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“No, go with your wife, that’s more important. The sword can wait. You’re probably right, we’ll find it yet.”
Rory sat down when his father closed the door behind him. He’d known this was coming, he should have been prepared for it, but he still felt as if someone had punched him in the chest.
He stripped off and pulled the covers over himself, feeling the warmth begin to seep into his cold flesh. The long walk had tired him, and even his father’s news couldn’t keep his eyes from closing.
Chapter Twelve
1816, Summer
Scotland
My mother inherited it from her mother. She was a Matheson.” Rory was telling her about the land she owed. He knew the history, and when she asked him for names, he went back several generations without even thinking about it.
He amazed her sometimes. Well he was amazing most of the time, if she were truthful.
When Mr Maclean had suggested they go on this trip she had had her doubts. After the Widow had spoiled their idyll she hadn’t been sure they could regain the easy companionship that had begun to grow between them. However Rory had seemed agreeable to the idea, and by the time they set out the sound of rebuilding at the castle was so loud she was glad she’d said yes.
Archie waved to them as they rode away, their horses weighed down with the necessities of a journey in the Highlands. Rory turned back when they were nearly out of sight and his father was still there.
Olivia, seeing the expression on his face, knew there were questions she must ask, but not yet. They had plenty of time, and she told herself she must wait and try not to make a mess of it. At the moment they were both treading on eggshells.
On the first night they stayed with Maclean relatives, and although they were kind and curious, Olivia found their accents so thick she could barely understand a word. There wasn’t much room, so she curled up with the
children, while Rory lay down in the main room with the other men. She barely slept a wink, and she thought from the shadows under Rory’s eyes that neither had he.
Olivia made up her mind then that, if they were to heal this rift, they needed to spend their time together. And if words wouldn’t do it, then she knew what would.
The next night they found an inn, a poor sort of place, but as they sat down to their supper she took Rory’s hand in hers and waited for him to meet her eyes.
“You will not sleep with the horses,” she said firmly.
He stared at her for a moment and she saw the surprise in his face. “How did you know?” he asked roughly.
“That I was able to bathe every night and sleep in luxury because you went without both? I knew, Rory. There is no need.”
“I felt a need. A man must care for his wife as best he can.”
“And you did. You have. But I’m not the fragile flower your mother was, and I’d rather we spent our nights together.”
He said nothing, but she saw him glancing at her during the meal, as if he was trying to come to terms with her change of heart. The inn had an old fashioned box bed, enclosed in what looked like a cupboard, and it was only as they lay down at last that they were finally alone.
“Remember the bath we took together in Mockingbird Square?” his voice was deep and soft in the darkness.
She remembered. The slippery warmth of their soapy bodies, the slide of his against hers, until they didn’t care how much water they spilled onto the floor. She’d thought herself so decadent and he had laughed at her when, afterwards, she worried about what the servants would think when they were cleaning up the mess.
If there had been such a thing as a bath at the castle it was gone now. Olivia had grown used to washing herself from a bowl.
“There’s always the loch,” he said, when she spoke her thoughts aloud.
“You swim like a fish,” she murmured. “I’ve been watching you.”
Rory moved closer and she felt his arm beneath her shoulders, as he carefully drew her against his body. He gave her plenty of time to change her mind but Olivia had no intention of setting the rules this time.
“I’ve been watching you,” she said again, “because I can’t help myself. When that woman—”
“I don’t want to talk about the Widow. It’s forgotten.”
But Olivia couldn’t let the subject go without explaining why she had spoken as she did. She needed him to understand, no matter how embarrassed about it she felt.
