‘Very much. I think he would have had some things in common with your childhood friend. Paiden isn’t very practical either.’
She liked the idea of Paiden and Magnus being similar in character. It eased something more between her and Rory. ‘Will you tell me now about your hand?’
‘Would you let me keep my silence on it?’
‘Never.’
That’s what he thought. His hand was hyperaware from her touch, from her observations. Rory held it still and thought hard about how to answer her because why he used his left hand instead of his right was significant. The physical tests and challenges he’d overcome to force himself to use one hand over the other had been an ordeal and often excruciating. Even so, the whyhe did it...he didn’t know if he was prepared to say. ‘How did you know?’
‘I’m a healer. I observe. You drum with your left hand, arrange items with your left...you touch me with your left. It comes more natural to you, doesn’t it?’
She’d told him of Magnus; she deserved to be told of his family. ‘My father, who trained me, insisted I use my right.’
‘I can’t imagine you bowing to any man.’
‘You haven’t met my father.’
‘Your mother never stood up for you?’
‘My mother is...’ No, he wasn’t prepared at all. ‘I think we can do something more than talk of my hands.’
Cradling her closer, he revelled that she came willingly. So little time between them, so much more to tell. But this, her tugging her fingers through his hair, her eyes darting from one of his features to the other, as if trying to see his very soul,thiswas true.
Ailsa let Rory distract her with touches, with kisses. He’d told her very little, but it was enough. He must have changed his dominant hand when he was very young or else his body would have rejected such training. And he must have done it very diligently for he was almost as good with his right as with his left.
But it wasn’t only that. Her heart ached for the little boy who must have questioned if he was lacking somehow that his father wanted him to be so different. His father, who obviously was not as generous of spirit as she. What kind of man was he to force a child against his very nature? To make him feel unworthy even for a moment?
She’d show Rory how worthy she found him. ‘I think,’ she said, giving him a shove on his shoulder so he’d stay still, ‘that it’s...’
Something in the corner of her eye caught her attention.
Rory let out an amused breath. ‘Delaying can sweeten our time, lass, but the floor’s damn cold and—’
‘Wait!’ she cried, pressing her hand against his chest to stop his reaching for her.
‘Ailsa, I meant—’
‘Not that.’ Clumsily, she tried to extricate herself from him. She knew he was too large, too determined to move unless he wanted to. But he let her. Another revelation on the worthiness of this man. Scrambling over him, she swiped a crumbled parchment.
It was here. Right here and she had the answer.
She felt Rory’s eyes on her, but she ignored him for now she was pondering the implications.
‘What is it?’ he asked.
‘If it’s made into an oil,’ she said out loud. ‘It’s so common the amount could be...then if it’s concentrated enough...’
‘Ailsa!’
She locked gazes with her husband. ‘I know what has harmed Paiden.’
Chapter Thirteen
‘Ican’t believe you almost left like that.’ Rory raced with Ailsa to the kitchens.
‘I hate tying my gowns.’
‘In the future you must learn to like it, unless you wish to display what only a husband should see.’
