She clenched her fists at her sides. The man was not a good leader. If he was, they wouldn’t find themselves in this position over and over again. How long would the coin he received from her marriage last? If his past deals were taken into consideration, not long at all. Then what? He had naught left to bargain with.
And what would happen to her clan? They would fall into ruin. Families would starve or freeze to death unless they decided to be absorbed into another clan.
So everything that awaited her with Michael MacDonell? It was all temporary. Not her marriage. Nay, that was eternal. But her clan’s safety? That would not be long-lived.
“Bluebell?” Rory paused and turned to her. “Ye seem,” he paused, shifting from one foot to the other. “Angry.”
She squared her shoulders, jutting her chin out defiantly as she met his gaze. “I am.” She admitted, stomping her foot on the ground, not caring that she looked like a petulant child. “I am angry. Furious, to be honest.”
“What can I do?”
His question took her by surprise. He hadn’t asked what he had done, which was naught, of course. But, instead, he was asking how he could be of help. She threw her hands up in defeat and shook her head. Could this man that she couldn’t have be any more perfect?
“’Tis naught that ye can do. Just like there is naught I can do.” She kicked at a loose rock on the trail. “It, it angers me so,” she finally said and stomped off, her fists clenched at her sides.
Within seconds Rory caught up with her, causing her to pause when he held her shoulders and forced her to look at him. And that was when she saw it.
The pain he had been hiding. It was written all over his face as he looked at her. “Is it because of last eve?” He asked quietly, his voice shaking.
She couldn’t believe big, strong, Rory Hart wasn’t fearless. Alana didn’t think there was aught that could make him afraid. But as he stood there, watching her, his eyes searching hers, she kenned he was feeling the weight of what they’d done. And how they could fix it.
She shook her head and pushed him away, but he held her tight, not letting her go.
“Tell me,” he ordered, his voice low. His fingertips squeezed into her upper arms.
She huffed out a breath. “Nay. That is no’ what angers me.” She threw her hands up in the air and let them fall to her sides with a smack. “How could I regret the best night of my life?”
The tension in his shoulders relaxed a bit, but he still looked concerned. “I am happy to hear that but saddened that something else bothers ye. Talk to me, Bluebell. Ye can tell me aught.”
“I dinnae want to marry MacDonell. I dinnae want to be used as barter for something that my father will just waste away and it will all be for naught. Just like e’ery other deal he has struck in the past. In a year, mayhap two, when my clan is in the same position they are now, then all my sacrifices will have been for naught. I see that now. And it infuriates me.” She swiped angrily at a tear that began to roll down her cheek.
“Och, Bluebell. Come here.” He pulled her to him and wrapped his strong arms around her. “I am sorry.” He kissed the top of her head as he held her and how she wished he would kiss her lips instead.
Imagining her wedding, she felt naught of the desire she felt for the man holding her now. There was no spark when she thought of MacDonell. No flame or burning passion. Just a cold, gray void of the misery that awaited her once they spoke their vows. It all felt hollow. So hollow and she didn’t ken how to handle that.
She had never met the man and, yet, she could easily see their future together. A horrible future in a loveless marriage. What kind of man would pay her father for her hand? It was the opposite of how marriage contracts worked. She should have had a dowry, a large one at that, considering her father’s station. But she didn’t. She wasn’t sure she ever had one. So MacDonell was in essence, purchasing her. Like cattle.
Was he such a vile man that the only way he could attain a wife was to buy her?
She pressed her cheek to Rory’s chest, and inhaled his scent as she squeezed him tight, wishing she never had to let him go.
Later that night, as they sat on opposite sides of the fire, not trusting themselves to sit near each other again, she found the bundle of parchment she had hastily packed, and penned a missive to her betrothed.
Rory watched her, that same pain in her heart, shining through in his eyes, as she wrote. He didn’t ken what she wrote, and he didn’t askout of respect for her. But she needed to cleanse herself of the thoughts running through her mind. Thoughts of her marriage. Of the MacDonell whom she had never even met. Of Rory. How she didn’t want to leave his side. She didn’t ken how she would survive without him. About how the only thing she saw in her future was a bleak loneliness.
She didn’t sign it. She couldn’t. She doubted that the letter would ever make it out of her possession. It was best that it didn’t. The consequences would be dire for both she and Rory if it did. And she wouldn’t do that to him. As much as she wanted to spend the rest of her days with him, she kenned she couldn’t. She had been promised to another and had to fulfill her commitment, no matter how much it pained her. How miserable her future would be. It mattered naught.
When Rory presented her to Michael MacDonell, she would follow through with her duty, and she would set Rory free. Because he deserved to be happy.
Unable to sleep, she lay awake, looking at the stars and whispered, “What am I doing?”
The universe didn’t answer though.
Her heart did. And the only answer that felt right was—falling.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Rory woke earlythe next morn, his heart heavy. He hadn’t slept well. Not with thoughts of Alana constantly in his head. He kenned what the feeling was that had him in such a chokehold. He couldn’t deny it. As much as he should. As much as he needed to.
