Page 51 of Hunted By the Hard Highlander

Aurora nodded, unable to speak. Her mind swirled; the herbal scent of the room and the pine that seemed to stick to him was enough to make her knees weak. Somehow, she managed to stay upright, to hold his gaze even though she felt her face heating up. His proximity was almost too much to handle.

“Ye shouldnae stay here for much longer,” Hendry said, though it did not sound as if he truly wished for her to go. “Tomorrow will be long. Ye will be meetin’ so many people. Ye will need as much energy as ye can.”

“I suppose I will,” she admitted, unable to force her feet to move. “But I daenae think that I will be able to sleep if I go back now.”

“That is why I was workin’ on storin’ the dried herbs,” he admitted, the corner of his mouth twitching as he spoke. “I could let ye assist me if it will help ye get to sleep this evenin’.” He nodded his head toward the station. “Or I can walk ye back to yer chambers now.”

“I would love the distraction,” she said, cursing herself for how pleased she was at being welcomed into the fold with him.

It had become more and more difficult to deny her attraction to him, to pretend that just seeing his ruggedly handsome face did not make her heart flip in her chest. She was not sure what reasons she had to keep fighting it aside from protecting her own feelings. If she could see into his head, understand exactly what he thought of her and how he felt, it would be easier to let herself relax in his presence.

“Then come along,” he said, holding her gaze for another long moment before he turned and walked back to the table. “I have seen yer handwritin’, would ye like to make the labels?”

“Aye,” she said, accepting the quill and the pot of ink as she settled in the chair across from Hendry. A second passed as she waited for his direction. “I understand why ye come here. It is calming, the scent, the cabin.”

“I’ve always come to the garden to clear me mind,” Hendry said, picking up a sharp pair of shears and a bundle of chamomile. As he cut the tips away, dropping the closed blossoms into the jar in front of him. “I’ve noticed that ye do as well.”

Aurora blushed, keeping her hand steady as she wrote out the label, dotting the “i” with a flourish. Softly, she said, “Perhaps I should apologize for intruding on the place that ye come to decompress.”

“Nay, ye daenae have to apologize,” he said thoughtfully, his movements rhythmic and practiced. Aurora could not take her eyes off of him, mesmerized by how easily he moved, how familiar this action was to him. “But ye should be mindful of comin’ here in the dark. Alone. Nay while the threat of MacGonagal is still loomin’.”

“I will try me best,” Aurora said, accepting the jar when Hendry closed it and slid it across the table to her. “But I cannae make any promises if there is a fire burnin’ in the cabin.”

“I may just let ye stay if ye do,” he replied, even and low, the words penetrating Aurora’s skin and sending a shiver up her spine.

She wanted to believe it was nothing more than the slight chill that inspired the reaction, but it was becoming harder and harder to lie to herself around him.

Chapter Twenty-Four

“That is all,” Hendry said, watching as Aurora fastened the label with a ribbon around the rim of the jar. Her fingers were steady, moving with an almost unnatural delicacy. “Ye should go back to the castle. I will walk ye to yer chambers and ensure ye get back safely.”

Even as he said it, he knew that he did not want to send her away, not yet. Her arrival, though unexpected, had been a welcome distraction from the storm in his head. She was more than a distraction, though. Seeing her settled something in him, the confirmation that she was safe curling in his chest the same way a shot of whisky did.

He could tell she felt the same, that she wanted to remain here. Her fingers still lingered on the glass container, looking down at it with a thoughtful expression, almost as if she were attempting to invent a reason to stay longer. Hendry stayed quiet, allowing her the chance to plead her case.

I will likely grant it, I already ken.

Finally, she lifted her head, meeting his eyes with an earnest expression. Their eyes met for a beat, silent communication passing between the two of them. She asked, earnestly with a twinge of something that sounded almost like underlying frustration, “Ye ken that everyone calls ye a hermit, daenae ye?”

For a moment, Hendry struggled to process what she had said. He had expected anything other than that. There was an open expression on her face, but underneath it, he saw the spark of irritation at something unseen grow a bit deeper, like her question had been something she had been holding onto stubbornly. He was not sure if it bothered her, or if she was concerned about him.

“Aye,” he said before he let the silence stretch on for too long. His eyes never left her, watching for her reactions, trying to gauge where the feeling had originated.

“And ye arenae bothered?” she asked, her eyes widening with surprise. “It doesnae get under yer skin that people call ye that? That they speak about ye behind yer back in such a way?”

“It doesnae matter what they call me. People were always goin’ to discuss me in ways they wouldnae to me face. It is somethin’ that comes along with bein’ the Laird. Everyone has their opinions. I am nae at liberty to govern them.” Hendry sighed, holding her gaze for a beat before turning his attention to the crackling fire. “Ye ken that sickness unlike any we’ve ever kent swept through the lands. Entire families died within days. I was nae more than a young man when it happened.”

Across the table, Aurora’s breath hitched audibly, a fracture in that frustration that seemed to be driving her line of questioning. Quickly, she forced her breathing back to normal as she said, “I ken. And it was a terrible thing. Ye handled it much better than anyone else would have.”

“I daenae ken about that,” Hendry said, his jaw tightening. Somehow, she had managed to touch on the one thing that kept him up at night. It was as if she had aimed the dirk he had given her straight at his chest. The fire crackled, a log splitting and falling within the grate. “I ken there are so many places that I could have acted differently or made a different decision. I did me best, but it wasnae enough to save everyone. Me family succumbed to illness, and I took on this title as a young boy without any true understanding of how to be a leader. I had to learn from me mistakes, and because of me mistakes some of me people paid with their lives.”

He swallowed down the emotions, refusing to let any more venom slip through his lips. His own desires to prepare Adair for inheriting his title were partially selfish, a way for him to correct the course that he took. He would not let another young boy be forced into a position that was so important without the guidance of someone else. Hendry would not allow Adair to make the same mistakes he did, nor live with the regrets that haunted him and kept him awake at night. Though he could never speak it aloud, it was clear Aurora recognized it for what it was.

He was not sure if he was grateful that he did not have to explain himself or unnerved by just how well the woman could read him after knowing him for such a short amount of time.

“I carried the sick meself,” he told her, the words scraping on his throat as they forced their way out, “and I buried the dead with me own hands. I searched endlessly like a mad man for herbs that might stop the spread of disease,” he continued, the words needing to come out, begging for someone to see him clearly. An inexplicable voice in his head told him to press forward, to allow Aurora to know all of him, each movement he had made in the past, the painstaking lessons that he had learned from each mistake. “And when I realized that there wasnae any containin’ the disease, that nae amount of herbs would stop it from takin’ over the land like a rogue wave, I was forced to make an impossible decision.”

For a beat, there was only quiet between them. Then, softly, Aurora said, “Ye had to bring every survivor here.”