Chapter Twenty
The following morn Alana did her best to avoid Rory as much as possible. They were continuing their journey and whilst she would love to drag her feet and delay her arrival for longer, she kenned that it was not something that could happen.
She was surprised when Rory entered the cave that morn and declared the trail passable.
She had fully intended to have to make camp in the cave for a few days.
She was both sad and happy to hear the news.
Sad because it meant she was getting closer to her betrothed and happy that she wouldn’t have to be stuck inside the small space with Rory, who made it clear that he did not want to be near her.
She ignored the pain that revelation caused in her chest.
Her ankle was still quite sore, but her limp was nearly gone. Her movement was slow, but she pushed forward.
Rory walked ahead of her, stony silence emanating from him.
In her mind, she replayed his words from the night afore. The way he snapped when she warned him not to go outside. She had done that out of caring. She didn’t want him to become ill, but she supposed he saw it as her mothering him and what grown man wants to be mothered?
She grunted as she climbed over a fallen log, its decaying bark dark from the rain. Ants busily slipped under the bark and then out again.
Staring at Rory’s back she couldn’t help but wonder why he was pulling away. Suddenly so, it seemed. They had made such progress in their relationship and now, it was as if the rug she’d been standing on had been pulled from beneath her feet, sending her spiraling to the floor.
They came upon a slippery ledge and Rory paused, waiting for her to catch up, then held out his hand so he could help her over it.
Slipping her hand in his, she tried to ignore the familiar heat that radiated up her arm. Just like it did every other time they touched. But as soon as she was over the ledge, he pulled his hand away, and walked ahead, never meeting her eyes. Not saying a word.
The rejection stung and she wasn’t sure how to handle it.
“The ground doesnae seem as dampened from the rain up here,” she said, trying to initiate a conversation. It was a bad attempt, though, because he only grunted and continued walking.
“How much longer do ye think we have until we arrive?” She asked, thinking he couldn’t really dodge that question.
“Two days, mayhap three,” he answered, his voice clipped as he lengthened his stride to take him further ahead of her.
She sighed. Mayhap it was the weather that had him in such a dour mood. Or mayhap he was tired, she told herself. She was well aware that he had not been sleeping well the past few nights. For various reasons not entirely kenned to her.
Coming to the conclusion that he wasn’t going to engage in any small talk with her, she gave up on trying. Why bother if he was only going to ignore her?
But as they walked on, her heart grew heavy and then heavier with each step.
She realized she missed him walking beside her.
Talking to her. His rare smile that he kept hidden.
His even rarer laughter. All those things combined to make one amazing man and she missed him.
Not just his presence—she missed him. The truth settled in her chest like a lead weight.
Bringing her down, down, down. If she were in the loch, she would drown from the force of it dragging her to the sandy bottom.
She only wanted to hear him laugh again. His deep laugh that sent shivers down her spine in the most delicious of ways. She wanted to feel the rumble of his chest against her skin. She wanted to hear the steady thump, thump, thump of his heart under her cheek.
Her limbs felt heavy and for a moment she felt like she might faint.
She paused, watching his form fade into the distance.
But she didn’t call out to him. If he didn’t want her near him, she for certs would not force herself upon him.
She sat on a large rock nearby and swiped at the tear that rolled down her cheek.
She was acting daft. Why was she crying? For Rory? For a man she could never have because she was promised to another. Sometimes she really disliked the life she lived. The feeling of being a pawn was not something that made someone feel wanted. Quite the opposite, actually, she thought.
A few long moments passed afore Rory appeared in her vision, his brows drawn down in worry.
“Are ye unweel?” He asked, dropping in front of her, concern lacing his voice.
She shook her head.
“Then why have ye stopped?”
“I found myself growing tired and needed a respite.”
He pushed his hands through his hair and then pulled at his neck. “Ye should have called out for me. If I hadnae looked back and noticed, ye would have been abandoned.”
She smiled, but she felt no humor. “’Twould no’ be the first time. Mayhap now ye ken why I was abandoned in the first place.”
Rory scoffed. “Dinnae say such things.”
“And pray tell, why no’? ’Tis no’ as if ye care.” Her words sounded biting even to her own ears. “Ye were walking far ahead of me. I could have fallen to my death and ye wouldnae have noticed.”
He gave her a droll look. “Ye are being ridiculous.”
“Am I?” She asked incredulously. “I think no’. I ken ye have grown tired of me. Of escorting me. ’Twould be much easier to leave me behind.”
He dropped onto the rock beside her, his shoulder and arm resting against hers. She tried to ignore how much she missed the closeness. How much she enjoyed his presence every time he was near.
“I dinnae blame ye for it. I understand and would react in much the same way if our roles were reversed,” she confessed.
His gaze slammed into hers. “Why do ye say such things? If I had wanted to leave ye behind, I would have done so long ago.” He rubbed the back of his neck.
“Why didnae ye?”
Green eyes bore into hers, searching her face for what only he kenned. The walls that usually surrounded him were up again and Alana feared she would not be penetrating them anytime soon. Mayhap never.
He laughed, annoyance lifting the corners of his full lips, and he shook his head. “Ye dinnae see aught with those pretty eyes of yers.”
His words took her aback. “Ye think my eyes are pretty?” No one had ever told her that.
With a roll of his eyes, he nodded. “How could I no’? I would have to be blind no’ to see.”
She smiled at his compliment. At the happiness it made her feel. She leaned into him. “What are we?” She asked.
It took Rory a long time to answer. So long that Alana did not think he would. Finally, he said, “Two lost souls.”
She thought about that. Were they lost? Was she lost?
She hadn’t thought so when she was home at Auchenford.
She was happy with the life she led there.
It was sheltered, aye, much more so than she wanted, but her father always said it was for her protection—to ensure her safety.
She accepted his answer. She had no reason not to, really.
She had not realized what life was like outside of the walls of Auchenford. That life existed outside of the shelter she had grown accustomed to.
But she had been thinking about her time at her former home a lot lately.
The life she lived then, she can see now, wasn’t as what had been explained to her.
Nay, she was a prisoner in her home. She could go nowhere alone.
Her maid was always with her. Guards watched over her every minute of the day.
Searching her memory, she could not think of one instance when she wasn’t surrounded by them.
Thinking about it now, it made no sense.
When her parent’s hosted visitors from other clans or even the English every so often, Alana was never allowed to come down from her room. Her door was actually locked to prevent her from doing so. But, again, her father stated it was for her safety and well-being. Always for her safety.
However, looking back, she wondered if it was because he didn’t want her mingling with the guests. The young men that would accompany their fathers. There were many, but not once had Alana ever said a word to one of them. She could only watch from her chamber window as they arrived or left.
Was her father purposely hiding her away so she wouldn’t become enamored with one of the visitors, or so that one of the visitors didn’t ask for her hand?
She nibbled at her fingernail. That didn’t make sense. Some of those visiting would have made great matches. Their clans combined would create a mighty force and it would keep her close to home.
“What has yer mind so occupied, Bluebell?” Rory asked softly beside her, nudging her shoulder gently.
Not wanting to burden him with her problems, she shook her head.
“’Tis naught.” She pushed off the rock, immediately missing his warmth.
“We should probably continue on. I am for certs there is much ground we need to cover afore stopping for the night and my ankle has slowed us enough in our travels.”
A look that she couldn’t decipher crossed Rory’s face, but he quickly masked his expression. “Ye are right.” With a sigh he stood, picked up their packs, and led the way for them to carry on.
He had slowed the pace of his strides compared to earlier in the day when they had been walking. She was having an easier time keeping up with him, even with her sore ankle, which was still tightly wound in the strips of cloth Rory had applied.
They both walked quietly once again, each of them lost in their own thoughts. She was unsure of what plagued his mind, but hers was haunted by all things Rory.
Alana wanted him to laugh so she could hear his deep rumble again.
Her mind kept wandering to when he’d carried her with such ease and care when she’d twisted her ankle.
He’d picked her up afore she could put up a fight, acting as if she had weighed naught.
As if she were no match for his strength.
But most of all, he acted as if she mattered.
In that moment she felt as if she was Rory’s world.
And she enjoyed that very much.
And now, she missed that very much.
Later, after Rory had once again made camp and cooked them a meal that consisted of partridge that he had hunted with his bow, the silence stretched long and quiet betwixt them. Neither of them wanting to say what was on their minds.
Their journey was coming to an end. She could feel it in the way he was pulling away from her.
And she hated it.
Rory joined her by the fire, dropping beside her.
She didn’t say a word. The flames were her focus, and her eyes didn’t stray from the crackling fire.
The one time she dared sneak a peek at him, his lips were pressed into a thin line, his forearms resting on his knees as he, too, stared into the flames.
She didn’t speak.
Neither did he.
And Alana came to the conclusion that the silence betwixt them was worse than any storm they would weather.
It was a torture she didn’t want to take part in.
Did he feel the same? She would never ken, because it wasn’t a question she would ever ask him.