Chapter Thirteen
The next day Rory lead Alana higher into the mountains.
Here the paths were steeper, more slippery, and treacherous, making their footing loose.
Their chances of sliding and falling were higher than when they were lower and on more stable ground.
The air was colder up here. Not so cold that they could see their breaths in the air, but they would be able to soon.
As they’d hiked today, he kept thinking about the night afore. He had overstepped his boundaries. That Alana had let him surprised him more than aught. That she had enjoyed it and appeared to want more? Well, that was a dream come true. And a dream he had not had ever afore.
With her sleeping beside him last night, he had barely got any sleep himself. He was too aware of her closeness. How easy it would have been to pull her into his arms and bury his face in her neck. Her breasts. Her sweetness that he kenned would be naught less than divine.
He let out an exasperated breath. He needed to change the trajectory of his thoughts. Thinking of Alana in those ways made his walking most uncomfortable. As discreetly as he could, he adjusted himself and continued to move toward the man that would take her away from him.
And that irked him.
It should not. Alana was not his.
But she could be.
His thoughts were dangerous.
Alana kept pace with him the whole day. “This journey is taking so long, I think ye are leading me astray to spend more time with me.”
His gaze snapped to hers. He wasn’t prolonging their journey. But had she read him so easily? He relaxed when he saw her eyes dancing with mirth. “Ye jest,” he accused.
“I do. ’Tis no’ so fun when ’tis ye that is the target, is it?”
“Ye have me on that one.”
“But, really, this obsession ye have with the Highlands really takes control over ye. Ye should find something else to occupy yer time.” She teased again and he found himself laughing.
Laughing. He couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed so freely with a lass, but her humor had caught him off guard. And he found that he quite liked it.
He closed his eyes. He would groan if it wouldn’t catch her attention. None of this, whatever this was, could ever come to fruition.
“Can we stop for a brief respite?” She asked.
Rory nodded, finding happiness that she felt comfortable enough with him now to ask him. Afore she would just move forward stubbornly. The dynamic betwixt them was evolving and he didn’t ken how he could stop it. He didn’t feel like he could. He wasn’t sure he wanted to.
They sat on a large rock, the high sun offering only a sliver of warmth. Alana was wrapped in her cloak and had it tied tight around her neck. He passed her the skin of water and watched her drink. Watched the column of her neck as she swallowed.
He sucked his teeth and dragged his gaze away. Shite. One kiss and he was like a lovesick dolt. His brother would rib him endlessly if he witnessed what was happening betwixt he and Alana right now.
Alana sat with her brow furrowed, a sad look on her bonny face.
“What has ye so down, Bluebell?”
She turned her face to the sun, closing her eyes. “I find myself thinking of whate’er ’tis that waits for me when I arrive at my destination.”
“At Caer Rannoch?”
“Is that where we go?”
It was Rory’s turn to frown. “Aye, of course. Did the MacDonell no’ tell ye the name of his home?”
“The MacDonell? That is to whom I am to be wed?”
Rory couldn’t help his confusion at the words Alana spoke. He turned to her. “Bluebell, did yer da no’ tell ye aught aboot who ye were being sent to marry?”
She shook her head.
“Have ye ever met the man?”
“Nay. Ne’er. I dinna ken who he is. Where he lives, other than north from my ancestral home.
For reasons unkenned to me, my father kept all that information to himself.
” She drew her legs up on the rock and wrapped her arms around them, resting her chin on her knees.
“I have had nightmares aboot the man I am to marry. Seeing him as an old man. Old enough to be my grandfather. Or a cruel man. I could only hope and pray that he was somewhat pleasant on the eyes and would treat me with kindness. I dinnae require much. Just kindness.”
Anger simmered just under the surface of Rory’s skin. How could her father keep such important information from her? Especially when he must have kenned that she would fash about what her future held. “Bastard,” Rory murmured.
“Why do ye say such a thing?”
“How could yer da leave ye in the dark aboot such things?” He shook his head. “To send ye off to marry with no information is cruel.”
Beside him, Alana bristled. “My father isnae a cruel man.”
Rory grunted. “Indeed he is to have done such a disservice to ye. ’Tis no’ right.
And he had to have weel-kenned it when he sent ye to meet yer husband-to-be.
” He pulled on the back of his neck. “’Tis why ye ne’er say his name.
Only referring to him as yer betrothed or yer husband-to-be.
Because ye ken naught of the man, including his name.
” Rory tried to keep his disgust in check.
“What am I supposed to do?” She cried, throwing her hands up in the air.
“I have told ye o’er and o’er again that I have no choice o’er the decisions that have been made for my life.
” She jabbed a finger into her chest. “My life! ’Tis no’ my own to live as I please.
I am just a pawn. What did it matter if I kenned his name or no’? ’Twouldnae change my circumstances.”
Suddenly, Rory felt like an arse. How many times had he lamented about how he felt forgotten?
As if he were an afterthought. How oft had he shirked the responsibility his da tried to place on his shoulders?
Which, when he thought about it, was hardly any responsibility at all.
The important things were carried on Alpin’s shoulders.
The demands Arthur had given to Rory, which were far and few betwixt, were naught in terms of importance when held up to Alpin’s orders.
It was why it upset him so much. Just as he had confessed to Alana days ago.
He wanted to be needed. Truly needed. And when his father gave him a simple demand, thinking he was placating him in some way, it was easy to say no. To deny doing it.
Compared to Alana, to deny was much easier for him. A man. Women weren’t offered a choice. That was the way of things. He hated it. Always had. But his dislike for people being used as pawns did not stop it from happening.
“I’m sorry, Bluebell.”
Alana looked away from him, swiping at the fat tears sliding down her cheeks. “Ye havenae any idea what ’tis like.”
“Ye are right, I dinnae. I hold no judgement o’er yer reaction.
I would be furious if I was forced in yer situation.
” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his chest. She pulled away from him for a brief moment, but gave in, her hand fisting the material of his tunic as she sobbed against him.
Gut-wrenching sobs that shook her whole body.
Each one was like a punch to Rory’s gut. He remained quiet. He didn’t ken what to say. Only kenning that he wanted to offer her comfort. Something that he felt she did not receive a lot of growing up. She deserved to be cherished. She hadn’t been.
The knowledge of that upset him more than it should.
He smoothed his hand down her back, holding her close as her sobs slowly subsided.
Quite some time had passed afore she finally pulled away with a sniffle, wiping at her nose. “Ye must think me a fool.”
“I dinnae,” he said seriously. It wasn’t a lie.
She was one of the strongest people he had ever kenned.
He thought of his sisters, Moira, Eilidh, and Morven, and tried to imagine them and their reaction of being sent away to wed a man they didn’t ken.
A man whose name they hadn’t been given, nor the name of his home, or where he lived.
His sisters, for the most part, were all strong-willed.
They would fight, more than likely they would outright refuse.
Alana was strong-willed as well. However, when it came to her duty, her strength was in her follow-through. Her agreement to do as she was told, no questions asked, because she believed that was what her clan needed. That was a will of strength that Rory was for certs he himself did not possess.
“Look at me, Bluebell.” Hands on her jaw, he caressed his thumbs over her jawline. “Ye are the strongest lass I ken. Yer strength and sense of duty would put my own to shame.”
She scoffed at his words. “Now ye jest me.”
“Nay.” He shook his head. “I would ne’er,” he said seriously.
She drew in a shaky breath and blew it out slowly, meeting his gaze. “Do ye ken him? My betrothed.”
Rory clenched his jaw. The bastard was so undeserving of a woman like Alana, it pained him. “Aye,” he answered quietly.
“Will ye tell me aboot him?”
Did he really want to discuss Alana’s future husband with her?
Nay. To do so was admitting that she didn’t belong to him.
He kenned she didn’t. That she was promised to another.
But that kiss they shared yesterday. It meant something.
Even with kenning that he overstepped a line he shouldn’t have.
The repercussions of what would happen if it was found out.
But she wasn’t his. No matter how much he wished it so.
He sighed. “What would ye like to ken, Bluebell?” The nickname was forever seared in his brain now. And he kenned he would never look at the flower the same way.
“Is he old?”
“Old?” He asked, surprised. That was not the first question he expected.
“I have nightmares that he is old enough to be my grandfather. I hope ’tis no’ so.”
He chuckled.
“Ye laugh at me?” She asked, affronted.
“Nay, no’ at ye. I would ne’er do such a thing,” he promised, sweeping a strand of hair behind her ear. “I saw a vision of ye walking up the path to Caer Rannoch and finding an old man waiting to welcome ye.”
“I dinnae find that comical at all.”
“I am sorry ye have fashed so much o’er that. Nay, he is no’ old. Our ages are similar.”
Her shoulders relaxed just a wee bit at learning that. “And Caer Rannoch. That is the name of his home?”
“Aye. His father passed a few years ago, making Michael MacDonell laird and owner of the familial estate.”
“Is he cruel?” Alana asked this question quietly, as if she were afraid to say it out loud.
Rory thought about how to answer Alana’s question. If he spoke the truth, he would for certs frighten her. If he lied, he was leading her into a situation she wouldn’t be prepared for. To lie felt like a betrayal. That was something he didn’t want on his conscience.
He cared too much for Alana to not warn her of what she could expect when she arrived at Caer Rannoch.
“Michael has been kenned for no’ having the most e’en of tempers,” he started and paused, hating that he was telling her things that she didn’t want to hear.
Beside him, Alana’s brows drew down, her pretty mouth pinched into a pucker as if she had just bitten a sour apple.
“He is no’ kind then?” She lowered her eyes, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her skirts.
Then she laughed nervously. “Of course he is no’. Why should I have expected aught less?”
“I dinnae tell ye to hurt ye.”
She faced him, bringing her hand to cup his cheek, and met his eyes, a sadness in hers that had not been there afore.
“I ken that. I am no’ upset with ye. Actually, I am thankful that ye have been so honest and forthcoming with me.
Something that I couldnae trust from my own parents, though I should have been able to. ”
Rory wanted to sweep Alana up in his arms and go in the opposite direction than they were heading.
To take Alana far from here. To hide them both away where no one would be able to find them.
He was quite proficient. They didn’t need the shelter of their families to provide for them.
He could do that for them both. He leaned his head into her hand and closed his eyes, savoring the feel of the soft skin of her hand against his rough beard.
“Whate’er ye want to do, Bluebell, I will do it.”
Alana dropped her hand, a sad smile on her face. “If only I could take ye up on that offer.”
He clasped her hands in his, bringing them to his chest. “Ye can.”
“Nay, I cannae, Rory.” She shook her head. “Duty to my clan overrides aught that I may feel. The safety and weel-being of my father’s people mean e’erything to me. I cannae turn against them.”
“E’en at the expense of yer own happiness? Ye would give up yer freedom? Yer happiness and weel-being?” Rory asked in disbelief.
“Aye,” she said quietly. “I am but one person. My clansmen are in the thousands. If me sacrificing myself for their safety is what it takes, then that is what I shall do.”
Rory shook his head and pushed off the rock. “Stupid woman.”
Alana jumped to her feet. “How dare ye? Ye’ve nay right to judge me in any way, Rory Hart. We have this same conversation o’er and o’er again and I willnae have it again,” she snapped, storming off.
“Stay close.” She ignored him and stomped toward the trees. “Alana,” he called out, his voice stern. This time she paused. “Dinnae wander far.”
“Why no’? Mayhap I will meet someone or something that will put me out of my misery.” She disappeared into the cover of the trees.
As much as he wanted to chase after her, he didn’t. Cradling his head in his hands, he drew in a deep breath. Damn, that woman was stubborn.
And he found that he admired that about her.
He waited for quite some time afore tracking Alana down. He busied himself getting their camp ready for the night. He found her sitting by a cliff edge, her mood sad, as she stared off into the darkening night. Not saying aught, he held out his hand to her.
Alana pursed her lips, her hazel gaze drifting from his face to his outstretched hand and then back to his eyes.
Silently, she accepted and let him pull her to her feet.
They walked back quietly. No words to say.
Back at camp, she climbed onto the blanket he’d laid out for her earlier and curled up into it on her side.
He watched her from the other side of the fire, wanting to reach out to her so badly it hurt, but kenning he couldn’t.