Page 21 of Rescued By the Highland Warrior
“But,” she continued, “if ye truly want the answers tae yer faither’s death, then yer best bet is to keep me around. I dinnae mean tae insult ye, but this case isnae a simple one, and I ken, from experience, that ye cannae dae this alone.”
“Aye,” Roderick responded, his voice quieter now, as though the weight of Moira’s words had settled heavily on him. “I ken ye’re right, Moira. Ye just need tae work as fast as possible, please, because I dinnae think I’ll be able tae hold them off fer much longer.”
Moira stopped walking and turned to face him fully, her gaze unwavering. “This isnae about workin’ faster. Investigations like this take time. If I rush, I risk missin’ somethin’ important, and I’ll nae compromise the truth fer the sake o’ appeasing yer Council.”
There was something about the way Roderick looked back at her, something so commanding that made her want to mollify him–perhaps, she thought, it was the empathy she felt toward his situation. She could see the effects of his loss painfully etched across his face.
“Look,” she said, as she continued to walk a little slower, closer to his side, through the winding garden path. Her voice was steady but tinged with softness. “I’ve already gotten some clues, but if ye want things tae go faster, then I will need some assistance and patience from ye.”
“Aye,” he says, “I have nae problems with that. I’m happy tae assist, Moira.”
“Fine,” she said calmly. They continued walking in silence, the only sounds the crunch of their footsteps on the gravel path beneath them.
Moira’s mind was already working through the details of her investigation, when suddenly, her foot appeared to catch on a raised stone. Her ankle twisted sharply, and she cried out as her balance faltered, sending her hurtling forward.
“Moira!”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Before she could hit the ground, Roderick’s strong hands shot out and grabbed Moira by the waist. He held her firmly in place, surprised at how instinctively he reacted to protect her as he steadied her against him—almost as if she were his to protect.
Holding her felt natural, the subtle curves of her body softer than he had expected, molding in his arms. But he only had a moment to savor the long-forgotten sensation of holding someone close, before his thoughts were flooded with concern for her.
“Moira” he murmured, his voice low. “Are ye alright?” The sounds of the morning filled the empty and forgotten space around them—the rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze, and the distant chirping of birds–but despite all that, he was laser-focused on Moira and her well-being.
“I’m fine, I think,” she said. “Just twisted me ankle, I’m nae sure if I can walk on it, let me try.”
“Are ye sure?”
“Aye,” she nodded.
Roderick hesitated but then released his hold on her, stepping back just enough to give her space. Moira braced herself, carefully placing her weight on her foot. She took a tentative step forward, testing the ground beneath her.
As soon as she stepped down, she yelped in pain. Roderick immediately reached out, his hand catching her elbow just before she could fall again. She turned to face him, her face contorted with pain.
“Somethin' daesnae feel right,” she said softly, leaning against him. “I think I’ve injured it pretty badly.”
Roderick exhaled slowly. "Ye shouldnae be tryin’ tae walk on it." His voice was low but firm, "that’ll only make it worse.”
Moira continued to wince in pain, and Roderick felt another sharp wave of protectiveness that came over him so instinctively it required no thought.
“Now I’m going tae dae somethin' ye’re nae goin' tae like," he said. "But ye’re goin' tae have tae trust me. Can ye dae that?”
“What are ye—” she started, but her words cut off as Roderick bent down and slid one arm under her knees, the other wrapping securely around her back. With ease, he lifted her up into his arms, cradling her against his chest.
Before she could protest, she let out another groan of pain. “Where are ye takin’ me?” She asked. “I need tae see someone but I dinnae need ye tae tak' me like this, I can walk wi' some assistance.”
“An’ I can carry ye,” Roderick shot back, his stride steady as he began walking back through the rose garden and the maze to where the castle’s healer lived. “So quit yer arguin’ and let me dae what needs tae be done.”
Roderick noticed Moira open her mouth to protest but thought better of it. “Fine,” she said. “But all o’ this fussing is yer idea, nae mine.”
Roderick arched one of his brow’s, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Aye, whatever ye say, Moira.”
After a while, as Roderick continued to walk with Moira in his arms, her protests gave way to a heavy silence. The only sounds were the crunch of his boots against the gravel path, the occasional chirping of birds, and her faint whimpers of discomfort.
Roderick found himself oddly content with her in his arms, despite the circumstances. There was something grounding about her presence, as if her vulnerability and the simple act of caring for her, took him out of his thoughts and back into reality, away from his burdens.
He glanced down at her, noting the way her features had softened. She was no longer the fierce investigator who had arrived at the castle to unearth secrets—right now, she was just a lass in pain and in need of his help, rather than the other way round.
