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4
When I emerge from the washroom, Rory’s sitting on the edge of my bed, a soft frown indenting his brows. Moonlight dances in his blond hair. He glances up at me, his troubled gaze clearing only slightly, before murmuring, “Sleep with us tonight. Downstairs.”
I bite my lip. “Weren’t you listening? Arabella’s out to get us.”
“Yeah.” Rory heaves a sigh, and the troubled look returns. “She’s not right, that one.”
“Maybe it was naive of us to come back so soon after Luke abdicated. We should have expected blowback.”
Rory’s eyes turn that particular shade of storm gray that cause anticipatory shivers to run down my spine. “Lochkelvin is my home. These are my lands. I refuse to let either myself or my friends be chased out of it by a zealous mob.”
He stands, pacing my bedroom and frowning down at the stone slabs like they’ve personally disappointed him.
“Is Lochkelvin safe for Luke?” I ask, suddenly nervous. The question seems too big, like there are too many possible outcomes. “Because if Arabella’s on his case — and weknowwhich side she’s on—”
“Yes. Luke wants to be here. People here know Luke personally. He’s a good guy. They respect him. The people who read newspapers? They don’t have that personal connection with him. That’s why the outside is more dangerous than Lochkelvin. They don’t have firsthand knowledge of who Luke is. Belly’s an anomaly. And I can assure you, Luke’s been called a hell of a lot worse thanlankybefore.” I note that he misses out the wordfraud. “Also, if the press are calling himbonny prince, then that’s only going to balloon his head. He’s safe here. I’ve promised him that.”
Rory reaches for my hand. His thumb strokes me tenderly. “Fuck them all. We can be together when we want. Nothing’s going to stop us. Even if it has to be stolen moments in empty classrooms, I’ll make sure they can’t take that away from us.” He kisses me, a promise brought deliberately to my lips.
It’s strange. I’d spent weeks with the freedom to hop from bed to bed, to kiss whomever I wanted, to dance and flirt and party and laugh. And as I lie in my single bed, gazing up at the stone ceiling and the lone lampshade-less lightbulb — missing the feel of arms around me, a bare chest against me — I wish I could have Rory’s conviction that Lochkelvin provides.
* * *
Ihadn’t considered the social hierarchy of being girlfriend to one of the chiefs, never mind seemingly all of them, but places are reshuffled for me at their table. Gremlins are forced to relocate toward the end, with spaces beside Luke, Finlay and Rory for me and — grudgingly, it seems, but then I suppose it’s natural to grow closer once you’ve compared each other’s cocks — Danny.
“How was yer first night back?” Finlay asks, his bright green eyes focused on me.
I don’t want to be negative and tell him it was particularly awful, that I never got to sleep until past three in the morning, that I missed snuggling with other people. So instead I shrug, noncommittal. “Not as good as… well. You know.”
“Aye,” he murmurs, his voice dropping. “I missed ye, tae.”
My heart clenches. No matter how hard I try to disguise my words, Finlay still ends up reading me like a book as usual. But I’m stopped from feeling too soppy, for letting any of my emotions on display, because a group of gremlins at the end of the table are glowering fiercely in my direction.
Finlay must notice my discomfort because he twists his head around.
“Callum, dinnae be a fuckin’ knob,” Finlay snaps, glaring daggers at a particularly flustered gremlin who’s spent the entirety of breakfast attempting to laser my soul to ribbons for stealing his precious seat. “Quit starin’ at the sassenach and eat yer porridge. Cunt.”
This kind of negotiation tactic seems to work well on someone like Callum, because he promptly looks away and shoves porridge into his crooked mouth.
“Forgive them. They’re used tae bein’ close tae a’ the gossip. We’ve kinda ruined their big world-dominatin’ plans by invitin’ ye so close tae us instead.”
But it feels like it’s not just the gremlins at the end of the table wondering how the hell I’ve taken over the chiefs’ table, it’s the whole hall, staff table included. “Speaking of gossip,” I say, hoping to remove the heat from the back of my neck. Luke’s dark eyes glance up from the front page ofThe Times, where a photo of his family from better days covers the majority of it. “I hear you have a new nickname.”
His lip curls without humor. “The bonny prince,” Luke says bitterly. “It’s nice that my life is such a source of entertainment for them.”
“There are worse names,” says Rory, nudging Luke as he spreads butter across a slice of toast.
Luke’s mouth only curls at a sharper angle. “Yes. I’ve been expecting those, too.”
“Your mum,” Danny says beside me, so quiet that only I can hear him. “What happened? You didn’t come back last night.”
“I had a headache,” I lie. “She’s an expert at giving me those.” God, it seems so cruel to say such a thing, and my attempted laughter doesn’t fool Danny, either. He looks worried. I really wish people would stop looking at me in that pitying, worried way, like I’m a time bomb, like my wiring is all wrong.
Only Rory doesn’t look at me like that. Only Rory takes me at face value.
“So she’s gone?”
“Yes, she’s gone.”
