‘Where else would I be?’
‘You need to care for yourself and the babe.’
‘I have been. You needn’t make a muckle fuss over me.’
Rory sat up straighter. ‘Blazes. Did you say it’s been a full day? Uncle, bring me the agreement. I must sign it and have it returned. I meant to do so yesterday. To think I could have—’ He stopped himself, wincing, his brow furrowed as he clenched his jaw and emitted a groan.
‘Please. Try to sit back and relax. There is nothing so urgent that it cannot wait until you are better.’
‘Nay,’ he murmured. ‘Uncle?’
The older man nodded and left the room.
‘What is it that cannot wait?’ she murmured.
His gaze roved beyond her where Tressa still fussed with compresses and clearing the basin of water.
‘Tressa, if you will leave us but a moment while I try to get the laird settled.’
Her maid nodded and left the room, closing the door quietly behind her.
‘I must sign the document. I should have told you, but—’
The door opened and Uncle Leo came in with a large rolled parchment, ink pot and quill. ‘I have it. Just sign here.’
‘Moira, help me sit up, so that I can sign it.’
‘Why can this not wait? You are taxing yourself too much. You’ve just woken.’
‘It is for you. Please.’
His eyes were haunted and pleading. She helped him up, set a book in his lap to press upon, while Uncle unrolled the parchment. He gave the ink pot to Moira to hold. She dipped the quill in the ink and gave it to Rory.
He set his name to the line in a sweeping, shaky flourish, fell back against the pillows and released a sigh. ‘Have it messengered to them this eve. Do not wait. It must arrive before I am dead.’
Chapter Twenty-Four
Rory heard Moira’s sharp intake of breath but chose to keep his gaze forward and on his uncle. He knew what he’d said would hurt her, but he also knew it was the truth, and he didn’t know how much time he would have left to prepare her and his clan for a more secure future.
‘It will be done tonight.’
‘Thank you, Uncle.’
The door to the bedchamber closed and the air thickened. He busied himself with straightening his tunic in a desperate hope that she would let his words melt away in the air.
‘Why would you say such?’
Which he knew would never happen.
He faced her then, and the pain in her shimmering eyes and pinched features made him ache to hold her. But touching her would only distract him from the task at hand. He had to make her face the truth. It was better now than later.
‘Moira, look at me. I. Am. Dying.’
‘Nay,’ she disagreed. ‘You are not, and besides, you promised me a few more months. And I plan to hold you to it, Rory McKenna.’
A quirk of a lip helped him see a smile lurked somewhere behind the unshed tears, and he clutched for it. ‘That’s one of the many reasons I adore you. You hold me to my word.’ He steadied himself. He had no time to waste and needed to know the truth. It was the only way he could protect her. ‘So I shall hold you to yours. Will you get the wooden box from my desk?’
She rose and gathered it. He ran a hand over the bedclothes, willing himself for the right words, but he knew there were none.
