But since Rory was alone, he would have to navigate whatever was going on betwixt them on his own. One thing he could honestly say with no regret—if Alana was his betrothed, not only would he not send a measly two guards to escort her to her new home, he would lead the charge himself—with a whole team of men.
Chapter Eight
Alana stared intothe flickering firelight, her blanket pulled tightly up to her chin. She had moved to the chair Rory had found hidden in the corner and moved closer to the fire so she could sit and warm her cold toes. Around the croft, Rory worked furiously reinforcing the walls and windows to ensure the rain and wind couldn’t sweep through the cracks and negate the warmth the hearth was providing.
She watched him silently, tracking his movements and trying to understand the complex man he was proving to be. For every positive trait she could identify within him, she could pair it with a negative. Her mother had always told her that men were simple creatures. As long as they had good food and a good lass warming their bed, they were happy.
Alana had hardly believed her mother when she’d told her such things afore. Her own father never really seemed happy—and Lord kenned that he always had a warm bed, and oft times it wasn’t her mother joining him there.
Personally, Alana found it disrespectful, but her mother always said it was the way of things. It made him happy and that was all that mattered. But what of her mother’s happiness? Did that not matter?
Even then, Alana kenned that was not the type of marriage she wanted. If she were to be wed, she wanted it to be to a loyal husband.One that only saw her. One that loved her for who she was. One that would accept her faults. She kenned she was asking for a lot. That her father was acting normally for men of certain standing. But Alana didn’t agree with his actions.
Was it too much to ask to be loved? To be cherished in a way that no other would be when her husband laid eyes upon her.
She let out an audible sigh.
“’Twould seem ye are thinking hard o’er there,” Rory quipped as he packed bark into a crack in the wall near the door. “Do ye want to speak of it?”
She studied him. The anomaly that was Rory Hart. He was quite insightful for someone that seemed to be so nonchalant and aloof as he moved about the croft.
He saw everything.
“Nay. No’ really,” she answered quietly, gently rocking to and fro, a wee squeak sounding from the old chair with every forward motion. The noise breaking up the constant howl of the wind and pounding rain.
Once again, she puzzled over Rory as she watched him move about. Despite his gruffness, the things he had done for her showed a different side of him. A caring side that he guarded ferociously. He’d taken her cloak and set it to hang on the iron hooks by the hearth so it would dry. He’d turned his back so she could strip out of her wet clothes and slip into the few dry items she had. Then he’d hung the wet items to dry as well.
He had fetched her blanket and handed it to her, urging her toward the rocking chair. He rummaged through the small cupboard in the corner and came away with tea leaves that he steeped in water that he had boiled on the hearth in a small pot he’d also located.
He handed her the tea when it was ready and then set back to work.
His kindness and caring shining through like a beacon in the darkestof nights.
The way he’d shielded her when they were outside. Even as she refused to enter the croft. Even as she complained about the state of the croft. The musty smell. The patience he’d shown her would have never been granted in her own home.
She shook her head, a scoff falling from her lips.
He must think she was spoiled.
She kenned he did. Their heated words earlier had stung. They still did.
While her father was not the most attentive father to her, Alana had never wanted for aught. If he didn’t provide what she asked, her brothers tripped over themselves to fulfill her wish. So, she supposed in that sense, she was spoiled.
Even so, she thought she had handled her current predicament well. All the hiking. The walking. The climbing. Sleeping outside on the bare ground.
None of that was aught that she was accustomed to.
But Rory? He loved all of those things. He lived for them. Breathed for them. It was as if the Highlands coursed through his blood.
“Why do ye like the Highlands so much?” She asked. Suddenly, the urge to ken and understand him better hit her strong. She wanted to ken his likes and dislikes. His dreams and desires.
Rory paused, his hand pushing against another crack he had just filled. He turned and leaned against the wall, studying her. His green eyes dark in the firelight. After a long hesitation he said, “’Tis their beauty. I set my eyes upon the land around me and ’tis the most beautiful thing I have e’er seen. As a lad, I was always outdoors. With four siblings, the castle could get loud, especially with e’erything else happening within. If I was outside, I didn’t have to hear any of that. I could take my leave and venture into the forest. Climb the trees. Swim in the loch. Climb the mountains.” He smiled wistfully, his eyes distant, staring off out the window.
“No one expected aught from me.” He shrugged. “I’m the second brother. All the responsibility fell upon my older brother, Alpin’s, shoulders. Outside, surrounded by nature, listening to the tweets of the birds, the hoots of the howls, the cries of the hawks, I felt blissfully alone. The splash of fish in the loch when I swam was a welcome sight. The scents of pine and heather blanketed me in a warm hug.” He huffed out a laugh. “It probably sounds silly to ye.”
“It doesnae,” she said hurriedly, straightening in the chair. “Yer descriptions sound lovely, actually. Where I am from, the trees are fewer, the land more barren. And I am usually tucked safely inside of my home.”
“I am for certs there is beauty to be found there as weel. Though ’tis no’ as green and lush as the Highlands,” he smiled teasingly, and Alana’s heart ticked a wee bit faster at his look.
