Page 31 of Rescued By the Highland Warrior
Then she shook herself off and decided, it would be much more useful to replay what she saw in Mr. Dunbar’s chambers. She had noticed so many different herbs, and she was glad that she had made some time to write them down. Moira scanned the parchment paper filled with her notes and retraced her thoughts for anything she might have missed.
She really hoped that Edin would be able to help.
There was a sharp knock on her door that re-directed her attention, and before she had time to respond, it flung open.
It was Roderick, standing tall in the doorway, his dirty blond hair disheveled, no doubt, from the harsh winds. He looked frustrated, although no more frustrated than he’d been over the past twenty-four hours.
“Roderick,” Moira said, setting aside her parchment paper. “I am sure ye are aware that it is unbecoming to barge into a lady’s bed chambers like this?”
“Me apologies Moira,” he said, without any indication that he was truly apologetic at all. “But I came tae ask ye, whether ye have made any progress since our last meeting?”
If there was one thing that frustrated Moira, more than her own lack of answers concerning the case, it was Roderick’s incessant questioning and lack of patience. In all the cases she’d worked on, she never dealt with someone quite so impatient, but she also had never, she believed, met a person who cared so much.
“I have nae yet made progress,” she said calmly. She reminded herself that he cared, and so his impatience was a matter of his heart—not her failure.
“Ye mustn’t waste any time” he said, pacing up and down the room. “People will go hungry if we dinnae get this sorted soon
Whenever Roderick got angry, Moira got a sense of how he might be in battle, his tension palpable, his focus sharp, and his movements deliberate. It was the same determination that she recognized made him a strong leader and it elicited her admiration. And that, despite her frustrations, gave her a feeling of safety and protection in his presence.
There was a part of her that also liked calming him down.
“What dae ye mean people will go hungry?” She asked.
Roderick paused mid-pace, his eyes narrowing as he turned to face her. The firelight cast shadows across his face, emphasizing the deep lines of concern etched there.
“One o’ our largest wheat fields has burned intae flames, and I dinnae ken what we can salvage at this point, but it is nae much. Our reserves are already slim as is, and even if we dae manage tae trade with another clan, there’s nae much we can get without any sort o’ formal betrothal.”
“I see,” Moira said calmly, her stomach tightening at the weight of his words. The thought of people starving due to her, whether fully her fault or not, was harrowing. She didn’t need more motivation to work any harder—but the idea of it certainly made her pulse race and caused her stomach to fill with dread.
She was accustomed, however, to pushing those worries aside when needed.
“An’ what dae ye expect me tae dae?” She asked. “Ye ken well that I am workin’ as fast as I can.”
“We need tae find out who the murderer is as soon as possible,” Roderick pressed, “so that there will be enough time fer me to mak’ a strong alliance an’ marry a lass fer the good o’ me clan.”
Moira’s stomach clenched, there was something about what he had said that bothered her. For some reason it made her feel as though she wasn’t good enough for him, even though their betrothal was fake, and his plans were sound. She felt as though she was mixing reality with the roles they were playing. It was a very slippery road.
“I’ve been workin’ on it,” Moira said, her voice a bit louder and more determined as she rose from her bed and moved toward him. “But ye dae ken that there is a high chance there was never even a murder tae begin with. As fer our investigative work, we’re going off a hunch, but if ye decide tae base the well-being of yer clan on this, then I cannae stop ye.”
“We’ve been through this before,” he said. “An’ ye admitted yerself that something appeared tae be amiss. There’s nae use in backtracking now.”
“I understand yer frustrations,” Moira continued, as she stood inches away from him. There was a fire in her eyes that matched his intensity, though hers, she believed, was tempered by reason. Although she stood close to a man practically double her size, she didn’t feel threatened—she just felt frustrated, wildly so.
“Dae ye?” He questioned.
“Roderick, I dae. But I cannae just pull answers from thin air.”
“Ye mock me,” Roderick challenged, his eyes blazing.
“Nay.” She challenged back, as they stood as close to one another as they could without touching. They stayed there for a beat, the tension between them as taut as a bowstring ready to snap.
Neither of them moved, their breaths mingling in the charged air. Moira could feel the heat radiating off him, the raw frustration in his gaze matched only by her own. How is it, she thought, that they could get along so well one moment, and then completely snap the next?
Roderick’s jaw tightened, and he broke the tension by looking away as he spoke. “Listen, Moira, I understand that this case may be a challenge, but I dinnae believe that ye have nay power at all to speed things up given the circumstances. All I ask is ye gather yer energies and try tae move things along a little faster.”
“Pardon me?” Moira asked, her eyes widened with fury. If Roderick believed that Moira was going to let his words go easy, he had another thing coming.
“There seems tae be a lot o’ mystery surroundin’ the Triad an’ their supposed skills,” Roderick continued, his tone sharp and his eyes maddened. “Perhaps I was wrong tae place me faith in ye.”
