Chapter Twenty-Four
The sight of fences and farms in the distance after days of traveling should have brought joy and relief to Alana.
But today, it did not. Seeing the smoke curling from chimneys in the distance slowed her steps.
The joy she had begun to feel again at having Rory by her side had slipped away once again.
Her smile faded as she realized their final destination was close.
Too close. Would Rory stop her if she turned and ran in the opposite direction?
She sighed. He would catch her in a matter of strides and though she didn’t believe that he would drag her kicking and screaming to deliver her to her betrothed, he would indeed fulfill the duty he had been tasked with.
Just as she must do.
She could smell the burning peat from the cluster of thatched-roof cottages looming closer with every step she took. The sky was filled with gray clouds and drizzle would for certs fall on them afore the day was over. It was dreich day and it matched the shift of moods she was experiencing.
“Do ye ken aught aboot the city where my future husband lives?”
“Aye. On the other side of the village ye can see from here, there is a ridge, and then a valley. We’ll camp at the ridge this eve, and in the morning cross the valley and into Caercon where the MacDonell castle, Caer Rannoch, stands.” His voice was even as he spoke, emotionless.
Whilst she had let her emotions have free range over her reactions since she had broken down the day afore, Rory had been the exact opposite.
He had not only masked his emotions, he seemed to have been able to shut them off completely.
Alana envied him for that. How she wished she could do the same.
They passed through the streets of the village, even passing an inn, but unlike they had done afore, they did not stop and ask for a room.
Alana understood why. Being in the same room together would end in disaster.
They wouldn’t be able to stay away from each other or hide the feelings each of them felt for the other.
Not only that, the villagers were under the MacDonell’s rule.
Every move she and Rory did would be watched with the eye of a hawk.
Aught that they might do would be reported to her betrothed.
Any reaction. Any emotion. All would be told. And that would not bode well for them.
Nay, it would be a much better situation for them to make camp this night where it was just the two of them and the surrounding trees and animals as company.
She would savor this last night alone with Rory. She wanted to memorize every inch of him. The feel of him. The scent of him. All of him.
The people in the village watched them with wary eyes as they walked though.
She could understand that. They were outsiders.
She remembered how the villagers of Dornich looked at her when her carriage had crashed.
It was much the same here, but she felt it was Rory that they were more wary of.
He wore the colors of the Hart. From what she had learned from Rory, the clans were not at odds with each other, but the Harts didn’t usually travel to them either.
So his presence was surprising. If aught, the villagers would have expected to see only Duran colors.
Many whispered behind their hands as she and Rory passed. Alana ignored them, holding her head high. She supposed in due time she would rule over this village alongside her soon-to-be husband. She sighed. The position held no interest for her.
They arrived at the ridge that overlooked the valley just as Rory had promised.
Alana stood on the edge looking past the valley at the castle that stood atop an outcropping of rock.
It looked dark and fierce. Foreboding. Cold.
It was not welcoming in anyway. Was that how she would feel when she arrived? Unwelcome.
Rory, as he did every night when they camped, busied himself with unpacking their gear, starting a fire, and finding food. They had fresh water since they had stopped at a burn not far from here. And Rory had slipped inside one of the pubs they passed and exited with a skin full of ale.
She picked up their folded blankets and shook them out, laying them flat next to each other. This was their last night together. She would not spend it on opposite sides of the fire.
The estate looming in the distance kept demanding her attention.
Sitting with her back against a rock, she fished the letter she had written out of her pocket and read it over again.
She wasn’t sure what else to add to it. She felt she had already written everything she had to say.
The question would be if she would give the letter to Rory or if she would hold on to it and burn it the first chance she got.
Her betrothed could never get his hands on it.
That would be disaster for both she and Rory.
And in no way did she ever want Rory to be in any sort of danger.
Especially because of her. Everything they had shared betwixt them she had played a willing part in.
The choice and final decision was hers. She wasn’t forced.
But she was for certs that the man that was to be her husband would not take such things into consideration.
With a heavy sigh, she shoved the folded paper back into her pocket.
Rory returned with some berries and a small fowl, already dressed, so they only needed to roast it over the fire.
When it was cooked and Rory sat quietly beside her as they ate, melancholy overcame her. He was acting distant again, pulling away from her, and kenning that this was their last night together, the pain of it cut deeper than afore. She didn’t want there to be a divide betwixt them.
Popping a wild berry into her mouth, she contemplated how she should word the question she was about to ask him.
She slid a gaze over to Rory. He was staring solemnly into the fire, shadows from the flames dancing across his face.
His brows were drawn down and his lips were pressed into a thin line.
His jawline kept moving and she could see that he was clenching and unclenching it.
Mayhap he was having just as hard a time as she was adjusting and accepting what was going to happen on the morrow.
“Will ye stay with me until I reach the gates?” She finally asked, her voice quiet. She was almost afraid to ask, fashing that he might say nay, that he would not.
To her relief, he nodded. “Of course.” But something in his voice was final. Like everything was over now. All that they had shared. It was all in the past never to be revisited again.
Alana shifted her gaze from Rory’s face to the fire, her heart breaking into tiny little pieces that scattered like stars in the sky.
Far and wide, so they could never be put back together again.
Never be whole again. Was she really going to give him up once she arrived at the door of what was supposed to be her new home? Could she really let him go?
Could he let her go?
Nay, she didn’t think either of them could.
But what were their choices?
That night, as they covered themselves with their blankets, Alana turned into Rory’s chest, placing a kiss on his heart. “I dinnae want this to end,” she whispered. “No’ now. No’ e’er.” Just then a gust of wind blew through the trees and over them, pushing her hair into her face.
Strong arms pulled her close and held her tightly and Rory kissed the top of her head. “Some things are out of our hands, no matter how much we want to change them.”
Alana drew circles over his pectorals with her fingertips and dropped her lips to Rory’s chest. Kissing him softly, letting the hairs of his chest tickle her nose.
“Bluebell,” he murmured, his voice sounding strained.
She lifted her skirts, straddling his thighs and leaned forward, capturing his lips in a kiss that she would emblazon on her memory. “Just give me this one more night, Rory. Give me something that I can remember with fondness when I am stuck in that prison with no escape. Please.”
He blew out a shaky breath. “We shouldnae, but dammit, Love, I cannae deny ye for I yearn for the same.” He shifted under her, and she felt the hardness of his length as he lined it up with her entrance.
Lifting his hips, he entered her on a throaty moan and she gasped at the completely new sensation this offered, compared to the last time they lay together.
His hands on her hips, he lifted her and lowered her until she figured out the rhythm and with a newfound confidence, took over the pacing.
Lifting up with her thighs, and then slowly sinking back down onto his length.
His hardness filled her, and she reveled in the feeling, squeezing around him.
“That’s it, Bluebell. Ride me, Love,” he sighed.
Love. It was the second time he’d called her that. It warmed her heart at the same time it sliced it open, kenning it wasn’t something that she would hear from his lips again after this night.
Rory sat up, bringing their chests together and wrapped his arms around her.
His chest hair tickled her breasts, and this new position once again, changed the feeling of their lovemaking.
She wanted to learn all she could from him.
She wanted him to be the one to teach her all the ways to satisfy him.
Her thighs grew tired, and Rory sensed it.
Grasping her hips, he lifted her with ease afore bringing her down on his hardness.
He was hard as steel. Their pace quickened.
Their moans growing louder. She gasped for air as she felt that familiar pressure build in her stomach, circling, growing, building.
That inferno that she desired. She was so close to it exploding from her, she could feel her limbs start to contract, to stiffen, she leaned forward and sank her teeth into his shoulder and a deep growl spilled from his lips as he shifted, pushing her over.
On her back, Rory had full control which he took full advantage of, thrusting into her, over and over, burying himself until he was fully seated in her. He’d stay that way for a long moment afore pulling away and then repeating the process.
His movements drove her mad. She scored his back with her fingernails as she went tumbling over the precipice, falling, falling, all the whilst she screamed his name into the night.
Stars exploded in her eyes, brilliant bursts of color like naught she had ever seen afore.
Her breath ragged, escaping her mouth in gasps.
With one final hard, deep thrust, Rory crushed her to him, crying out her name, “Bluebell!” As he shuddered violently, spending himself in her, a series of shivers following his release.
He pulled his face back from the crook of her neck so he could see her face. “I ken I shouldnae say it, but I love ye, Bluebell.”
Tears pricked her eyes and she nodded. “And I, ye, Rory Hart. I love ye with all my soul.” Their mouths crashed together, his tongue running along the seam of her lips until she opened them and he thrust inside her mouth. Their tongues doing a wicked dance to rival their coupling.
“I dinnae ken how I am going to let ye go,” he confessed, his voice pained.
She buried her face in his chest. “I dinnae want to think aboot it. I only want to think of us this night. The morrow is a new day. Let us enjoy this night. Let us enjoy each other.”
That was what they did. Sleep wasn’t had that night. And Alana didn’t regret a single second of the time they spent exploring each other’s bodies. Painting them to memory to look upon when they were forced to part.