Chapter Eleven
Rory grunted as he chopped a piece of wood with more force than he needed to. Alana’s words replaying in his head. She had gotten under his skin when she said he ran because he was afraid to be needed. Her remark hit close to his heart.
Too close.
And it irked him.
How could this woman, who he had kenned for less than a sennight, how could she ken him better than his own family?
The thought that the walls he had erected were standing tall and strong crumbled. Just like his walls when it came to Alana.
He split another piece of wood with a fierce blow. It felt good to let out his frustration, but the physical exertion of his task couldn’t draw out the words constantly sounding over and over in his head. Alana was wrong about one thing, though. He wasn’t scared to be needed.
In fact, the opposite was true. He wanted to be needed.
His second-son position in the family had set his destiny the moment he was born.
He wasn’t needed. He wouldn’t be unless something happened to his father that prevented him from leading their clan.
And even then, he still wouldn’t be needed.
Alpin would step in as leader, and Rory would do what he always did—leave for the comfort and tranquility of nature.
Sometimes, he allowed himself to think about what it would be like to be needed, but not often. It was a waste of time ruminating on such trivial things.
“Shite!” He cursed to no one in particular since he was the only one in this area. He bent and picked up the kindling he’d chopped and returned to camp. Near the fire, he threw the kindling down, avoiding Alana’s gaze that he could feel boring into his back.
Placing a few pieces of the kindling onto the flame, the fire crackled violently, sending hot sparks floating into the air.
Lowering himself onto the ground, he stretched his legs out and leaned back, his weight on his palms. Focused on the fire, he spoke.
“I am no’ scared to be needed. Naught could be further than the truth.
” His gaze clashed with hers for a flash of a second afore settling back on the fire.
“I verra much wish to be needed.” He held his hand up when Alana began to speak.
“Needed for something other than escorting ladies to their betrothed.”
Alana dipped her head, but not afore he saw the blush tinging her cheeks pink.
“And I am no’ against marriage. I have seen many happy unions in my lifetime—my parents’, my sister.
They both have happy marriages. My older brother is soon to be wed and he has ne’er been happier than the times he spends with his betrothed.
” He sat up, resting his arm on his bent knee.
“What I am against is the obligation. I dinnae want to feel obligated to marry my wife. I want to do so because of genuine feelings that stop me thinking aboot aught else.”
“I dinnae think there is aught wrong with feeling that way,” Alana agreed. “I would say that most people would much rather marry for love than duty.”
He nodded. “Ye may no’ believe it, but I have had offers. Multiple. Some werenae serious. Some were strategic. Some were genuine, at least on the lass’s part,” he added with a small smile. “But none of those offers interested me and I turned them down.”
Alana frowned. “Yer family didnae insist?”
He shook his head. “I believe they kenned I would deny the requests when they arrived. So ’twas no surprise to them.” He pulled on the back of his neck. “My family kens me weel. They oft joke that I will die alone in the mountains with only a sheep keeping me company.”
Alana laughed softly, the sound a beautiful melody to his ears. “I dinnae believe that for a minute.”
Her reaction surprised him. Did she not think the same of him? He felt another stone fall from the walls he’d built to protect himself.
“Do ye want to marry yer betrothed? I am no’ speaking of will ye marry him. Or of duty or obligation.” He tapped his fingers on his heart. “Here. I only speak of yer heart. Do ye want to marry that man?”
For a long moment, Alana hesitated, fidgeting with the hem of her skirts, rolling them, and then unrolling them. “It doesnae matter if I do or no’,” she said finally, the tinge of sad resignation lacing her voice.
“Mayhap it should,” he countered.
Their gazes met and held for a long time. Neither of them saying a word. Each of them searching the other for some unkenned answer they sought. The silence stretched long and heavy betwixt them, until Alana pulled her eyes from his.
“We should sleep now. I am for certs that the morrow will hold another long day of hiking and we need our rest.”
Across the fire, she snuggled into her blanket and Rory had the sudden urge to be the one wrapped around Alana, offering her warmth from the chill of the night.
Instead, kenning he was dreaming of the impossible, he laid back and rested his head on his hands as he looked up into the night sky, brilliant with thousands of stars staring back at them.
They twinkled against the dark backdrop of the midnight sky.
In the distance the hoot of an owl sounded, followed by another.
Mates probably, Rory assessed. His gaze swept to the sky again.
What would it be like to be star? Every night they rose in the sky and were able to look down upon everyone and everything.
To see what they were doing. Every night the stars rose in the same spot as if they were held there by an invisible tether, holding them in place so they couldn’t escape.
Or mayhap they didn’t want to escape and saw their tether as an anchor, holding them in the exact spot they wanted to stay.
He sighed and stole a glance at Alana across the other side of the fire. She had fallen asleep lying on her side, her hands tucked underneath her chin.
He thought about the MacDonell. The bastard was a fool and had no idea how lucky he was to have such a beauty as Alana for his wife. He was undeserving. A burning sensation formed in Rory’s chest. He rubbed at the unfamiliar feeling and then scoffed when he realized what it was that ailed him.
Jealousy.
He was jealous of the MacDonell. If their situation were different, he could see himself asking for Alana’s hand in marriage.
She had a smart mind. Was an excellent shot with a bow.
She had a sharp tongue and wasn’t afraid to say what she was thinking.
She held her ground and had a deep sense of duty and loyalty to her family.
That part Rory could not understand. It was her family that put her in this situation. And for what? Status? Wealth?
He would never demand such things from her. Or a daughter if he was ever lucky enough to be blessed with one. He would not force her into a marriage that would for certs make her miserable. No one wants to live their life feeling trapped.
It was why he never stayed home. Why he was always out.
But for the first time in his life, Rory thought he might like to be a star—anchored to the same spot and building a life of his own there with someone he could love and cherish.
Someone like Alana.
He fell asleep then, his mind filled with dreams of the bonny lass sleeping so close, but yet so far from him.
They were running through a meadow, Alana with a braided wreath of flowers in her hair as she giggled whilst running ahead of him, daring him to catch her.
When he did, he whirled her around, making her squeal, afore he captured her mouth with his.
He startled awake, reaching for Alana only to realize where he was, and that it had only been a dream. He groaned and covered his eyes with his forearm.
The world had a funny way of moving sometimes. Of course, the first time the vestiges of settling fell upon him, it was with a lass that was promised to another.