Rory bit back a curse. He’d been manipulated since he was a baby. As the son of Lochmore’s Chief, he’d been shuffled and positioned to take over the Clan’s interests. Over the years, he’d suspected he wasn’t even his father’s son, which meant he was more manipulated and controlled than anyone knew.
With no way to earn his right on Lochmore’s lands and under Lochmore’s rule, he’d come here to secure his future, to gain some respect from his Chief and clan. If he wasn’t a chief’s son, then he could earn the right to rule. A gamble to be sure, but there was enough incentive here to make it worthwhile. Except he was being directed and controlled again. What made it worse was he hadn’t known how far or gravely until his conversation with Frederick.
If McCrieffs themselves were divided, there was no solution to the problem between McCrieffs and Lochmores. He’d married believingthere could be a chance for some future, but there wasn’t.
Lies everywhere. Even his wife lied to him. She told him she couldn’t leave Hamish’s room. Yet here she was, telling him she did it to organise mouldy parchments. That was another lie.
Some of the records she’d disturbed were certainly on gardening, and herbal combinations, but some were documents that usually were in churches. Lineage on families, births, deaths, acquisitions.
Her purpose in this room wasn’t for organising, but to find information and not only on herbs. Controlled again. Would nothing be his own? Yet he didn’t feel the same wrenching frustration towards her as he did towards her father, or his own father for that matter.
It was because of that moment in the courtyard. It had skewed everything he’d done since then. Her beauty, her intelligence more tempting than the control of McCrieff land. Then he’d touched her, kissed her, held her to him while his body burned. To accomplish what he needed to, to unveil truths, to help his friend, he had refused to take her in their marriage bed.
But he wanted to. No, more than that, it was something beyond need...a longing. Here, with her vibrant hair half-bound, half not, her creamgown covered in dust and wrinkled beyond repair, she was as much a siren to him now as she had been in the courtyard.
More so because her pride would not tolerate his behaviour. And rightly so. He’d been heartless last night, cruel today.
How was she to be understanding, if they had no understanding between them? Yet how could he risk his friend’s life, even if they could resolve what was between them? Someone had intentionally harmed his friend and it appeared also the McCrieffs’ Chief.
His eyes scanned the room for answers, found nothing but dust motes floating in the dim light provided by the three lit torches. The room was filled with precious scattered paper and damp air, as if this room refused to let go of winter though spring showed its abundance everywhere else.
Ailsa was like spring to him. Danger surrounding him in that courtyard and he’d not been able take his eyes off her fiery locks. Dining at his enemy’s table and he’d kept trying to catch her green gaze like some lovesick fool.
Last night, he’d demanded she take off her gown, to gain some control, but he wasn’t in control, hadn’t been since he undid her laces. Rory shut down those thoughts as he had allday. His body was still drawn tight with need and desire. Touching her only made him want more of his wife.
She was his wife. His future uncertain, but this...?
Since he arrived the division between clans made a division within himself. From one moment to the next his thoughts and actions changed, but since the courtyard Ailsa had been a constant.
Impossible possibilities here, but she, somehow, was a certainty within him.
Something righted itself inside him as the full resolution of his wants became clear. He wantedthiswife. With a marriage not forced on him and one not full of secrets and accusations. But he’d hurt her—maybe now he needed to make some amends. Not everything, but a compromise so that there could be some peace between them.
‘I could help you,’ he offered.
Ailsa tied a scroll and picked up another one. ‘You’d get in the way.’
True. He didn’t like it though. ‘I could organise—’
‘Haven’t you done enough, Lochmore? You need to leave.’
Rory stepped over the paper and watched Ailsa tense. He hated his large and clumsybody in places like these. When he reached the other side, he leaned against the wall. She kept her head down, her shoulders hunched. Did she think he’d harm her?
‘I did meet with your father.’
Ailsa hesitated, before she shuffled more papers.
‘I know of the divide now.’
Ailsa’s head snapped up. ‘Divide?’
She had to know. ‘Between Hamish and your father.’
She opened her mouth, closed it. Opened again. ‘You guessed.’
‘He told me...but it wouldn’t be hard to guess. My family has had dealings with Hamish. He’s never been the type to allow Lochmores free rein on his land and invite them to dine.’
‘Or offer the Tanist’s daughter for marriage?’
