Page 62 of Rescued By the Highland Warrior
“Moira,” Roderick said, leaning toward her, “would ye like tae dance?”
She nodded, placing her hand in his with a smile. The music reverberated through the hall, and they moved toward the center of the room, his hand clasped tightly around hers.
Once stationed, he slid his hand to her waist, drawing her closer. He felt the warmth of her body pressing lightly against his, and he took her in, his gaze wandering up and down her frame.
As they moved, one step at a time, he could feel her heartbeat and he could tell how much she wanted him too.
It spurred him on. He longed to be even closer, for them to be alone.
“Moira,” he said, leaning down to whisper into her ear.
Suddenly, Roderick was interrupted by a familiar voice.
“Me laird,” Malcolm interjected, “I dinnae mean tae interrupt, but perhaps Fiona could have this next dance?”
Roderick’s gaze darkened. His eyes flickered toward Moira whose own smile had faltered, her expression hardening as she glanced at Fiona standing at the far side of the room.
Before Moira had a chance to respond, Roderick took control of the situation, his voice firm and authoritative. “Malcolm,” he began, turning to face him, “that’s enough.”
Malcolm blinked in confusion, his grin faltering. “What’s the matter, me laird? Surely, ye cannae be bothered by a dance request. Fiona’s been eager tae catch up with ye.”
“Nay,” Roderick snapped, his gaze hardening. “Ye ken well that isnae appropriate, Malcolm. I am dancin’ wi’ me betrothed.”
He glanced back to Moira whose expression was wounded. She released herself from him before walking off.
“Me laird–“ Malcolm began.
“Please excuse me,” Roderick said shortly, before following after her, his mind consumed by his anger towards Malcolm.
It was too much. Roderick couldn’t fathom what might have emboldened Malcolm to insist in such an obvious manner. He was clearly trying to throw his poor daughter in his path, while doing everything in his power to belittle his betrothed. Roderick could understand why Moira was so upset; she had every right to be.
As she moved ahead, Roderick managed to catch up with her just as she was about to go in the direction of the halls that led to her chambers.
“Moira, wait,” he said, his breaths heavy. “Where are ye goin’?”
“I dinnae ken, Roderick,” she said, not turning around.
Roderick came up behind her, his hands settling across her waist, and she froze.
“Ye’re comin’ wi’ me,” he said.
With his hand in Moira’s, he guided her back to his chambers—where he kissed her with passionate force once inside. She kissed him back with equal strength, her arms looped around his neck as he backed her against a dresser.
“Roderick,” she said breathlessly between kisses.
A stirring from his member pushed him to swivel her around, and he began to undo the back of her dress.
Their gazes caught in the mirror, Moira’s green eyes glowing back at him with the same unmet desire. At first, she was intent on watching him kiss her neck and shoulder in the reflection, her mouth slightly open, her cheeks flushed. But then, as he looked back up, he noticed that her focus had shifted.
“Wait,” she said, moving out of his grasp. “Wait, Roderick.”
She bent down slightly to pick up his father’s letters, which lay open on the desk.
Roderick sighed. There was no use in hiding the truth from her any longer. He wanted to be with her, and after what had happened with Fiona at the feast, he thought it was only right that she should know.
“I must tell ye the truth. The letter that me faither left me,” he said, “tells me tae marry Lady McDougall.”
Roderick expected Moira to look shocked or upset, but if she was, she betrayed no sign of it at all. Instead, she continued analyzing the letters, her eyes running up and down the pages.
