The board under her right foot snapped, loosening from the rope of the bridge, and crashed to the rocks below.
“Alana!” Rory yelled, his heart lurching, but Alana kept her composure, took a deep breath, and continued to cross.
She didn’t scream. She didn’t cry. In that moment she was stronger than him.
Rory’s heart raced with each step she took that brought her closer to him. He wanted to tell her to hurry, but was afraid if she hurried her pace, she would slip. Instead, he watched her intently, sending a silent prayer to the lord above for her safe crossing.
Stepping from the last board, she jumped onto solid ground and into Rory’s waiting arms, a huge smile stuck on his face, a triumphant look on hers. He steadied her and their eyes locked. Both of them breathing hard. Their chests rising and falling against each other’s.
“I didnae think ye could do it,” he muttered, burying his nose in her hair, losing himself for a brief moment, forgetting his earlier vow to not succumb to his feelings.
“I didnae either,” she admitted, burrowing her face in his chest.
He wanted to stay in this position forever.
Pride flickered in him at her strength. She was stronger than he had given her credit for and he found that realization annoying.
His underestimation of her capability was shameful.
It said far more about him than it did her.
And he realized he was guilty of treating her in much the same way her family had. Not seeing her as enough.
When she was far more than enough.
Coughing, he broke contact and stepped away, tamping down the emotions that had begun to consume him once again. He kenned better. The more feelings that he allowed to surface, the angrier it made him. Alana Duran could never be his. He would be wise to remember that.
He tried to brush off how perfect she felt in his arms. “We need to get moving,” he snapped, not willing to delve into what he was feeling right now. It would do him no good. “We’ve got a lot of ground to cover today,” he said gruffly.
Alana fell into step beside him, walking with the confidence of a thousand warriors. He remembered her feet and the blisters that had formed. It had been a few days and they’d mostly healed, but he couldn’t ignore how she hadn’t complained. Not once. Even when she had every right to.
As they walked on, he couldn’t help stealing glances at her. His gaze lingering longer than it should. Longer than was proper. He watched the surety of her steps. The square of her shoulders. The stubborn jut of her chin.
He was impressed at her tenacity. Moreso than he would ever admit.