‘That’s because he liked bragging of his prowess. Does no good to steal precious dessert when he can’t take credit for it.’
A laugh burst through Rory’s clenched lips ‘So true! It all makes sense now why I couldn’t talk him into any place else to hide.’
‘So we know why he did it, but what did you do?’
Rory’s easy smile fell. ‘Oh, I stole, lied and cheated, but never something so innocent as dessert.’
This was different. Rory wasn’t telling herof mischievous antics he pursued for fun. She was a healer and everything in her knew when someone hurt.
‘What did you do to get caught?’
‘I, unlike my faithful companion, wasn’t so foolish as to get caught.’ He snapped his reins once and his horse increased its pace. ‘Come, we’re holding up the men and my father has already made it through the gates.’
Without looking back, Rory urged his horse on ahead and she did the same. She’d let him go and she’d keep letting him go. He’d given her a glimpse of his past, at least one full of Paiden before he avoided further talking of the past.
There was more to settle between them, but some wounds didn’t heal right away. Some injuries took time. She’d seen Rory avoid personal questions before. She knew he did it now to find the strength and drive he cloaked himself in before he went through the gates that surrounded Lochmore’s castle, his home.
Though it made him more comfortable, letting him go was difficult for her. In fact, for one moment she wanted to call him back. To tell him she understood that as a child, he hadn’t got caught because he was more intelligent than Paiden.
She knew by observing the cold nod to his father, by feeling the frigid air coming offLochmore’s stone. She was already guessing why he never was caught in that childhood game.
He hadn’t got caught because no one had bothered to search for him.
Chapter Seventeen
It was not as if Rory had never intended to return to Lochmore land. The castles were not so far apart that he’d be excused from ever returning and, in truth, he meant to make Lochmore Castle his familial home.
He’d wanted to wait to make the journey, however, because of Paiden, because of the uneasiness of clan relations. More importantly, he’d wanted to wait until his marriage to Ailsa was on firmer ground. Over the last few days, he’d discovered more and more about his green-eyed wife. How tirelessly she worked at her craft, how caring and beloved she was among her people.
Beautiful. Intelligent. A woman whose father held influence in the clan. She could have married anyone. Someone worthy of her care, of her heart. Someone who didn’t want to marry her forpolitical gain or to prove his worth to his clan. Someone who wasn’t lying to her.
Though his father acted as if he was his son, Rory had never felt as if he was. Ailsa had told him how the McCrieff story of the Great Feud was different from Lochmore’s. He knew, dead certain, that his past was different than what was told as well.
So they’d travelled here, partly because he wanted to search the Lochmore records for his namesake. He felt that if it was proven the Great Feud was as McCrieffs believed it to be, then maybe, just maybe, it was time to talk to his mother, to face the past.
He’d barely dismounted when he saw his mother descending the stairs to greet his father. By the time he’d helped Ailsa dismount, they were already walking arm in arm.
Face the past; he also needed to address the present.
His parents had not come to the wedding, they had not sent the familial brooches, or any missives of concern regarding Paiden’s poisoning. They knew everything and they’d acknowledged none of it.
Rory might believe he was not worthy of her, but Ailsa was a wife to be revered. He’d be damned if they didn’t acknowledge her.
As his parents walked towards him and Ailsa, Rory was all too aware that he stood in the middle of the courtyard. This was his home, where he was raised, but the similarities comparing this moment to standing in the middle of the McCrieff courtyard were there as well.
Many eyes were upon them, many ears were listening. The McCrieffs who travelled with them were meant to be loyal to Ailsa and her father, but there were no guarantees. There were no swords or arrows out, but he could not shake the feeling he was facing some adversary.
His mother, clasping the arm of his father close, nodded. ‘Rory, you’ve arrived in good time.’
His mother’s voice washed over him. Gentle, calm. As a child, he always knew to find her either in the solar with needlepoint in her hands or overseeing the gardens.
With Ailsa by his side, he was struck with the differences between these women. Growing up, trying to emulate his father, he had thought to seek a wife similar in temperament to his mother. He had thought he wanted soft spoken. He married blunt of tongue. He had thought he wanted gentle. He married a woman who threatened him with shears.
By Fate or by God, he’d married a woman hecouldn’t have conceived existed and was quickly becoming everything to him.
‘I have more than arrived in a timely matter, Mother. I have brought you my wife.’
But his mother’s eyes were not on him. Instead, her scrutiny of Ailsa was as precise as it was with her needlepoint. He felt that if Ailsa were to reflect any flaw, his mother would rip her out. Gentle voice, but harsh gaze.
