‘Rory, do Lochmores have written records?’ she asked.
It had never occurred to him to search records before because the Great Feud was so well known. ‘We have them, but... Was that what you were doing in that room, searching records about the feud?’
A hesitation before she answered. ‘Mostly I was there to search for remedies.’
She was a good wife and far more intelligent than him. Brave, too. To set herself in amid all the conflict to try to heal the present and the past.
His family might not acknowledge his marriage or his wife, but he refused to let this continue. She was a healer. If she could be so brave, so could he. ‘Ailsa, I want you to meet my family.’
Chapter Sixteen
Ailsa had never spent much time on the border between Lochmore and McCrieffs. As a child, her father warned her of the dangers. As she grew older, she and Rhona planted and picked water herbs and quickly left. Often, she wondered if Lochmore’s children were also warned not to approach the stream, for she never saw another soul on the other side.
Now she would cross this border which was rather unremarkable for such a contested piece of land. No brambles or briars. Certainly, no arrows shot or battle cries. It was merely Rory and herself, a few McCrieffs and Lochmores leisurely riding towards the stream.
All very uneventful. Perhaps it had to do with the King’s decree. Perhaps it had to do with her father taking care of the Clan, or the missive Rory had sent ahead to his family.
Whatever the reason, they were here now. As for the land, she intended to talk to Lochmore’s Chief on whether McCrieffs could use it. It had taken years to cultivate some of the plantings and she’d be grateful to not have to start again.
They weren’t half across the water when Lochmores emerged from the trees. One man was in the centre of it all.
‘My father,’ Rory said low for her ears. ‘Lochmore’s Chief.’
The man held authority tightly to him and his clothes were as fine as she’d ever been witness to. Yet there was no resemblance to her husband, not in stature or in colour. Whatever misgivings Ailsa had to Rory’s parentage were rapidly becoming truth. With the surety of each steady beat of the horses’ hooves, she felt the need and the burden of telling him. But after all the betrayal he’d experienced since arriving on McCrieffs’ land, what would he think of her withholding the information.
Would Rory be angry or shocked? They had discussed the origins of his name. He hadn’t appeared angry, but he didn’t know they talked of him.
Were Rhona’s words pain-filled ramblings or truth? She wasn’t certain they were true. They’d see the records first and then, no matter whatthey found or what she said, Rory would want to talk to his mother. The burgeoning trust they shared because of the marriage and the efforts to end Hamish’s ill deeds was too fragile. The little time they’d shared in this marriage meant that she couldn’t, shouldn’t, bluntly step forward and tell him what her thoughts were. For once, she wouldn’t be direct or straightforward. For once she’d be patient and wait. For if she was wrong? She could hurt the man she was beginning to—
Love. Did she love him in so short a time? She feared it was true. They approached matters differently, but they also shared much. And if what she did feel was love, her withholding Rhona’s last words might harm any chance of a true marriage.
Her horse’s steps along the stream bed were uneven and slippery and Ailsa concentrated on that rather than the approaching confrontations. She was on Lochmore land now. As far as everyone was concerned, she was married to Lochmore’s son.
All her life she’d thought only as a healer, a McCrieff healer. Now her path was different, being here was different. Except being here didn’tfeeldifferent. Though everything in her knew it should be, the land on this side of the stream felt the same as on McCrieff land. TheLochmore men rode their horses the same as the McCrieffs. The wariness, the locked gazes. All similar.
But Rory stopping his horse in front of Lochmore’s Chief wasn’t the same at all.
She and her father had never been separated before, but often their days would be filled with tasks and they wouldn’t see each other until evening meal. Even with so short an absence, there would be warm greetings between them. There would be banter about their day and she was always pleased to see her father.
Rory and Finley sat proud upon their steeds, facing each other. Neither spoke nor smiled. Instead, Rory merely nodded his head in acknowledgment to his father. If she hadn’t been watching so closely, even that would have been missed.
The years hadn’t been kind to Lochmore’s Chief. Time and weather grooved his face and the extra weight softened what once had been a warrior’s form. Still, she saw a proud man who ruled his clan, but who also looked and felt the years he lived and the few seasons he had left.
Her father, though aged, had kept his vitality. Lochmore’s Chief was indeed older. But it wasn’t only his health, she noticed. She also sawa father surreptitiously observe his son who rode beside him.
Just a slight tilting of his head, not enough to be obvious to Rory, who didn’t look pleased to be returning home. If anything, her husband’s bearing was even more rigid, his expression impenetrable.
Adjusting the reins in her hands for the umpteenth time, she loosened her grip once more. It wasn’t her lack of riding experience that caused her unease with the horse. It was that she shouldn’t be witness to anything this private. Except there was nowhere else she could ride without causing more scrutiny. Enough wondering eyes were on her as it was. Even Rory spared her a glance.
Did he gauge to see about her welfare or if she turned to retreat? They’d shared intimacies and some of their past; they were married, but she still didn’t fully understand her husband though she wanted to. He was a man who was loyal to his friend, to his clan. And there were moments it seemed he was loyal to her. Allowing her to use the information and heal Paiden. To confront Mary, to accept her judgement.
Last night he’d held her. The drumming of his fingers along her shoulder blades after they’dmade love told her that he’d found some contentedness in what they were creating.
Now there was no hint of the Rory she was beginning to know. Fearsome. Daunting. He hadn’t even been this formidable or cold when he’d first entered the McCrieff courtyard. Except for that one moment in their bedroom when he’d opened the box, he’d given no indication that this was the man he was at his home.
He said his family was complicated; this was more than complications. Her heart ached to see Rory like this. Among his family once again, he looked alone. She received no answers as to why from their surroundings either.
Lochmores and McCrieffs together. Though there was still a firm divide, a few attempted conversing. Tentative. Wariness. But this was so much more than what was possible a mere fortnight ago.
