Page 37 of Eloping with the Laird
‘Nay,’ he interrupted, easing into the fray of knowledge surrounding her. ‘I am bored of my letter writing and intrigued by your process. Show me what you have found.’ He stepped over opened volumes and settled in next to her on the floor before she could utter a refusal. His large frame filled the small space and his presence made her shy and uncertain. Did hereallywish to know what interested her and what she had learned? Peter never had, nor her father. Not even Ewan had ever asked to know what she was truly interested in or what latest volume she was devouring. She bit her lip, studying his eyes that settled on her with openness and expectation, trying to determine his sincerity.
She glanced down to the volume in her lap and faltered. Sharing what she cared about with him was a risk. She ran a finger over the safe, tidy words on the page. What if he laughed? Called her foolish? She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.
‘Please, Moira,’ he said, resting his hand on the same page, the edge of his pinky finger touching her own, sending a tiny spark of awareness through her. ‘Let me in. Tell me what you are reading. What you care about. I would not ask if I did not want to know.’
Something in his words made her want to believe him, yet she couldn’t bring herself to let go. Not yet. He lifted the volume from her lap and began to read aloud about the uses of cloves and what it could remedy. He reached the section about its uses for curing toothaches and paused. ‘Does it truly do that?’
Moira shrugged. ‘So it seems although I have never tried it.’
He shook his head. ‘Fascinating.’ He flipped the book over and looked at the cover. ‘I swear to you I have never seen this book before this very moment.’
She laughed. ‘Based on the amount of dust on many of these volumes, I would guess neither has anyone else.’
He answered with a laugh of his own. ‘You are quite right.’ He looked at the volumes and back at her. ‘It brings me joy to know you will use them. I am glad you are here. That you said yes to marrying this almost dead man.’ His full smile made her breath catch in her throat. He pressed a light kiss to her cheek and stood, brushing the dust from his trews and jacket.
The clock chimed and he extended his hand to her. ‘Care to ready yourself? Uncle shall join us at half past. He prefers to dine early, as do I.’
‘Aye,’ she answered, attempting to stand. She accepted his hand and grimaced. ‘Oh, the prickles. My foot is asleep.’
‘Shall I carry you?’ he teased, smiling at her, attempting to grab her waist.
She flushed and stepped out of his hold. ‘Nay. I shall be fine.’
His smile fell away, and he busied himself with picking up the opened books and stacking them by the window. ‘I’ll leave these here for you in case you wish to look through them again tomorrow.’
Blast.She hadn’t meant to reject him.
She added the final two to the stack and walked beside him back to their chambers. Why had she pulled away from him? He’d not been unkind or untoward. She couldn’t shake the reminders of Peter and her shame of the past, but hoped one day she would.
Dinner was most likely delicious, but Moira couldn’t taste a whit of it. Worry plagued her throughout the meal. She had to explain to him. To help him truly understand. After all he had given her in bringing her here and providing her a future. He hadn’t even plagued her about her reluctance to share his bed. They returned back to their rooms in silence and she thought of screaming just to break the dull throbbing nothingness between them.
She tugged at her hands, restless at her door. Instead of opening it, she faced him unable to suffer through another moment of quiet. ‘Care to share a drink with me before bed, my laird?’
His hand faltered on the knob of the door to his own chamber and he met her gaze. His face went slack. His confusion evident and warranted.
She tilted her head and looked heavenward trying to find the words. ‘I wish to try to explain to you my hesitation, my reluctance. It’s important to me.’
He opened his door and gestured for her to come in. ‘Then it is also important to me.’
The scent of soap and tallow assaulted her as she stepped into his chambers, and she took a heady breath of the smell she was beginning to find comfort in.
‘Sir?’ Angus asked, coming from the back of the room.
‘I’ll manage on my own this eve. You may take your leave,’ Rory stated.
Angus gave a small nod. ‘My lady. Ring if ye have need of me, sir.’
‘Aye,’ Rory answered. He walked over to the glass decanter and poured himself a whisky in his favoured McKenna chalice as well as a dram for herself in a small glass.
She settled into one of the pair of chairs that ensconced the hearth and stared into the embers and flames licking along the fire that burned steadily before her. ‘Moira,’ he murmured, extending the glass to her. Her fingers slid around it, resting atop his briefly before his own eased away.
He settled into the chair next to her and took a drink from his chalice. The gems encased on the sides of it caught the firelight and glistened at her briefly, daring her to speak.
Just begin, Moira. Just begin.
She cleared her throat and clutched the glass so tightly she feared it might shatter in her grasp. ‘I truly believed I loved him at first. Peter, that is. He said all the things a man in love was supposed to say. Did all the right things to appease my family and friends. He made them believe he was a good man and that he loved me, but in truth he was the devil.’
Rory shifted in his seat and when she lifted her gaze to his, she was startled by the hard flint grey of his eyes. He said nothing though, but swirled the whisky in his cup and waited for her to continue.
