Chapter 13 #3
body was screaming at him to do it. To lay her down in the garden
and have his way with her. But she was right, they needed to act as
Lady Alina and Roark MacInnes, not curious little owl and rutting
stag, at least in the daylight. He stepped back and offered her his
arm. “Shall we let Etain and Beasty graze away the afternoon in the
paddock?”
***
When Roark woke under the willow tree with
Alina tucked into his side, the sun was low in the western sky and
the air had taken on the chill of evening.
“Alina.” He gently nudged her arm. “Time to
wake up, my sleepy owl.”
“Nnnooo.” She burrowed her nose deeper into
his shoulder. “Not yet.”
Roark pushed a lock of hair damp from sleep
behind her ear and kissed her on the forehead. “I’m afraid so,
love,” he said, jostling her again. “By the sun, it’s coming on
supper time, both ours and the horses. We don’t want to be rude to
our hosts.”
“No,” she agreed, rolling away from him and
pressing her back against the willow’s trunk. “We don’t.” She
yawned and rubbed her eyes and focused her gaze on his. “How is it
I sleep so much better with you on the cold, hard ground than I do
without you in a warm, soft bed?”
This time he answered her from his heart
rather than his head. “Likely for the same reason I cannot look at
you without wanting you, Ali lass,” he said, his voice low and
raw.
She smiled, nodded, sniffed, and crumbled.
“What are we going to do?” she cried softly. “How am I ever going
to sleep again without you?”
How am I ever going to live without
you? “One night at a time, Ali love,” he rasped. “One breath,
one step, one long, lonely night at a time.”
She threw her arms around his neck and held
on tight, her heart hammering against his as he clasped her to
him.
“I will never love another the way I love
you, Roark MacInnes,” she whispered fiercely, and then she broke
their hold and stood and whistled for the horses, who followed her
to the stables, Roark trailing behind them. It would do no good to
be seen teary-eyed by the stable hands.
“Did you two have a good sleep?” Lord Owen
asked Roark and Alina as they took their seats at the high
table.
“We did,” Roark answered him. “I think we’ve
both finally caught up.”
“Good.” Owen perused Roark and then Alina.
“You do look more rested.”
“Thanks to your hospitality,” Roark said.
“Again, we cannot thank you enough.”
“Actually, there is a way.” Owen looked to
his lady wife.
“Lady Alina,” Lady Siusan said. “The women of
your lineage are known for their musical talents. Do you sing or
play an instrument?”
“I sing,” Alina told her. “Though nothing
like my great-grandmother was said to.”
“She's being modest, Lady Siusan,” Roark
said. “She sings beautifully.”
“Would you honor us with a song or two after
supper?” Lady Siusan asked.
Alina blushed prettily. “It would be my
pleasure.”
The supper plates cleared and the wine and
whisky brought out, one of the laird’s men set a stool in a space
that had been cleared at one side of the room. Another man, whom
Roark recognized as one of the house servants, sat at the stool
with a fiddle and played a few warm-up scales while Alina took a
good draught of wine and then walked over and stood by the fiddle
player.
“Do you know ‘The Sailor’s Tale’?” she asked
him.
“Aye, lady. What tempo would you like played
at?”
“Like this.” Alina tapped her toe and
counted.
The man started to play and Alina to sing.
She sang of the sailor leaving his home, and of his wife’s and
young son’s tearful farewells. Her clear, melodic voice instantly
capturing the complete attention of everyone in the hall.
The kitchen staff stood at the open door as
she sang of the sailor’s journey, of his joy in the salty tang of a
good wind and the vastness of the sea, swaying her body to the
motion of a ship, and the entire room swayed with her. She sang of
the sailor’s many adventures, of the ports he sailed into, the
kings and queens he met, the storms he braved, the monsters he
fought and overcame, and every person there was sitting on the
edges of their seats, though it was a song known by every Green
Isler by the time they could walk and talk.
She sang of the sailor finding the treasure
he’d sought, of turning his ship north, sailing for his home, and
her voice rang out with determination. She sang joyfully of the
sailor sighting his home shore twenty years to the day he’d left,
of seeing his wife, grey-haired and ever faithful, waiting on the
docks with his two grown sons, and her voice caught as she met
Roark’s gaze.
She sang of his happy homecoming at last, of
him sitting in a rocker by the hearth fire, his wife beside him, at
peace and content at last, stringing the last, mellow note out into
silence.
A few satisfied oohs and aahs floated about
the hall, and then a loud clapping broke out, along with several
sharp whistles.
Her cheeks flushing pink, Alina smiled and
dipped her head to the low tables and her knee to the high table.
“Does anyone have a request?”
“‘Somebody,’” Roark said. “Will you sing
‘Somebody’?” To me.