“We need to get ye warmed up, Bluebell. Ye will catch yer death if we dinnae.”
“It would happen faster if I werenae in these dreaded skirts that are soaked through. But seeing how all of our items are wet, I will make do.” She looked into the dancing flames. “At least the fire is strong. I can feel the heat seeping through my clothes, so they should begin to dry soon.”
Rory nodded and sat in the chair beside her. He didn’t ken what to think. If they were married, this would seem like a normal adventure. He would reach across the space betwixt them and hold her hand as he caressed his thumb over her soft skin. But seeing how he was escorting her to her future husband, their predicament was not one they shouldbe sharing.
And he didn’t even want to start to think about what the night held for them.
One bed to be shared betwixt them again. They had done so afore with success. He wasn’t sure he could do so again.
The servant girl arrived with their ciders, and they thanked her as she placed them cups on the nearby table.
He was tired. Alana must be as well. It would do her good to sleep in a bed for the night. She’d spent so many nights sleeping outside, and he thought that she had earned this night of luxury. He was glad he had the ability to give it to her.
Sipping the cider, he was pleasantly surprised. He was expecting a spicy grog that would assault his tongue, but this drink was delicious and the lass was right—it did warm him from the inside.
“Do ye like it?”
Alana looked at him with a strange look on her face. “Like what?”
He lifted his mug. “The cider.”
“Och, aye. ’Tis verra tasty. We should compliment the innkeeper’s wife if we have the chance to meet her. I dinnae think I want to move from this spot. ’Tis quite cozy and warm.” Her voice was low, dreamy. “Tell me aboot yer family, Rory,” she said over the low din of the crowd and the crackling of the fire.
“What would ye like to ken?”
She shrugged, her hands wrapped around the warm cup. “Start with yer parents. That seems the natural thing to do.”
He smiled. As much as he hated when his father mentioned duty to him and as much as he yearned to feel needed, he kenned he was loved. Especially by his mother, Lillias. He leaned in close to Alana. “My mother is English,” he said conspiratorially.
Alana’s eyes widened in surprise. “Really?”
“Aye,” Rory chuckled, “though she has been in Scotland for a verra long time. Ye wouldnae really ken in a brief meeting. She adapted toHighland life quite weel.”
“Was the union betwixt she and yer father arranged?”
Rory rolled that question over in his mind. “In a sense I suppose ye could say ’twas.”
Alana furrowed her brows, her forehead creased in confusion.
“Ye see, my da was visiting his cousin on the borderlands. Mayhap no’ far from where ye and yer family hail. Anyhap, he and his cousin went to spend the Epiphany in Midrummil.”
Alana sucked in a breath, her eyes rounding.
“Are ye familiar with it.”
She shook her head. “I have ne’er been, but I ken of the legend of the well.”
Rory smiled. “Aye, weel, that is how my parents met. ’Twas fate, or at least that is what they tell me and my siblings all the time.”
“I dinnae ken I have met anyone that the legend held true for. Of course, I dinnae travel to that town, but that is verra nice to hear that the legend is real. I would love to meet yer—” Her words dropped off afore she could finish her sentence. But Rory kenned what she was going to say. She would love to meet his parents. Hell, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want her to meet them.
“My mother would like ye verra much.”
“Why do ye say such a thing?” She sipped her cider, closing her eyes as the spiced liquid warmed her.
“She just would.” He laughed. “She always said that I would one day meet a lass that would tame my ways and make me want to settle down.”
Alana’s eyes clouded. “I hope ye do, Rory. Ye deserve naught less.”
