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Peering over his shoulder to look at Cristane, who’d removed not a stitch of her wet clothing, he tried again.
“I will not look.”
Much as I would like to.
“And as for a warning, none is needed. The men are already aware McKinnon is making a move. Although it seems word of it had not yet spread this morn.”
She said nothing.
He’d not meant it as a rebuke, but Rory belatedly realized it might have sounded like one.
“I should not have gone.”
He seized the opportunity. “Nay, you should not have. As recompense, I ask you take off those wet clothes and join me by the fire.”
Without looking back, Rory moved his discarded tunic and shirt and laid them on the floor in front of the now-raging fire. If their absence was not already noted, it would be soon. The quicker they could get warm and dry, the quicker they could return to the keep.
He stood, waiting for her to speak, but the sound that came next made him freeze in place. Though she made hardly any noise, Cristane’s mantle hitting the floor might as well have been a battle cry. The clank of metal, a buckle perhaps, was akin to two swords coming together for the first time.
Each moment that passed, he imagined another piece of clothing being removed. Honor required him to continue to stare at the fire.
Honor be damned.
“You peeked!”
Aye, he had dared to do so. She’d been untying one side of her hunter green kirtle. He should have waited just a bit longer.
“Apologies,” he murmured.
“You are not at all sorry, my lord.”
Nay, he was not. If he was sorry for anything, it was that he’d not glimpsed more.
“Rory,” he corrected.
More rustling greeted his admonishment. Suddenly, she was next to him, the blanket he’d given her wrapped around her shoulders.
She sneezed, moving to place her discarded garments near his own.
“I should have done that for you,” she said.
“You are no maid here,” he said, standing upright and moving away from her. The sight of Cristane wrapped up in that blanket, along with the knowledge she’d passed along the night before, was proving too heady a combination.
“I am always a maid.” She moved closer to the fire, avoiding his gaze.
“One who has risen in the ranks more than any other,” he said truthfully. “And she will send for you,” he added, knowing his sister’s absence worried her.
“I know.”
He watched her as she observed the flames lick at the wood.
“I am sorry for what happened today,” he said softly. “Mayhap you’ll leave Scotland happily after this morn.”
Cristane turned to him, blinking. “Sorry? For having rescued me? It is I who am sorry for having ventured out, knowing ’twas not safe. For putting you in danger.”
“I was never in danger.”
It was not a boast, but the truth.
“How did you find me so quickly?”
Rory already knew from her clothing, which now lay on the floor, that Cristane still wore her shift. He also knew that he’d never desired anything so much as he did to toss back the blanket held precariously by her gentle fingers. To show her that despite never having guessed the truth of her feelings, he was quickly becoming accustomed to them. More than that, he was able to admit he felt the same way, despite knowing it could never be.
He’d not dishonor her.
But he would sorely like to.
And the truth would do nothing to ease the growing tension between them.
“I had been looking for you already,” Rory admitted.
Clearly surprised, Cristane opened her mouth and closed it. And then she asked the one question that would complicate their situation even further.
“Why?”
