Chapter Fifteen
Rain threatened the skies once they finally were back on the trail.
A village was a short distance ahead. It would veer them off their journey a bit, but Rory didn’t care.
He’d passed the point of not wanting to delay their arrival.
Now it seemed all he wanted to do was find ways to keep Alana beside him just a wee bit longer.
They would head for the village and find shelter from the impending storm. This time, he wouldn’t force Alana to stay in a musty, abandoned croft. Nay, she would have the luxury of a room. A warm, comfortable bed.
Alana was curled into her cloak, her head down, practically tucked into the warm wool. But she made no complaint. Only followed him, trusting him wholeheartedly.
He wondered when the shift had come. When had he suddenly started to long for Alana to stay by his side? He wanted to tell her about his family. His brother and sisters. His parents. Hell, he wanted to tell her about Hartsmoor and his favorite place to escape the raucousness of the castle.
“Is that a village?” Alana asked in awe, pointing to the tip of a chapel that came into view as they climbed a hill.
“’Tis.” He looked up at the sky just as a fat drop of rain fell and landed in his eye. He squinted and wiped it away. “I was hoping to get there afore the rain began to fall, but it appears we willnae.”
Within minutes, cold rain splashed down, soaking them both to the bone. Rory was for certs the contents of their bags would also be sopping messes once they finally found shelter.
They hurried their steps, but Rory took care so that Alana didn’t slip and hurt herself. In the village, he found the inn, nestled against the mountain, it was tiny and quaint, and it would be the perfect place for them to dry and enjoy a hearty meal and a good sleep.
Rory ushered Alana inside and immediately she moved to the hearth where a fire roared. Rubbing her hands together in front of it, she sighed in contentment.
He hid a smile at the joy that sigh brought him.
“We will need two rooms, please,” Rory addressed the innkeeper who held smiling blue-eyes and a shiny bald head. His shoulders were hunched over, and he walked with a slight limp as he moved to his ledger.
“I am sorry, sir. I have only one room left—with one bed.” His stare slid over to Alana and then back to Rory, a frown turning down his mouth.
Rory tensed, his gaze clashing with Alana’s.
Her lips were pressed into a thin line as she pondered their situation. Finally, with a shrug she sighed. “’Tis fine. It doesnae seem like we have much of a choice, do we?”
“I do apologize, sir.”
Rory waved off the old man’s apology. “There isnae need to apologize. We are just happy to have shelter from the storm.” He nodded toward the door. “The rain came on quick and strong.” The man nodded and handed Rory a key.
He paid the man the stated price and then picked up their packs and guided Alana to their room.
Inside, he set their bags on the floor as Alana stopped and assessed the room.
“There will be no wandering hands this night,” she warned.
Rory put his hands up in defense. “Ye will get none from me,” he promised and began unpacking their items and laying them out near the hearth so they could dry.
He walked to Alana and untied her cloak, slipping it off her shoulders so he could hang it too by the fire.
Because it was so wet, the wool would take the night to dry, he was for certs.
Her teeth began to chatter, and he rubbed her arms with his hands, trying to get her warm.
“Let us go downstairs. The innkeeper had mentioned that there was warm cider to be had in the main room.”
She let him lead her out the door and down the hall and stairs.
They went past the desk where they had secured the room and entered a large, open room.
Two huge hearths were on opposite walls, their fires burning bright.
Chairs were arranged in front of them, and he led Alana to one and had her sit.
He pushed the chair a little closer so she could dry off and warm up.
A young servant appeared at their side. “Might I suggest the warm, spiced cider? ’Tis made special by the innkeeper’s wife and will warm ye from the inside out.”
“That would be lovely. Thank ye,” Alana said through clattering teeth.
“We need to get ye warmed up, Bluebell. Ye will catch yer death if we dinnae.”
“It would happen faster if I werenae in these dreaded skirts that are soaked through. But seeing how all of our items are wet, I will make do.” She looked into the dancing flames. “At least the fire is strong. I can feel the heat seeping through my clothes, so they should begin to dry soon.”
Rory nodded and sat in the chair beside her.
He didn’t ken what to think. If they were married, this would seem like a normal adventure.
He would reach across the space betwixt them and hold her hand as he caressed his thumb over her soft skin.
But seeing how he was escorting her to her future husband, their predicament was not one they should be sharing.
And he didn’t even want to start to think about what the night held for them.
One bed to be shared betwixt them again. They had done so afore with success. He wasn’t sure he could do so again.
The servant girl arrived with their ciders, and they thanked her as she placed them cups on the nearby table.
He was tired. Alana must be as well. It would do her good to sleep in a bed for the night. She’d spent so many nights sleeping outside, and he thought that she had earned this night of luxury. He was glad he had the ability to give it to her.
Sipping the cider, he was pleasantly surprised. He was expecting a spicy grog that would assault his tongue, but this drink was delicious and the lass was right—it did warm him from the inside.
“Do ye like it?”
Alana looked at him with a strange look on her face. “Like what?”
He lifted his mug. “The cider.”
“Och, aye. ’Tis verra tasty. We should compliment the innkeeper’s wife if we have the chance to meet her.
I dinnae think I want to move from this spot.
’Tis quite cozy and warm.” Her voice was low, dreamy.
“Tell me aboot yer family, Rory,” she said over the low din of the crowd and the crackling of the fire.
“What would ye like to ken?”
She shrugged, her hands wrapped around the warm cup. “Start with yer parents. That seems the natural thing to do.”
He smiled. As much as he hated when his father mentioned duty to him and as much as he yearned to feel needed, he kenned he was loved. Especially by his mother, Lillias. He leaned in close to Alana. “My mother is English,” he said conspiratorially.
Alana’s eyes widened in surprise. “Really?”
“Aye,” Rory chuckled, “though she has been in Scotland for a verra long time. Ye wouldnae really ken in a brief meeting. She adapted to Highland life quite weel.”
“Was the union betwixt she and yer father arranged?”
Rory rolled that question over in his mind. “In a sense I suppose ye could say ’twas.”
Alana furrowed her brows, her forehead creased in confusion.
“Ye see, my da was visiting his cousin on the borderlands. Mayhap no’ far from where ye and yer family hail. Anyhap, he and his cousin went to spend the Epiphany in Midrummil.”
Alana sucked in a breath, her eyes rounding.
“Are ye familiar with it.”
She shook her head. “I have ne’er been, but I ken of the legend of the well.”
Rory smiled. “Aye, weel, that is how my parents met. ’Twas fate, or at least that is what they tell me and my siblings all the time.”
“I dinnae ken I have met anyone that the legend held true for. Of course, I dinnae travel to that town, but that is verra nice to hear that the legend is real. I would love to meet yer—” Her words dropped off afore she could finish her sentence.
But Rory kenned what she was going to say.
She would love to meet his parents. Hell, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want her to meet them.
“My mother would like ye verra much.”
“Why do ye say such a thing?” She sipped her cider, closing her eyes as the spiced liquid warmed her.
“She just would.” He laughed. “She always said that I would one day meet a lass that would tame my ways and make me want to settle down.”
Alana’s eyes clouded. “I hope ye do, Rory. Ye deserve naught less.”
Their gazes held for a few long moments. How could he survive kenning that the woman that could do that was sitting beside him and he had no choice but to let her go. Let her go to a bastard that was so undeserving of her that it would be physically painful to offer her up to that weasel MacDonell.
The servant girl returned. “If ye would like to move to one of the dining tables we will have a meal brought out to ye,” she offered kindly.
“I would rather stay by the fire to keep warm,” Alana said. “Ye go ahead, Rory. I will sup later.”
The girl straightened. “Ye are still wet from the rain, aye? We will move a table near so that ye may continue to dry whilst ye sup. We wouldnae want ye to catch yer death from the damp.”
The girl spun on her heel and spoke with an older servant that watched near what Rory assumed was the kitchens.
“Thank ye for being so accommodating,” Alana said to the servants after they’d moved a table and loaded it with trenchers and trays with foods of all assortments. The hearty meal had Rory’s mouth watering when the divine scents tickled his nose.
“Ye choose what ye would like first, Bluebell.”
“I dinnae think ye need to wait, Rory. There is plenty.”
He nodded, and they ate, filling their bellies as if they hadn’t eaten for weeks.
He told Alana about his brother, Alpin, who was engaged to be married.
He had already told her about Moira, but he told her about his sister, Eilidh, and how she loved to play the fiddle and how she traveled around in some musician circles playing for ceilidhs and such.
And then his younger sister Morven, the youngest of the family.
Always pushing everyone’s limits and shirking out of all responsibility.
He had chuckled at that, realizing he did the same thing with the small responsibilities his father tried to assign him.
This one not included. Escorting Alana to her destination was aught but a small order.
Alana listened intently, paying attention to all the details of his siblings as if she were trying to memorize them.
“I had once dreamed of mapping the whole of the Highlands. Plot by plot. But I kept getting drawn back home for one thing or another.”
She bumped him in the shoulder. “For things like escorting me north?”
He tilted his head as he looked at her. “Aye. But I wouldnae change it.” It was the truth.
He would not if given the chance. It was why he wanted to savor every minute left he had with Alana.
He kenned as they drew higher into the Highlands, they drew closer to the MacDonell.
Which meant closer to letting her go forever.
It wasn’t something he was ready to face at this moment in time.
“I had always thought my parent’s loving.
I was coddled as a child. But I see now that I was being sheltered.
Kept away from everyone that wasnae family.
I had ne’er thought aboot it. I just thought ’twas the way of it.
” She laughed bitterly. “Now, in my current predicament, I find myself questioning everything.”
Rory listened intently as Alana spoke about her family and what her life was like as a child.
She pushed food around on her plate afore finally taking a bite of roast venison.
“My clan had been near devastation after my grandfather’s death.
My father built it back up so we once again flourished, but the past years have been hard.
Our lands have been attacked and pilfered.
My brothers havenae been able to marry as they have naught to offer.
” She chewed her lip for a moment. “That is why my betrothal was put in place. A truce. The offer of protection from a larger clan from the surrounding clans that attack us endlessly. Protection from the English as weel.” A sad smile lifted the corners of her mouth.
“I only wish there was another way. But there is nay turning back now when all the pieces have been put in place.” Her eyes were sad as she sipped her cider and stared into the flames of the hearth, the light reflecting in her round eyes.
Back in their room, they readied for bed, but neither of them moved to climb into it. Firelight danced over Alana’s features, making her hazel eyes appear dark gray, her high cheekbones harsh and defined.
“We cannae stand here through the night. ’Twill for certs make for an exhaustive day on the morrow,” Rory offered, pushing his hands through his hair.
Pressing her lips into a thin line, Alana nodded. She slipped under the throws and stayed near the edge of the bed. “Remember, no touching,” she warned over her shoulder.
Rory held his hands up in defense. “I promise.” Though as he slid in beside her, he fought the temptation to press his front against her back that faced him.
The feel of her body in his arms would offer him the best sleep.
But he promised and he would keep his word.
Following her lead, he moved to his side, so his back was to hers, but sleep did not overtake him any time soon.
He couldn’t sleep with her so close. He laid awake for what seemed like hours afore he finally drifted off.