“Aye,but none of us wished to sit silently by and then be tormented by the guiltythought that we may have been able to help.” She grinned briefly when Sorchalaughed. “I would have felt the greatest guilt, for it was I who told ye totake a chance.”
Sorchareached across the work-worn table and patted Neil’s clenched hand. “Nay, yetold me that I was free to make my decision without fear of recriminations.Aye, and ye told me your tale of a past love. I have the wit to realize that yesaw I was troubled and told me things only to help me make my decision. Thedecision was completely my own.”
“Good,but did ye have enough of your wits about ye when ye were close to that rogue?”
“Notmany, but enough. In truth, my decision was made whilst I was away from him. Ididnae rush into his arms without a great deal of thought. Aye, ‘tis probably amistake for he doesnae offer me love or marriage, only passion, but ‘tis amistake I make with a full understanding of what I risk. ‘Twill be a shorttaste of recklessness, and I suddenly felt I was due one.”
“Aye,more than most, and ye are right. ‘Twill be a short one. Mayhap shorter than yethought for.”
“Whatdo ye mean?” Sorcha asked, her voice softened by a sudden stab of fear.
“Oneof our riders came in today, but an hour past. Sir Kerr’s people are ridingthis way with his ransom in hand.” Neil took Sorcha’s hand in hers when shesuddenly paled. “They will be here on the morrow.”
“Sosoon,” Sorcha whispered and shuddered, knowing that she had just heard thedeath knell for the small hope of making Ruari love her that she had nurtured. “Mayhapif I had come to a decision sooner,” she murmured.
“What?”
“Nothing,Aunt. I dinnae ken why I am so shocked that the Kerrs will arrive for I kennedthat they must. And I dinnae think more time would help me anyway.”
“Areye certain he feels only passion for you?”
“Whocan be certain how a mon feels or thinks? I ken only what he said and I kenthat he does desire me as much as I do him. Beyond that?” She shrugged.
“Didye plan to make him love you?”
“Nay,not truly. I had but the tiniest of hopes. Mayhap it was bigger than I thoughtfor the dashing of it has certainly caused me a sharp pain.”
“Mayhapye should end this now. I can tend to him until his kinsmen come.”
“Nay,what sense does that make? I have already forfeited my maidenhead and havespent the better part of two days in his arms. To stand back now gains menothing, not even a lessening of the pain I shall feel when he rides away.” Shestood up and picked up Ruari’s meal tray. “Nay, I want this last night withhim. If my heart is to survive on memories, I intend to give it as many aspossible.”
Ruaritensed as the door opened, then smiled as Sorcha stepped in with a heavilyladened tray. He quickly relieved her of the weight, setting it on a table bythe bed as she shut and latched the door. It surprised him to be so pleased tosee her. It also irritated him a little. He had had a plan concerning Sorcha—aclear, precise, sensible plan—and it was not working out as trouble-free as hewished it to.
Aman should be able to enjoy a woman and walk away carefree, perhaps carrying afew pleasant memories but no more. Hundreds had done so. He himself had done soa few times. Something about Sorcha Hay made it complicated. He turned to lookat her, resentment gnawing at him, and she shyly smiled. Inwardly laughing athis own vagaries, he felt his annoyance melt away. He walked over to her,caught her up in his arms and gently tossed her onto the bed, lolling on top ofher. She neatly wriggled out from beneath him.
“Comehere, wench,” he said, and reached for her.
Sorchadanced free of his grasp. “Calling me ‘wench’ is no way to lure me to your bed.”She edged back near to the bed, poured him a tankard of sweet mead, andcurtsied as she served it to him. “Ye shouldnae allow your food and drink toset too long. ‘Twill steal its flavor.”
“Theonly flavor I hunger for is yours.”
Helaughed when she blushed, then sat up to help himself to the bread, fruit, andcold meats she had brought him. “Sit with me, dearling. Ye havenae eatenalready, have ye?”
“Nay.”She sat down on the bed, and he set the tray between them, plumping up thepillows behind them. “I fear ‘tis poor fare tonight. Our cook fell ill.”
“Ipray ‘twas not from her own cooking.”
Shegrinned briefly. “Nay, ‘tis but a chill from the slow change of the seasons.”
Asthey ate, he studied her. She seemed quieter, almost sad, and he realized hemissed her easy smile, her tart remarks, her spirit. Ruari reluctantly admittedto himself that he wanted to cheer her, to chase away whatever had darkened hermood.
“Hassome ill befallen Dunweare?” he asked as he set the empty tray aside and tookher into his arms.
“Nay,why would ye ask?”
“Becauseye seem somewhat solemn.”
Sorchagrimaced and leaned against his chest, trying to find some comfort in the strong,steady beat of his heart. She had hoped to hide or overcome her sadness. It wasclear that she had failed to do either. When she told him about the imminentarrival of his kinsmen, he would undoubtedly guess that she was troubled by hisleaving, and she would prefer to keep that weakness a secret. That was nowimpossible for she had no other news to impart, none that would explain awayher mood, and she was too poor a liar. Cursing silently, she decided to justtell the truth and get it done with.
