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I stare at him. “A saint?”
“Y’know… Ye dinnae really talk. Ye dinnae fight back. You swan around like ye’re better than us — which is cute, by the way, given who ye are.” Finlay moves away from Luke and, to my astonishment, crouches on the ground beside my bucket to survey me. With a tilt of his head, he declares in a fascinated sort of voice, “I’ve never met a shy American before.”
“I’m not shy,” I mutter, my cheeks burning up. It’s weird. With Finlay right in front of me talking in his low Scottish brogue, it’s like I can’t breathe. I’m not used to this — to beingstudied, especially by someone as attractive as Finlay. At Greenvale, there were hundreds of students just like me. But in this small private school in Scotland, maybe I’m different after all.
Finlay glances up at the statue above us. “Huh. Dinnae normally see it fae this angle.” I follow his gaze to see the undersides of the golden lion and unicorn, two massive magnificent beasts both hell-bent on whatever victory they seek. After a moment, Finlay asks mischievously, “Here, which d’ye prefer — the lion or the unicorn?”
What kind of test is this?
“The unicorn,” I answer without hesitation. “It’s easier to clean.”
Finlay laughs and then looks across to Rory. “Ye hear that? Our saint prefers the unicorn, and she’s a neutral party so shemustbe right. And we’re easier tae clean, tae — nae wonder. Washin’ away centuries o’ dirt.”
It must be a private joke because I don’t know what’s happening or what point Finlay’s trying to make. I kind of got lost when he uttered the wordsour saint.
Nevertheless, Rory rolls his gray eyes, his arms folded over his chest like he’s not amused to still be standing here. “The Yank’s a girl. Obviously she prefers unicorns.”
“Can we cool it with the Yank stuff?” From the severe look Rory gives me, I almost regret asking. But I’m tired. I’m so tired. “It’s just… It’s kinda boring.”
Rory frowns at this. “Boring? But it’s true. I thought saints liked the truth.”
“You can do better,” I suggest, standing up from the plinth and walking slowly toward him. Surprise flickers in his pale gray eyes. I feel like this is the way to understanding Rory. He’s closed-off and acts cruel, but if I take him by surprise then maybe I’ll change his assumptions about me.
But being around Rory is difficult. With every step I take, scenes from this afternoon flash through my mind — ecstasy rolling through him as I witnessed the only time he’s lost composure. He’s composed now — too composed. With his arms folded firmly across his chest, he looks down at me like I’m a strange puzzle he’s not sure he has the desire or interest to solve.
“I didn’t realize the target gets to dictate their own insults.”
I take a small step closer to him. “It’s just… Iknowyou’re more creative than that. Twice you’ve managed to get me into detention through no fault of my own — that’s pretty inventive. But calling meYank… it’s not your best effort, you know?”
Beside Rory, Luke looks utterly bemused. But it doesn’t matter. The air feels heavier here. The rest of the world seems to fall away when it’s just me and Rory, when it’s me walking up to his shuttered gaze like I’m walking up the steps to the heavy closed doors of Lochkelvin.
I feelemboldenedwhen Rory gives me nothing, like I need to do more, be better, act out and prepare myself for battle, just to bring him out of himself.
“What would you like to be called?” he asks in an artificially polite tone, looking down his long noble nose at me. “Seeing as ‘Yank’ is so incredibly dreary to you.”
I shrug. “I’m an outsider. You have a word for that here, don’t you?” When Rory continues to give me a blank look, I say, “Sassenach.”
A flicker ofsomethingpasses across Rory’s aristocratic features. He slowly walks around me, circling me the way he did when we first met. “You want us to call yousassenach?” There’s a dark lilt to his clipped English voice. “Sassenachis used for the English, you stupid Yank.” Before I’m about to answer back, Rory leans in behind me, his warm breath tickling the shell of my ear. “But sure… We can call yousassenachif you want. Our littlesassenachsaint.” The mockery drips from his tongue, and yet I can’t help the shiver that runs down my spine.
Rory’s so close to me, his chest almost touching my back, that I start to wonder if this is how Li felt this afternoon.
I try to clamp down on the part of me that wants theexactposition they had, flesh and blood connecting them.
My body always feels hot around Rory, like I’m burning up inside. My heart thrums like a captured butterfly beneath my tight school shirt, and all I can imagine is Rory’s hands shoving beneath and cupping my breasts.
I shake my head, trying to dislodge that disturbing fantasy from my mind, and my gaze falls on the trio of wicker baskets.
“Are you having a picnic?”
“They’re no’ for us,” Finlay pipes up. “We’re three pure generous souls, really.”
Frowning, I ask, “Then whoarethey for?”
Rory’s hand curls by his side, his face intimately close to mine. “Is that any of your business?”
“It is when you interrupt my work,” I snap at him, our noses almost touching.
“Quiet,sassenach,” Rory says, testing it out with the hint of a smirk on his face, and to my shock I do as he commands.
