Page 27
“Hmmm. And she agrees with you, I’ve no doubt.”
“That you act differently when he is near? Aye, she does.”
“Differently,” he murmured.
Her inclination was to change the subject, to avoid trouble, but she reminded herself it was Rory who’d brought this up. Perhaps she could help him. “You do not want him to know how capable you are.”
His reaction was immediate. “’Tis absurd.”
Rather than respond, Cristane continued to eat her stew, knowing it was the nature of man to rebel against criticism. To shut down at the merest hint of it.
After a moment had passed, she looked up at him again. “I’ve noticed the way Angus McFarland treats you. He doesn’t offer you the same respect he shows Terric. You don’t think he believes in your leadership, but I suspect he has a different reason for resenting you.”
That got his attention.
“Oh?”
Taking a small bite of the stew, Cristane wiped the corner of her mouth with the crisp white handkerchief that had been provided. “Do you remember a redheaded woman by the name of Shanna—”
“The old alewife’s daughter. Married a man from the west border.”
That he recalled her so quickly stung, but Cristane put the feeling aside. If she started feeling jealous of Rory’s former flings, she’d never stop. Much to her dismay, there’d been more than a few, and she knew about many of them.
“McFarland’s grandson fancied her, thought the two might marry. Shanna’s father was an old friend of McFarland. Apparently they fought together once, long ago.”
“Hmmm.”
“After you were linked to her . . .” She trailed off, unsure how to put it delicately into words.
“They could not be married.”
“Nay. And ’tis the reason McFarland treats you differently than Terric. He associates you with the woman who caused his family turmoil.”
Rory lifted his goblet and sat back.
“Our relations were fleeting.”
“I am aware.”
Cristane did not like that slow smile, but she was grateful he’d listened to her. Perhaps he could yet repair his relationship with McFarland. If he did so, it would go a long way toward convincing the council to support him as the new chief.
Rory pushed his bowl forward, apparently finished despite the fact that he’d had little more than a few bites. She really wished he would stop looking at her that way.
“What else do you know of . . . my relations?” he asked in a husky voice.
“More than I wish to.”
Oh, she wanted him to kiss her again. Fool that she was, she leaned forward a little in her seat. That small movement, though, was enough to make her realize what she had to do. Pushing her seat back suddenly, she stood.
But Rory was already on his feet as well.
“I cannot . . .”
He grabbed her hand so quickly she had no time to react. The firm grip sent ripples of pleasure through her. This was precisely why she needed to leave. That a mere touch should have so much power over her . . .
“We need to talk.”
She should have pulled away but did not.
