Page 9 of Rescued By the Highland Warrior
Once his mother moved on, Roderick told Moira the truth.
“Malcom has a daughter,” he said, his eyes scanning the room.
“An’?” Moira demanded. Her investigative nature made her impatient for answers.
“Aye, patience,” he said, a sly smile spread across his lips. “Malcolm has a bairn that has come o’ age an’ well, he had intended us tae get betrothed. However, obviously, me sweet love, that is nay longer a possibility.”
Makes sense, Moira thought to herself,I had kent there was a proper reason.
“Well, he willnae have tae hate me fer long. Once I’m gone, ye can marry Mr. McDougall’s daughter as was intended.”
Roderick nodded and kept a smile on his face as he talked to her quietly. “Aye, perhaps. But remember, I willnae rest or marry until I find out what happened tae me faither.”
It wasn’t as though Moira needed to be reminded of why she was there, but it was motivation to continue her search for answers. Once she presented her findings to Roderick, whether they were what he wanted or not, the farce would come to an end, and she’d no longer have to deal with Mr. McDougall’s contempt.
“Indeed, Roderick,” Moira asserted. “I have nae forgotten.”
She excused herself and got up from her chair. Leaving the main table, she decided to walk around, introducing herself to various groups and trying to glean as much information as she could. Due to the nature of the feast, most guests weren’t in the mood for talking for too long.
As she approached one group, Moira noticed that Mr. McDougall happened to be standing among them. Before she could speak, he left abruptly, walking as far away from her as he could.
Cold–even petty.
Moira brushed the old man’s behavior aside and continued to walk around the dining hall. As she neared the far corner of the room, a tall brunette girl, with a full face and kind brown eyes rushed toward her.
As she ran forward, Moira noticed a certain child-like quality and openness to her steps.
“Ye must be Lady Wilson! Congratulations, it’s so braw tae meet ye.”
She flung her arms around her, embracing her warmly.
“And ye.”
“Sorry,” she laughed, “ye’ve nae idea who I am. I could be a mad person fer all ye ken. Me name’s Arabella Barclay, me faither’s one o’ the councilmen here at clan Fraser.”
“Now,” Moira said, “if I had a penny fer every time I’ve heard ‘councilman’ tonight…”
“Trust me,” Miss Barclay joked. “It would nae be worth it.”
Moira laughed. “Aye, at least we can count on bein’ protected. That’s nae wee thing.”
“Aye, protected… or smothered by rules—depends on how ye look at it.”
As the two shared a laugh, a shadow fell across them. Moira glanced up to see Roderick standing there, his expression unreadable.
“Lady Wilson,” he said, his voice calm, stirring something unexpected inside her as he brought one hand to the small of her back. “May I have this dance?”
She blinked, caught off guard.
He extended his hand, his gaze steady. “A dance. Unless ye’ve nae got the time.”
Miss Barclay gestured for her to go ahead but Moira hesitated for a moment, surprised at being caught so off guard.
Regaining herself, she straightened her spine and remembered that this was more than a simple gesture–Roderick clearly had something he wanted to say. Something private.
“Of course,” she said, slipping her hand into his, following him into the crowd.
CHAPTER FOUR
