Page 45 of Rescued By the Highland Warrior
“Is there somethin’ troubling ye?” Roderick asked, standing up as he walked toward her.
“Troublin’ me? Nay. I was just thinkin’ through logistics, whether the lodge might have any other beddin’.”
Moira inhaled sharply, staring up at the laird towering above her. She realized that she had been talking too much in her nervousness. She knew that by doing that she was giving up what little power she had.
He smiled. A simple, calm smile that made her heart melt but did little to ease her thoughts.
“I’m nae sure,” he said. “But ye dinnae need tae worry about that now.”
She nodded.
“Are ye comfortable over here?” He asked, crouching down by her feet. “Ye look as stiff as a board.”
“It is a fine armchair, Roderick,” she said, her throat dry, not daring to move.
“Oh, it is?” He questioned, his eyebrow raised as he lifted himself by the sides of the chair.
As he sat back down on the bed, he wriggled off his boots and removed his jacket—the place much warmer due to the fire in the hearth.
She was relieved for him not to be so close, but at the same time she yearned for him to go back to her.
Her gaze wandered to his broad shoulders, which shifted as he removed his jacket. His movements were languid yet powerful, like a predator who had nothing to prove at all.
“Aye,” Moira said. “Perhaps one o’ the comfiest I’ve felt. Where is it from?”
Roderick laughed, tilting his head to reveal the strong curve of his neck. “Ye have such an eye fer the details, dae ye nae?”
She nodded, responding with stiff acknowledgment but inside, her pulse quickened. The way he laughed, the sound of it deep and rich, seemed to reverberate in the room, making her feel both exposed and drawn in all at once.
“I dae,” she said. “More than ye ken.”
Moira, at the age of twenty-three, was smarter than most, for she’d been trained to have skills most people would never acquire in a whole lifetime. But when it came to being left alone with handsome lairds, she was clueless. She’d never been intimate with anyone before, and she still wasn’t sure, when it came to Roderick, whether that was something only she was thinking about.
The glint in his eyes, and the way he spoke with her seemed to tell her otherwise. But she couldn’t trust it—not for certain. He could have been playing with her for all she knew.
But if there was one thing she was sure of, it was that she liked to win. It was as though Roderick was trying to lure her—to get her to admit something she didn’t want to admit. Most lasses would have easily fallen for his charm, but not her. There was no way she was going to act first.
“Sit here, Moira,” he demanded, patting the space beside him. “I can see ye’re uncomfortable despite what ye say.”
Moira obliged. She knew that refusing would reveal her state of mind even more, or perhaps she welcomed the invitation.
As she slowly went to sit beside him on the bed, she did her best to rein in her thoughts.
“Tell me,” he said. “What else have ye noticed wi’ that big brain o’ yers?”
“About the case?” She responded, her gaze fixed firmly ahead.
Her eyes flickered nervously around the room, her mind racing to find something to say that wouldn’t give away her unease. “I noticed the hearth is much larger than I expected. An’ the bookshelves are plenty fer a huntin’ lodge.”
“Aye, Moira, an’ what else?”
She took in a breath, her gaze sweeping over Roderick, who couldn’t stop smiling, a stark contrast to before.
“I noticed that ye cover up yer vulnerability with anger, an’ that despite yer short words an’ yer frustrations an’ that big menancin’ scar across yer brow, ye’re actually quite soft.”
“Soft,” Roderick laughed. “Och, I was nae expectin’ that.”
“It is nae a bad thing,” Moira said, her voice quieter.
