Page 35 of Eloping with the Laird
‘Just a stomach ache. Nothing for you to worry over.’
She leaned closer and studied his face. Her lips were so achingly close to his. How he wanted to kiss her again. His gaze fell to her mouth and her eyes widened. This was a moment where he could have what he wanted or protect the fragile trust he was attempting to build with her. He quashed his desire and smiled at her instead. She’d told him of her fears and he had shared his own sordid loss. Perhaps it would serve as the foundation of something more in time.
‘You do not have to hide your illness from me.’ She chuckled, tilting her head. ‘It is not exactly a secret.’
The ease with which she referenced his sickness always surprised him. ‘Nay, it is not, but I don’t wish to burden you with it either.’ He lifted a loose strand of her hair and let it glide unbidden through his thumb and index finger. Her smile flickered and faded as her gaze dropped away from his. He let the strand fall back to her shoulder.
She twisted the edge of her cloak around her gloved fingertip and then met his gaze. ‘Perhaps I could make a tonic to help lessen some of the symptoms. I have read many books on herbs and their medicinal uses.’
‘I have had my share of foul tonics, but none have helped thus far. If you wish to try, by all means do. I will attempt them. They cannot be worse than the one Cook made for me last year.’ He shivered at the memory.
She angled her body to him and her shoulders lifted. ‘So, what are your symptoms? It will help me.’ She rested a hand on his thigh and then as if startled by her own actions she eased it away. A reminder that she was most comfortable when she was caring for others. If he allowed her to help him, perhaps it would add another layer of trust and companionship between them.
But he’d also be exposed and vulnerable...weak. His heart picked up speed, and he shifted on the pew. Lorna’s last words to him echoed in his head.
‘Think you can dare cast me out? You’re dying. Weak. Unfit to be laird. No other woman will ever want you. Not unless they are beyond desperate.’
He cleared his throat and stood, brushing imaginary dirt from his trews to avoid her knowing gaze. ‘The rain has stopped. Best we make our way back while we can. Perhaps we can discuss the tonics later?’
‘Aye,’ she answered, following him out of the pew. ‘I’ve much to see. The tonics can wait.’
They walked back to the castle in silence. He hadn’t meant to be abrupt, but the memories of Lorna had pressed in on him so tightly he could scarce breathe. Now that he was out in the fresh air again and not pinned in by the past and his own weakness, his pulse began to slow and the fog of his mind lifted. Moira was a part of his plan to save his clan from being overtaken after his death, and he’d make sure that he didn’t let the past dictate his future.
His only problem now was getting his new wife to trust him enough to share his bed and for him to live long enough to sire the heir he needed to secure that future. As they crested the final hill between them and Blackmore, Rory spied a dark stallion being taken off by one of his grooms to be brushed down and his steps faltered. He didn’t recognise it.
And the amount of visitors he’d had in the last year that he didn’t know could be counted on one hand. He frowned.
‘Ewan!’ Moira cried out and picked up her skirts to increase her pace. He faced Rory. ‘’Tis my brother’s horse. I had worried that they would not come.’ Colour filled her cheeks and Rory could not help but smile back.
‘You need not wait for me,’ he replied.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered as she broke out into a run.
He laughed at her mirth. Her childlike eagerness another reminder that she was also as fragile as he, despite her strong-willed and independent nature. He sighed. He had no idea what he was doing when it came to her. All he could hope for was to not complicate things further between them.
He tucked his hands in his trews and revelled in the feel of the familiar smooth stone beneath the soles of his boots as he reached the drive. He jogged up the steps and entered the main hall.
‘What do you mean he has forbidden Brenna to come?’ Moira’s brittle tone revealed her irritation.
‘Sister, you knew this would happen. You cannot pretend to be surprised.’ Her brother’s words were stiff and measured as if he’d rehearsed them on his ride over.
‘Of course I am. What else should I be? You are my family.’ She popped her hands to her hips and glared at him. ‘While he may be angry and refuse to see me, he should not forbid you or Brenna to come.’
Rory almost felt sorry for him.Almost.He reached Moira’s side and nodded to her brother. ‘Ewan.’
‘McKenna,’ he replied. ‘Perhaps we can talk in private, sister?’
She chuckled. ‘Why? ’Tis no secret what we squabble over.’
‘Fine,’ he added and flicked a cross glance at Rory. ‘Moira, you can still return to us. It is not too late. All will be forgotten.’
Moira snickered and crossed her arms against her chest. ‘We both know that is not true.’
He rolled his eyes and shifted on his feet. ‘Perhaps not all, but it can be undone. Be reasonable. You have gone against Father’s wishes in a rather reckless way. You’ve embarrassed him...and us with your display, but you have not bound yourself to him. Not yet. There is still time to marry another,’ he murmured, attempting lower tones. He slid his gaze towards Rory, who glared back at him. Not exactly the warm words of support of a brother-in-law that a man hoped for.
Moira grasped Rory’s hand in her own. ‘It is you that are embarrassing me, brother. Wearealready wed. And there is nothing I wish to undo. Rory is a good man. This is where I am meant to be. Here at Blackmore. Not at Glenhaven. Father made that quite clear.’
Her brother stood with part of his mouth hanging open for so long Rory wondered if the man had suffered an apoplexy.
