Chapter Six #3
She wanted to curse herself for listening and begging to be told more.
Because she couldn’t get the idea out of her heart that a Lochmore and McCrieff marriage could be something good.
But more than that...much more. There was something about Rory that intrigued and beguiled her.
Something that had started in that courtyard...
She yanked harder on her laces, cursing herself for not having Hannah take care of these when she handed her the gown.
But she’d been so aware of the intimacy of the room, of how close Rory was.
His focus had been on his friend, but her focus had been on him.
A man in the room and she only wore a thin chemise.
She’d been aware of him since the courtyard and even more so in the adjoining room. Once he agreed to marry her, she began to think of him as her husband...as someone to share a marriage bed.
It was more than how he looked, it was the way he moved. How he’d sat in the chair and stretched his legs. His easy gait, the drumming of the fingers on his left hand. When he’d leaned forward in his chair, for one wild moment she’d thought he would snatch her out of hers.
At her father’s announcement to the Hall, Rory’s bearing had been magnificent. He’d faced the crowd, his expression stunning her, and she couldn’t—
‘Do you need help with those?’ he said.
Ready to give him a pithy retort, she raised her chin and lost whatever cutting words were waiting to be said.
This wasn’t the man who had entered the courtyard or ate at the table or negotiated for marriage. This wasn’t the man who had wielded his sword or shown such a moment of raw vulnerability when his friend fell it pierced her to think of it.
This was a man who was watching a lady dress herself. And everything in her knew it.
His eyes were on her sides where her fingers had gotten hopelessly tangled and trapped. His body was still held in that easy manner of his, but there was an alertness about him now. There was colour in his cheeks, and his brows were slanted down.
His lips were slightly parted to let in air and they looked slicked somehow as if he licked them before she had turned her head. Slick, soft, and for the first time in her life she wanted to kiss a man.
She braced herself when he took a step forward and another until his fingers were at her side, there with her own fingers that he slowly released from the laces.
Startled at the intimate touch, she wanted to step away, then realised she hadn’t answered him if she wanted help. He’d taken her stunned amazement at wanting to kiss him as acquiescence for him to dress her.
Lowering her arms, she answered, ‘Thank you.’
He yanked a bit, jarring her already unsteady stance against him.
‘Sorry,’ he whispered and helped her right herself. ‘The strings are knotted. How did you get them like this?’
How did they get like this; from arguing of poisoning and intrigues to her wanting to touch his lips? To feeling for an instant her body curve to his before she found her balance again.
‘I’ve never been good at them because I’ve never had patience for them. At least with these gowns it’s expected to have another person dress you. If not for that, I’d feel a complete fool.’
‘You haven’t...ordered them to behave?’
She felt the curve to her lips. To laugh now? Impossible moment, impossible day. ‘Countless times.’
He tied the lace and moved to her other side. ‘There aren’t any la—’ She gasped when she felt the back of his fingers glide down her side. There were no laces, only the smooth seam of the gown. He’d caressed her for no purpose other than to touch her.
‘Do you have an answer for me, Ailsa?’
Rory stood in front of her, asking her to marry him. Rory was here in her home, in this room. If Rhona were here now...
No matter what she felt like as he stood before her, there were more important matters than daydreams. And yet her logical response still held.
In the end, there was only one satisfactory answer.
The one she had already given him. The reality was that if King Edward was willing to give away part of the land, there was no stopping him from giving it all away to the Lochmores.
With her marriage, she could secure something for her clan.
The land at least would be certain. Any peace between clans or a real marriage all but certainly doomed with the poisoning of Paiden.
Who could possibly have done it and why? Had it been planned before, or had it been an impetuous act when the announcement was made? And what was he poisoned with?
The world had gone mad; she needed to remember Rory was her clan’s enemy and there was no trust between them.
For his friend’s sake, he might even hate her.
Yet even so, she’d would make the sacrifice because her father had her loyalty, her clan had her loyalty.
Despite what she wanted for herself, despite the dream of something greater, the logical choice still held.
‘I’ll marry you. Tonight. For the clans.’
Anger flashed in his eyes when he locked them with hers. ‘For the clans then.’