“Alana,” Rory bit out.
“Excuse me?” MacDonell asked.
“Her name is Alana,” he gritted out betwixt clenched teeth.
MacDonell waved his hand in the air in dismissal as if her name was insignificant.
Bloody bastard.
Realizing the women were still there, he turned back to them. “Why, pray tell, are ye still here?” He made a shooing motion with his hands acting as if they were animals. “Go, ye neednae stand here any longer.”
Rory fisted his hands. It would be so damn easy to pound this bastard’s face to a bloody pulp. And in the process start a clan war, he reminded himself, so he remained silent, watching as Alana followed Edna.
She glanced back—only once—but that one time was enough to twist the knife that had stabbed him in the heart even more.
“Weel, now that the women have finally left,” he shook his head as if their presence was an inconvenience, “We can speak openly. Do tell, how is she? Other than easily injured?”
“I wouldnae say that is the case. ’Twas a bad fall.”
MacDonell shrugged, not caring one wee bit for Alana’s welfare. “I can only hope she’s hearty enough to withstand our winters. She might be a good tup. I will find out soon enough. Hopefully, she’s not barren.”
Rory was speechless. Not because he had naught to say, nay, just the opposite. He was speechless because whatever he would say would surely have a negative impact on both Alana and his family. Hedidn’t want to be the cause of her being harmed.
Oblivious to Rory’s reaction, MacDonell continued. “Ye can stay the night and sup since yer journey has been long, though much of that was yer fault. I expect ye gone in the morn afore I arise.” He spun and headed toward the castle, not far behind Alana and her new maid.
Rory watched until Alana disappeared into the darkness of Caer Rannoch. It seemed to swallow her up and he could only hope that somehow, some way, she had the strength to find happiness in the life ahead of her.
As he made his way to the servants quarters, he could only mutter, “’Tis done.” But it didn’t feel like it.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Alana followed Ednainto the entrance of Caer Rannoch and shivered at the sudden chill in the air. It felt colder inside than it had outside. She rubbed her hands against her arms to try to warm up.
Edna regarded her and nodded. “Yer trunks were dropped off earlier and brought up to yer bedchamber. We can go there now so ye can change into something warmer. Then I will show ye around the castle.” They quickly moved through the Great Hall and Alana barely had time to look around. What she did see was that it was dark. Everything was dark here. The walls, the wood, the stone. It was cold, depressing. So unlike the home she had left behind. She would wager that Hartsmoor, Rory’s home, was warm and inviting. The very opposite of Caer Rannoch. None of the lush greenery of the Highlands they had trekked to get here was present within these walls. A landscape that she had learned to love once she saw it through Rory’s eyes and experienced it herself.
She followed Edna up three flights of curving steps, the stones so narrow that she had to place her feet sideways to climb them. She couldn’t imagine how they delivered her trunks to her chamber up these narrow passageways. There was nay room.
On the fourth floor, Edna turned left. “Yer chambers are this way. Laird MacDonell’s are to the right.” She pointed in the other direction as if Alana didn’t ken her directions.
At a set of double doors, Edna paused. “My laird gave no instructions other than to deliver yer trunks. If there is aught that ye need, please do tell, and I will do my best to see to it.” She pushed open the doors and stepped aside for Alana to enter.
Surprisingly, the room was larger than the chamber she’d had at Auchenford. There was a large window covered with a dark blue tapestry with the MacDonell coat of arms weaved into it. A massive hearth offered warmth, or it would once the fire was built up. Across from the hearth, was a four-poster bed that held two pillows, a plaid in the MacDonell colors, and a throw folded neatly at the foot. A thick embroidered canopy was pushed back and tied to the wall on each side.
“Now that ye have arrived, I will have someone start the fire so ye dinnae get a chill when we return here.” Edna took in her dress, muddy and dirty from their travels and clucked her tongue.
Normally, Alana would be mortified to present herself in such a matter, but not today. Each patch of dirt, each smear of mud, was a reminder of a moment with Rory.
Rory.
She closed her eyes at the pain that suddenly speared though her. Would she ever see him again? She didn’t believe so.
Edna rummaged through Alana’s trunks and pulled out a thick, green woolen dress, wool hose, a thicker shift, and clean boots.
“Let us get ye undressed and into this.” She held up the clothes in her arms and then placed them on the bed.
“I could use a bath, methinks.”
Edna tsked. “My laird doesnae care for such things other than for himself, but I am for certs that he will accommodate ye for yers. But he hasnae given permission for such a luxury yet, so I cannae fulfill yer request. Mayhap this eve after ye have had a chance to speak with him.” She pushed Alana into a chair and began to tug her mud-caked boots off.
