Chapter Twelve
Alana walked silently beside Rory as they navigated over fallen limbs and slippery rocks. Always there with a hand at her elbow to steady her, or an encouraging word telling her she could do something, she was finding Rory’s presence to be more and more welcome.
The past couple of nights she had spent with him had given her a deeper insight into the man Rory Hart was.
He was frustrating at times, but he had opened up to her as well.
Sometimes she thought he fashed on whether he had said too much.
But he hadn’t. She had enjoyed seeing the side of him that she kenned he rarely revealed to anyone.
It made her feel special that she was the one he chose to let his guard down with.
And bit by bit, she was doing the same with him.
Though she still hadn’t admitted that she didn’t want to marry the man her father was telling her she had to.
She wanted to be selfish and for once not do as she was told. To not fulfill her duty.
But she had not. She could not.
Just the thought felt like a betrayal to her family, and she couldn’t do that to them. Her family’s livelihood was dependent on her going through with this union.
It mattered naught how fetching she found Rory. How she let her eyes linger on him when he didn’t ken she was watching.
The time spent outdoors hiking was evident in his strong build.
His wide shoulders that he used to pull himself up ledges.
Into trees. His arms that bulged with thick muscle honed from those same activities and more.
Things like chopping wood or swimming. It was the swimming that gave him the narrow, tapered waist that she had seen glimpses of.
She sighed.
“Are ye tired?” Rory asked beside her.
“Pardon?” It took a moment for her to realize that she had sighed aloud, drawing his attention. She flushed, embarrassment washing over her. “Nay. I am fine to carry on.”
He gave her an odd look but shrugged and kept moving forward. They approached a narrow trail and just afore they got there, three terrifying looking men emerged from the trees, blocking their path.
“Give us yer coin,” the taller man demanded, an evil grin showing rotten teeth and Alana gasped, shrinking back in fear at the dagger the man swung in their direction.
Rory immediately pushed Alana behind him, stepping in front of her, offering her protection as his hand moved to his dirk, his back straight.
One of the thieves lunged, but he was no match for Rory.
He quickly took him down with brutal efficiency, jabbing his dirk into the man’s neck.
Alana’s hands flew to her mouth, stifling the scream that threatened to burst from her mouth.
The man slumped to the ground with a soft thud and Rory quickly snatched the sword that the thief dropped.
One of the other thieves charged them, his sword raised above his head. As he swung down, Rory pushed Alana out of harm’s way and countered the strike.
Strong arms circled around her waist, dragging her away from the battling men.
Refusing to be taken wherever he was pulling her to, she slammed her foot onto his with as much might as she could muster.
The move wasn’t enough to hurt him but surprised him enough so that he let go of her.
Quickly, she turned and brought her knee up, connecting with his groin.
He howled in agony, but managed to reach out and grab hold of her hair as he doubled over.
Wincing against the bite of pain, she maneuvered and clamped her teeth down on the man’s wrist.
“Ye bitch!” He bit out through clenched teeth as he cupped his groin.
The noise distracted Rory, giving his attacker the opportunity to connect to his shoulder. Rory hissed, but brought his sword up and they continued sparring back and forth.
Before her attacker could regain his composure, Alana needed to stop his onslaught. Looking around, she noticed a rock and closed her fingers around it. Turning, she swung her arm with all her might, slamming it into the man’s head. His eyes rolled back and he crumpled to the ground.
Rory made quick work of finishing the third thief off.
Alana looked around, frightened that more men would come filtering out of the trees and continue the attack.
Her breaths were coming in fast, the rise and fall of her chest a rapid tempo.
Tears sprouted in her eyes at the realization of the dire situation they had just faced.
Her hands shaking, her eyes sought Rory’s and they met his wild-eyed gaze.
She noticed that he was breathing just as hard as she was.
“Ye could have been killed!” Rory growled at her.
“So could ye!” She snapped back.
“I had the situation handled.” He pushed his hands through his hair and Alana saw the cut on his shoulder through the rip in his tunic.
“Ye’re bleeding,” she said, approaching him and gently pushed the torn material to the side so she could see.
His gaze dropped to his shoulder and he shrugged. “’Tis naught. I have had much worse.”
“Mayhap so, but it needs bandaging.”
He placed his finger and thumb on her chin and turned her head to the side, his brows drawing down in a frown. “Ye bleed as weel.”
She brought her hand up to her cheek and when she looked at it, red shaded her fingers. She didn’t remember being hit but assumed it had happened while they were scuffling.
“Come on. We need to leave.” He grasped her arm and began to pull her onto the narrow path.
Pulling back, she dug her heels into the ground. “I need to bandage yer arm.”
“Later. When I have ye out of harm’s way.”
With a quick look over her shoulder, she gave a shudder at the men lying on the ground. Two of them lay in a halo of blood, their eyes open, staring blankly at the sky.
“Dinnae look at them, lass. Ye dinnae need that memory burned into yer head.”
“Are we to just leave them there?”
“Aye,” Rory said, nodding curtly. “We cannae do aught for them and the one that lives will see to the bodies.”
He spoke of the dead so nonchalantly and Alana realized that the sight was not foreign to him.
He had seen death afore. Enough to be accustomed to it.
She silently vowed to never be in that same position.
Letting Rory lead her away, they walked for some distance until he deemed them safe and made camp.
“Afore ye do aught further, please let me tend to yer arm, Rory,” she begged. The cut had not stopped oozing blood and if it went on much longer she feared he would drain himself.
Rory sighed, but reluctantly sank to the ground.
Alana rummaged in her sack and came away with a clean shift.
Using her teeth to start the tear, she pulled some of the material apart into strips.
She ripped another larger piece off and dipped it into the water he had gathered at the burn they had stopped near.
Moving to clean his wound, she paused.
“Why do ye look at me so?”
She pulled her bottom lip in betwixt her teeth. “I,” she started, and then paused again. She was acting foolish. Squaring her shoulders, she replied, “Ye will need to remove yer tunic if I am to clean and treat yer wound properly.”
He lifted a brow. “If ye wanted to see me naked, lass, ye need only ask,” he jested.
Alana felt her face flame. First from embarrassment, then, as she took in his muscled chest with just a dusting of hair, his rippled abdomen, and tapered waist, she felt herself redden even more.
“Do ye approve?” His eyes bore into hers, the corners of his mouth lifting in a small smile.
“I believe I have asked ye no’ to call me lass,” she said in an attempt to change the subject, even though her eyes wanted to continue to wander over Rory’s exposed skin.
Focus, she thought. Wound. Cut. Clean. She finally remembered what she was supposed to be doing and moved to Rory’s side.
“Surely we are much too acquainted now for me to call ye Lady Alana or Miss Duran.”
Lass felt too personal. As if they had kenned each other for a long time. That was not the case, so she didn’t think it proper.
“Shall I call ye by a nickname?”
She touched the wet cloth to the slice in his arms and began to slowly wipe away the bits of dried blood and stop the flow of the blood that still ran from the wound. “I dinnae have a nickname.”
“Nay? Now, ye jest.”
Alana shook her head. “My family doesnae believe in nicknames. One should always be addressed as their given name. ’Twas what my mother has always said.”
Rory chuckled. “Seems silly to me. There is naught wrong with a friendly pet name.”
“A pet name?” She asked. “Is that how ye see me?”
“No’ a pet in the sense ye are thinking. I dinnae think of ye as a hound or a bird or a cat. A pet in the sense of a caring friendship.”
Having cleared the caked blood away, Alana added pressure to the wound to see if she could finally staunch the bleeding. “Caring friendship. Is that what we have?”
His gaze slid to hers, his green eyes dark. “Aye,” he said and there was no deception in his tone.
“Hold this,” she ordered, gesturing to the cloth on his arm. “Apply heavy pressure,” she added and gathered the linen strips and another large piece of cloth. “Say that we are as ye say.” She met his eyes, but quickly looked away from the intensity in which he watched her. “What would ye call me?”
Rory cocked his head to the side.
Once again she felt her cheeks flush under his scrutiny.
“Ye dinnae need to answer that,” she said quickly.
“’Twas a daft question.” She pushed his hand away.
Lifting the wet cloth, she was happy to see that the bleeding had mostly stopped and applied the dry cloth afore beginning to tie the strips around it to hold it in place.
“Nay. Ye cannae back out of a question like that once asked. Hmmm. What nickname shall I give ye?” He made a show of tapping his index finger on his chin as if deep in thought. “I could call ye Little Mouse, but ye arenae meek, so that wouldnae fit. Icicle, but nay, ye arenae cold and frigid.”
“Ye jest,” she remarked when he could not hold his chuckle back any longer.
“Aye.” He captured a lock of her hair and twirled it around his fingers. “I shall call ye Bluebell.”
Alana was taken aback at that. “The flower?”
“Aye. ’Tis vibrant and colorful. Bold and beautiful and has a way of spreading its joy across the land.”
She was speechless. No one had ever said aught as kind to her as that. “Ye must see me different than anyone else I have kenned. They would ne’er say such things aboot me.”
“Then they are fools.” He tugged her hand and she fell against him. He tucked her hair behind her ear and let his fingers slowly trail down her cheek. “Or blind to no’ see it. Mayhap they are both.” He nodded. “Aye. They are blind fools to no’ see ye as ye should be seen.”
Their faces were so close. Their mouths only inches apart.
What would it feel like to kiss him? Wicked thoughts swirled through her mind.
Would he kiss her? Did she want him to? She searched his face.
His deep green eyes that looked at her right now as if she meant e’erything to him.
A warmth swirled in her belly, coursing through her blood, making parts of her awaken.
Parts that she didn’t ken needed to be awakened.
Instinctively, she leaned closer to him, her lips slightly parted.
His gaze dropped from her eyes to her lips and then back to her eyes again. She wanted to plead with him to kiss her. To offer her this one boon.
But she didn’t have to plead. Strong arms encircled her waist, bringing her even closer to him.
His mouth crashed onto hers. She gasped in surprise for a brief moment, but then gave into the temptation of Rory’s lips.
The wickedness of his tongue as he ran it along the seam of her lips, pushing gently for entry.
She acquiesced with a sigh and then a moan escaped as his tongue invaded her mouth.
His large hands rubbed her back, then moved to her waist, then lower until they cupped her bottom and he maneuvered her so she straddled his lap.
She pushed her hands through his hair, scraping her nails against his scalp afore grasping his shoulders when he broke the kiss and moved his lips to her neck, peppering her with kisses along the sensitive skin, then her jawline, then down to her collarbone.
It was too much and not enough all at the same time.
Her breaths came in short bursts as she gulped for air. “Rory,” she whispered.
Suddenly, he stiffened, his lips stilling against the column of her neck. He lifted her from his lap and sat her on the ground next to him. “My apologies. I shouldnae have taken such liberties with ye.” He stood awkwardly and walked stiffly away.
What had happened? She did not ken. Other than she wanted to feel his lips upon hers again. She picked up her blanket and moved it over near his. This night she did not want to sleep on opposite sides of the fire. When he returned, he looked at the blankets.
“We shouldnae.”
Two words. That was all he said. Leaving the obvious unsaid betwixt them.
She kenned why. But if she was going to be married to someone that could be a monster.
Or old enough to be her grandfather. Nay.
She would like pleasant memories to think on to get her through her days, but even moreso her nights.
Realizing she wasn’t going to move, he dropped down beside her, lying on his back. She settled beside him, not touching him, but close enough to feel the warmth of his body.
He brought the plaid over to cover her and in a voice just above a whisper, he said, “Sleep weel, Bluebell.”
She remained silent and smiled, liking the way he spoke the nickname he gave her and happy that he allowed her to sleep beside him without complaint.