Chapter Twenty-Two
Alana woke up to the sensation of Rory’s arm draped over her, weighing her down in a way that made her feel cherished as she never had afore.
She shifted under him and her body screamed in protest. She was sore—everywhere.
As she lay there, watching the clouds float lazily in the sky above, her thoughts wandered to what they had done.
Guilt flooded her. But not regret. Nay, she refused to regret one second of the moments they had shared last eve.
Their coming together was beautiful.
So why was her stomach tumbling at the memory? A feeling of unease settled over her and she fought to tamp it down.
Beside her, Rory stirred. He covered his eyes with his forearm for a moment then he dropped it to his side and his green-eyed gaze met hers. His brows furrowed. He probably sensed the shift in the air around them this morn.
“Good morn,” he said, his voice deep and gravelly from sleep. He pushed himself into a sitting position and deftly maneuvered pulling on his trews afore he stood and let the blanket fall, giving her a brief glance of his muscled bottom.
His absence was immediately felt. The air around Alana suddenly cooled without having him nearby.
“Did ye sleep weel?” She asked, curious if he had slept as well as she had.
It was one of the best nights of sleep she had ever experienced.
Being wrapped safe and warm in Rory’s arms all night had felt so right.
Everything else, everyone else, fell away and it was just them.
The two of them, alone in the world, without a care for aught else.
But now? She wasn’t as for certs as she was when she had fallen asleep.
“I did.” His answer was clipped, and Alana felt the shift in the air betwixt them. “Ye should dress, we should be on our way soon.”
She searched his face, but he was no longer meeting her eyes. Every time she tried to catch his gaze, he looked away.
She nodded, believing that there was naught to say at the moment and dressed as Rory packed their bags for the journey ahead.
A journey that she was now very much regretting. It had always been their plan, but now, with everything that had happened, Alana was dreading her arrival and meeting her future husband.
Later, as they walked, Rory didn’t stray far from her side.
He stayed near, but also took care not to touch her.
He still avoided her eyes. His closeness had the hairs on her arms raised, her skin like gooseflesh.
Her heart skipping a beat each time she caught him stealing a glance her way.
She couldn’t stop thinking about him. His scent assaulted her senses.
It was like he was wrapped in the outdoors, a heady mix of pine, fresh air, and heather.
She took a deep breath, inhaling deeply, committing it to memory so she would never forget.
She missed the warmth he offered when he held her like he never wanted to let her go.
Did he feel the same way? She stole her own sideways glance at him.
His eyes flicked away quickly, and she sighed as her heart once again skipped a beat.
Focusing on the trail ahead, Rory consumed all of her thoughts.
It didn’t matter that she tried to ignore him beside her.
To ignore their time spent together last eve.
He was the only thing on her mind. Her fingers still remembered touching him.
The heat that emanated from him. The way he would hiss as she trailed her fingers down his abdomen, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in their wake.
Her own body remembered his touch. Yearned to feel it again.
His searing fingers and the way they made her feel as if she were aflame.
Just the thought of what they had done had her body longing for him again.
She wanted him to capture her mouth in his. To claim her as his again.
She let out a slow breath and chewed her lower lip. Sadness causing tears to prick at her eyes. Would they ever be together?
Of course not. The wave of guilt she felt earlier returned. Hanging over her like a massive weight dragging her down. What would her betrothed think when he found out? For certs he would not want to go through with the marriage.
A little of the weight lifted. If he refused to marry her, then she would be free to be with Rory.
Nay, she must marry. Stepping over a fallen log, she lost her balance and Rory quickly reached out to steady her.
This time when his eyes met with hers, he didn’t draw them away.
Instead, it was as if they bore into her, trying to read her thoughts.
How she wished she could tell him all that was circling in her head.
“Are ye weel?” He asked, concern etched across his face.
Alana almost didn’t want to answer, kenning as soon as she did, he would let go and break the connection. But she couldn’t not say aught without appearing daft, so she nodded. “Thank ye.”
As expected, he let go of her arm, her hand falling limply to her side, and she wanted to scream. Touch me! Hold me! But she couldn’t.
Images of her upcoming wedding flooded her mind.
She supposed her chests of items and her wardrobe had already been delivered to her betrothed’s estate.
Everything would be there waiting for her, and she didn’t want to go.
For the first time in her life, she cared naught for the items she had packed to accompany her to her new home.
What good were items, really? They offered naught.
She had managed just fine with the few clothes she brought with her that Rory carried in her sack.
Why did she need expensive gowns when all she would do was sit inside and be miserable?
There was only one answer to that question.
She didn’t.
But she had to go. The choice wasn’t hers. Her father had agreed to the union. Her clan depended on her going through with the marriage. It guaranteed their safety.
But for how long? For the first time, she questioned her father’s antics and whether or not he was doing the best of jobs when it came to leading their clan to a fruitful existence.
From what she could piece together, he wasn’t.
She thought back to her childhood. Whilst she and her brothers had been given all they had needed, their clansfolk were oft left wanting.
Whether it be for food or shelter, they were always in need.
Then her father would strike a deal with another clan and things would improve for a while.
When they no longer were, another deal would be struck and things would move on in the right direction again, until it wasn’t.
Over and over the cycle repeated itself.
How had she not recognized the pattern afore?
And now she was all that was left. Her father’s last bargaining chip.
She clenched her fists at her sides. The man was not a good leader.
If he was, they wouldn’t find themselves in this position over and over again.
How long would the coin he received from her marriage last?
If his past deals were taken into consideration, not long at all.
Then what? He had naught left to bargain with.
And what would happen to her clan? They would fall into ruin. Families would starve or freeze to death unless they decided to be absorbed into another clan.
So everything that awaited her with Michael MacDonell? It was all temporary. Not her marriage. Nay, that was eternal. But her clan’s safety? That would not be long-lived.
“Bluebell?” Rory paused and turned to her. “Ye seem,” he paused, shifting from one foot to the other. “Angry.”
She squared her shoulders, jutting her chin out defiantly as she met his gaze. “I am.” She admitted, stomping her foot on the ground, not caring that she looked like a petulant child. “I am angry. Furious, to be honest.”
“What can I do?”
His question took her by surprise. He hadn’t asked what he had done, which was naught, of course. But, instead, he was asking how he could be of help. She threw her hands up in defeat and shook her head. Could this man that she couldn’t have be any more perfect?
“’Tis naught that ye can do. Just like there is naught I can do.” She kicked at a loose rock on the trail. “It, it angers me so,” she finally said and stomped off, her fists clenched at her sides.
Within seconds Rory caught up with her, causing her to pause when he held her shoulders and forced her to look at him. And that was when she saw it.
The pain he had been hiding. It was written all over his face as he looked at her. “Is it because of last eve?” He asked quietly, his voice shaking.
She couldn’t believe big, strong, Rory Hart wasn’t fearless. Alana didn’t think there was aught that could make him afraid. But as he stood there, watching her, his eyes searching hers, she kenned he was feeling the weight of what they’d done. And how they could fix it.
She shook her head and pushed him away, but he held her tight, not letting her go.
“Tell me,” he ordered, his voice low. His fingertips squeezed into her upper arms.
She huffed out a breath. “Nay. That is no’ what angers me.” She threw her hands up in the air and let them fall to her sides with a smack. “How could I regret the best night of my life?”
The tension in his shoulders relaxed a bit, but he still looked concerned. “I am happy to hear that but saddened that something else bothers ye. Talk to me, Bluebell. Ye can tell me aught.”
“I dinnae want to marry MacDonell. I dinnae want to be used as barter for something that my father will just waste away and it will all be for naught. Just like e’ery other deal he has struck in the past. In a year, mayhap two, when my clan is in the same position they are now, then all my sacrifices will have been for naught.
I see that now. And it infuriates me.” She swiped angrily at a tear that began to roll down her cheek.
“Och, Bluebell. Come here.” He pulled her to him and wrapped his strong arms around her. “I am sorry.” He kissed the top of her head as he held her and how she wished he would kiss her lips instead.
Imagining her wedding, she felt naught of the desire she felt for the man holding her now.
There was no spark when she thought of MacDonell.
No flame or burning passion. Just a cold, gray void of the misery that awaited her once they spoke their vows.
It all felt hollow. So hollow and she didn’t ken how to handle that.
She had never met the man and, yet, she could easily see their future together.
A horrible future in a loveless marriage.
What kind of man would pay her father for her hand?
It was the opposite of how marriage contracts worked.
She should have had a dowry, a large one at that, considering her father’s station.
But she didn’t. She wasn’t sure she ever had one.
So MacDonell was in essence, purchasing her. Like cattle.
Was he such a vile man that the only way he could attain a wife was to buy her?
She pressed her cheek to Rory’s chest, and inhaled his scent as she squeezed him tight, wishing she never had to let him go.
Later that night, as they sat on opposite sides of the fire, not trusting themselves to sit near each other again, she found the bundle of parchment she had hastily packed, and penned a missive to her betrothed.
Rory watched her, that same pain in her heart, shining through in his eyes, as she wrote.
He didn’t ken what she wrote, and he didn’t ask out of respect for her.
But she needed to cleanse herself of the thoughts running through her mind.
Thoughts of her marriage. Of the MacDonell whom she had never even met.
Of Rory. How she didn’t want to leave his side.
She didn’t ken how she would survive without him.
About how the only thing she saw in her future was a bleak loneliness.
She didn’t sign it. She couldn’t. She doubted that the letter would ever make it out of her possession.
It was best that it didn’t. The consequences would be dire for both she and Rory if it did.
And she wouldn’t do that to him. As much as she wanted to spend the rest of her days with him, she kenned she couldn’t.
She had been promised to another and had to fulfill her commitment, no matter how much it pained her.
How miserable her future would be. It mattered naught.
When Rory presented her to Michael MacDonell, she would follow through with her duty, and she would set Rory free. Because he deserved to be happy.
Unable to sleep, she lay awake, looking at the stars and whispered, “What am I doing?”
The universe didn’t answer though.
Her heart did. And the only answer that felt right was—falling.