Page 44 of Rescued By the Highland Warrior
Roderick sat on the edge of the bed, the letters still in his grip. He stared at them for a long while before setting them down beside him. His shoulders sagged slightly, a pained expression on his face—and Moira couldn’t help but notice how sad he looked. It pierced her heart.
Moira hesitated, unsure whether to step closer or give him space. “Roderick,” she said softly, “are ye certain ye want me here? I’ll stay, but only if it helps ye find peace in this.”
He looked up at her, his eyes filled with a mixture of gratitude and vulnerability. “I’m certain. Yer presence steadies me, Moira. I’d rather face whatever this is with ye close than sit alone wi’ me thoughts.”
His words sent warmth spreading through her chest, but she kept her expression calm. “Then I’ll stay,” she said, taking a seat in the chair by the nightstand.
Having lost her own family, Moira could easily imagine what this moment felt like for him. She understood his hesitation completely.
“Ye must find this frustrating,” he said. “I’ve rushed ye along, and now, I’m the cause o’ delay.”
“It’s nay bother,” she said. “I understand hesitation toward this matter more than most. Though, might I ask, is there any particular cause fer yer worries? Something of which ye are particularly afraid?”
“All that I ken, is that this may be the last time I ever read somethin’ written by me faither. It is almost as though I dinnae want tae start, fer once I’ve read them through, I will have lost him all over again.”
Moira looked at him steadily, unable to contain the emotion that brimmed from her eyes. She knew that he felt strongly toward his father’s death, but most of the feelings that he had exhibited up until now had been of frustration and anger.
She’d never seen the depths of Roderick's pain until that moment.
“There’s nay shame in feelin’ that way,” she said quietly. “But maybe there’s also somethin’ else in there—somethin’ ye dinnae expect. A truth that might ease yer heart instead o’ weighin’ it down.”
“Aye,” Roderick agreed, “ye’re nae wrong.”
After a moment’s silence, he spoke again. “Strangely one of these letters is addressed tae me, and the others are nae addressed to anyone at all.”
“Strange,” Moira agreed, her analytical brain set into motion.
After another moment’s silence, during which Roderick traced the letters with his hands, he finally put them down. Rather than opening them, he gazed back at Moira—his expression shifted, somehow lighter, but still intense.
It made her heart flutter.
The way the Roderick looked at her, he was open and vulnerable, yet still strong. She felt a powerful pull toward him, a thirst that she couldn’t quench, and her face grew hot.
She wasn’t truly sure, although she had an inkling that he was feeling the same way too.
“Ye’re nae goin’ tae read them are ye,” she asked, a flirtatious smile spreading across her lips.
“I will,” he said, smiling a little now too. “Just I cannae get meself tae dae it yet.”
Something about the heat of the moment, spurred Moira to get up from the chair she was sitting in. Perhaps it was a protective instinct that she felt toward Roderick, or a defense mechanism to stop herself from feeling everything she felt.
“There’s nay reason ye have tae read them now,” she said, her focus once again practical, in order to cool her tempestuous mind. “How about we go back tae the castle, the ride will clear yer thoughts. Then, once we’re there, ye can read them.”
An’ whose thoughts is it that need the clearin’?Moira’s mind wondered.
“Wi’ the way the storm is now,” Roderick said. “There’s nae way that we will be headin’ back to the castle tonight.”
Roderick leaned back against the bed, making himself comfortable—and Moira’s gaze flickered over his large body stretched out across the mattress. She noticed how his broad frame seemed to dominate the room, his relaxed posture starkly contrasting with the tension in the air.
Moira peered out of the window that was inches above the bed. She looked out the window, she became aware of the full-blown storm that had broken out. Torrential rain lashed against the windowpane, and the wind howled wildly, rattling the glass.
“I see,” she said, with calculated coolness, moving away from the window. She sat back down on the armchair, her hands resting in her lap as she stared out the window.
Where will I sleep?
Moira thought that perhaps she should survey the place, look for bedding, get herself some water. Anything to keep herself busy.
Her thoughts churned just as violently as the storm outside as she fiddled with the sides of her skirt.
