Walking to her trunk he inspected the items inside. There was no way they were bringing all of these items along with them. She would need to choose a few essential pieces to pack and then they would be on their way.
After what had seemed too much time had passed, Alana reappeared, dressed in a blue gown made of a rich material that showed her status and station, reminding him that she was soon to be a lady. She was a laird’s daughter. One that, apparently, stayed cloistered indoors considering the gown she now donned. It was much too nice for hiking, but he had a feeling she wouldn’t take too kindly to him pointing that out. At least clean, dry boots covered her feet—a practical choice—and her face had been washed of the streaks of dirt that were there when Rory had first seen her.
He quickly stepped away from the trunk, not wanting her to think he had been rifling through her things. Instead, he held out the empty travel sack he had tried to offer her earlier.
Her eyes fell to his hands and then back to his gaze, her brows crinkling. “What is that?”
“What does it look like? ’Tis a bag for ye to put yer items in.” He urged her to take it, but she shook her head.
“I have my trunks already filled with my things. I dinnae need a sack,” her voice dripped with disgust.
“Yer trunks will be delivered to yer destination, but no’ by us. We move on foot. We cannae carry yer trunks.”
Her pretty mouth opened in shock. “On foot? What are ye saying?”
Rory inhaled a long breath. “We are only taking the essentials since we are carrying our things. We are walking. I suggest ye pack what ye need.” He turned on his heel, but paused and spun around. “And only what ye need,” he added firmly.
Alana crossed her arms stubbornly. “I willnae leave my things behind. Ye are jesting.”
He leveled his gaze on Alana, clashing with her hazel eyes. “I am most certainly no’. And ye arenae leaving them behind. They will be delivered to yer new home.”
“Ye cannae expect me to walk. I was being transported in acarriage. I expect the same,” she said with a huff, her voice loud. Shrill, and getting higher with each word she spoke.
Once again, Rory cursed his father for sending him on this foolhardy mission.
“Weel, my lady,” he said sarcastically. “I am neither yer father nor yer betrothed. I dinnae travel by carriage. I was on my way to a days’ long hike when I got tasked with escorting ye to where ye need to be. And hiking I will be doing.”
Her eyes widened, but she remained silent.
“Now, we leave soon. Leave most of what ye have packed in yer trunks and only bring what ye absolutely need.” He planted his feet and crossed his arms, leaving no room for argument, and waited for her to do as she was told.
Alana huffed as she looked from her trunks to the bag he had dropped at her feet when she refused to take it. “I have ne’er been treated with such disrespect,” she snapped as she snatched up the sack. “My future husband will hear of this treatment. He willnae be happy. Ye will see. I will ensure that ye pay,” she threatened, moving to one of the trunks and began to stuff things inside, mumbling the whole time.
Rory rolled his eyes as he watched her choose items that would be of little use on their journey. “Ye neednae aught fancy. We will be hiking through the Highlands, no’ attending ceremonies andceilidhs.” In his own pack, he had all the essentials they would need. He thought about what the coming night would hold. If she was this upset about their travels, he could only imagine what her reaction would be when they made camp later this eve.
Her shrill cries and constant complaints would for certs scare away any wee beasties hiding in the trees. They needn’t fear an attack from any wild creatures. The beasts would stay far away from them.
“What exactly do ye propose that I bring then? Unlike ye, I am obviously no’ accustomed to traipsing through the woods to get to mydestination.”
He fought a smile. He didn’t want her to ken her reaction amused him.
Tilly appeared with a bundle of food that she handed him, and he found space in his pack to add it.
“Thank ye. Ye are much too kind.”
“Och,” Tilly swept the air with her hand in dismissal. “I cannae have the laird’s son starving now can I?”
“Starving would be an improvement,” Alana mumbled.
“What was that, Lass?” Rory asked, once again amused.
“Stop calling me lass,” she snapped. “I have a name. Ye can call me Lady Alana or Miss Duran. Either would be acceptable but stop calling me lass.”
“Are ye ready, Lady Alana?” He drawled.
She looked at her trunk and then at her pack and shrugged. “I suppose. I have no idea. Yer instructions were truly lacking. Much like yer manners.”
Tilly gasped in surprise.
