Page 32 of Eloping with the Laird
He paused. What else did she care for?
3) Hounds
4)
He cringed at the short list. He’d need to figure out what she cared about in order to charm her, if hediddecide to resort to such ridiculous measures. Once her lady’s maid arrived, he could pry it out of her. He faltered. Why hadn’t she and the servants from Glenhaven arrived already? He’d sent a messenger with instructions for their transition to Blackmore, but not a single one of them had arrived before the wedding this morn. His stomach curdled. He glanced at the new stack of correspondence that sat unopened on the side of the desk and prayed that what he now feared hadn’t happened.
Sifting through the pile, he saw a thick letter. He split the fat Stewart seal and prepared himself. Enclosed were his instructions to the servants along with a terse note from the laird:
You may have stolen my daughter, but you shall not have my servants.
Enjoy your last days, McKenna. They are numbered, and once you are gone, your clan will be swallowed up by the rest of us.
Rory cursed and tossed aside the letter. Now what would he tell Moira? Her lady’s maid and the handful of other servants who’d risked all to aid in her escape were now trapped within the walls of Glenhaven. Most likely, they were being punished for what their role had been in their ruse, or let go entirely without aid. And now how would he discover what she liked and disliked? Trial and error seemed a poor plan, but what else could he do?
He stared up at a painting of his parents. It had been of their wedding day, and he wondered what hopes and fears they had possessed in that moment and whether more of their hopes or fears had ended up coming true. And what he could do to protect Moira from her father. Bran Stewart was known for holding grudges and Rory had no desire to see Moira fall back into the hands of a man who would rule her by control, fear and subjugation. Rory’s mind swirled in protest to the strains of the day, his gut burning and cramping from the worry and lack of sleep. He groaned and rang Angus for a glass of wine in hopes that it could at least ease one ache from the budding list of worries from his mind, body and soul.
Chapter Fourteen
Moira woke and shifted under the weight of the soft furs above her and the warm coverlet beneath. Sunlight streamed into her window warming the edges of the bed it could reach, and the smell of something soft and floral, rose tinged with verbena perhaps, lingered in the air. The delicious coolness of the furs along her naked limbs made her sigh. It was a glorious day. Then the dreadful memory of the night before crashed into her awareness. Her wedding night. She covered her face with the furs.Blast.How would she ever face her husband again? And when she did see him, what would he say, think or do?
Poorly done, Moira. Poorly done.
Heat flushed her skin at the memory of their meeting in her chamber the night before. Rory had been nothing but kind, patient and gentle, but fear and anxiety had consumed her whole. Her body had quaked at the thought of his hands and weight of his body on her. Her heart pounded in her chest and she bolted upright, gathering uneven greedy breaths, as panic gripped her once more. She counted. One, two, three, and released a breath. Four, five, six, and she breathed in. Slowly, it subsided.
She fisted the covers in her hands. His eyes had seemed equally haunted last eve, and he had resigned his right to try to sire an heir until she was ready. Even now she wondered if she’d heard the words correctly or imagined them. He was laird after all, and he had full claim over her as her husband, but he’d not exercised that right, which surprised her.
He’d been a gentleman. Worry flashed through her once more. What if he cast her out? He could. They’d not made their union official as he had not bedded her. She needed to face the truth of what had happened and speak with him. She wasn’t upholding her end of their arrangement, and she knew she’d never find a better situation for herself. An apology, nay, perhaps not an apology, but an explanation was in order. She owed him that at least. She swallowed hard. She’d not tell him the whole truth behind her fears, but enough for him to understand.
She threw off the furs, strode naked over to her wardrobe and looked for a gown to suit. Plucking a deep purple the shade of heather from the armoire, she yanked on the bell pull for her maid. Rushing through her ablutions, she’d just donned her shift when Tressa hurried in. She beamed at her. ‘Good morn, my lady. I hope ye slept well.’ She winked at Moira, who blushed on cue, but not for the reason Tressa implied. It was fromnotsharing her marriage bed with her husband the night before.
Tressa pressed her lips together and her eyes twinkled with mirth. ‘Glad to hear it,’ she replied to Moira’s non-answer.
‘Where might I find Laird McKenna this morn?’ Although it felt silly to ask such a question, she didn’t wish to waste precious time attempting to find him on this vast estate alone. She needed to speak with him before she lost her nerve.
‘He’ll be out with the hounds taking some air as he does most morns. South trail to the cliffs.’ She smiled. ‘Let’s get ye dressed, and I’ll find yer cloak. It will be cold up along there this morn. The winter winds are blowin’ in early this year.’
Moira held fast to her cloak as it buckled and twisted in the high winds. Off in the distance, she could see her husband’s strong, unyielding profile. He walked at a decent clip along the hillside playing some game of fetch with one of the hounds. The smallest of the three creatures spied her first, gave a welcoming bark and began a steady charge down the hill towards her. She stopped and let him inspect her. Soon, the hound slobbered her gloved palm and lost interest, racing back to Rory.
She met his gaze and his body tensed. His long overcoat whipped about his trews and high boots. His hair a mussed, boyish rumple similar to the night before. She smiled and waved to him. To his credit, he waved back and began to walk to her. She picked up her skirts and began the small incline, so she could meet him halfway.
‘Good morn,’ he offered. ‘Did you sleep well?’ His words held a deeper enquiry and his gaze laboured over her, scanning what seemed every inch of her face. Doubt rested along the downturned corners of his mouth, and guilt turned her gut.
Heat flushed her once more and she dropped her gaze, unable to meet and accept the concern in his eyes a moment longer. She pulled on her gloved fingertips. ‘I came to try to explain. I feel dreadful about last night, and I should have told you before of my fears...it wasn’t fair of me. I just didn’t know how. One doesn’t usually speak of things such as...that.’
Awkward was one thing.This, this conversation, was quite another. She wished to get it over with, but had no idea how to go about it.
Her heart thundered in her chest. How did one speak of a fear of intimacy when one never was supposed to talk of the act and such intimacies in the first place? Despite the chill, she felt an urgency to shed her cloak, although she knew she’d be just as flushed. Embarrassment clawed through her and held fast followed by her own frustration.
He stepped closer. ‘Moira.’ He paused. ‘Please look at me.’
Her body quaked, but she lifted her head slowly and met his steady, unwavering gaze. He reached out and clutched her hands in his own and flickers of desire scattered through her as leather ran along leather. Shewasattracted to him. She couldn’t deny it. He was handsome and kind, but it didn’t mean she wasn’t terrified of being with him. Her body had memories beyond her mind. Ones she still couldn’t command or control.
‘I don’t know what your marriage with Peter was or was not, but I promise you that I would never hurt you in such a way. My desire to be intimate with you is out of need to sire an heir, as I said before, nothing more. I will make no additional demands of you. No attachments, no entanglements, just as you wished, but I will wait until you are ready and feel comfortable enough with me to follow through on that.’
His matter-of-fact explanation stung her more than she would have liked to admit. And far more than she felt comfortable acknowledging. His words shouldn’t have mattered a whit, but they did, which irked her further. While he was attempting to console her, he’d also made her feel little more than a trough of dirt in which seeds would be planted in and that any old fertile ground would do. She slid her hands from his own. ‘Aye. I know that. You made such a need clear to me. I just wanted to try to explain. I’ll leave you to your walk.’
She turned and began to leave.
