Page 24 of The Chief

Chapter 12

Much to Rory’s consternation, his mother had remained steadfast in her refusal to join them. Cristane could have told him as much from the start. And yet, they were riding together companionably, more so than she would have thought possible given the events of the past week. So she surprised herself when she said something certain to disturb their relative peace. “It cannot be undone.”

“What cannot be undone?”

Wind whistled past them as the barren landscape gave way to Bradon Moor in the distance.

“What was revealed at the feast. The”—she nearly said kiss but bit it back—“lodge.”

He gave her a look she had difficulty reading, something he’d done once or twice since they’d left the manor. Cristane could not quite place Rory’s mood. Nor her own. She’d spent so long yearning for Cait to return, but now she wasn’t so sure she wished to leave. Even if she and Rory couldn’t be together, she’d miss him. And she’d miss Scotland too. It was her home.

Nay, your home is with Cait now. Licheford Castle is not so far south that you’ll never see Scotland again.

Cait would want to visit home, wouldn’t she? She’d want to see Rory. Which meant Cristane would be able to see him too.

But it would not be the same. It would never be the same.

“I would not will it so,” he said, his slow perusal of her sending shivers down her back.

Cristane very much disagreed.

“We can be friends still,” he said, riding closer to her. “Can we not?”

“You are my lord”—she looked over at him, eager for him to listen and heed her—“and a good one. I should not have let you think otherwise for even a moment.”

“Your lord?” Sitting up in his saddle like that, he looked every bit a chief. Why couldn’t he see himself that way?

“Aye, my lord. You are capable of being every bit the chief.”

He shook his head slowly. “I will be the one to oversee our first clan war in years. A reluctant leader at a time when our clan needs Terric.”

She had nothing to lose now. Cristane had bared her soul to this man. She might as well tell all. “You act differently when he is gone. Your brother has never seen this Rory”—his given name came easier now on her tongue—“and you will not show it to him.”

Quiet hung between them as they approached the castle gates and the portcullis was raised for them, but Rory continued to look at her with that strange, intense regard. She knew him well enough to understand he wasn’t ignoring her. He was considering her words. It was one of the things she liked most about him, the thoughtfulness hidden deep beneath a showmanship that fooled only himself. And perhaps Terric.

He didn’t speak again until they’d ridden through the empty outer and inner wards and were approaching the stables.

“What of you?” he finally asked.

“My lord?”

She ignored his stern look. Cristane would not use his given name in front of the stablehands. They already thought her a traitor to her class—no longer quite a servant like them but still very much serving the Kennaugh family.

At his continued scowl, Cristane dismounted and nodded toward Anthony, one of two stableboys. When he took their mounts and led them inside, Rory finally spoke again.

“You’ve earned the right to hand him those reins. To call me by whatever name I give you leave to use. If I act differently with Terric, then certainly you recognize you do the same?”

As they walked toward the keep, the wind tossed Cristane’s hair every which way, the tempest an apt comparison for how she felt inside.

“I do not deny it.”

Stepping into the blessed warmth of the hall, Cristane placed her gloved hands over her ears. They felt like two miniature icicles.

“And will you not deny me?”

With preparations for supper underway, they were anything but alone. And yet, it felt as if only she and Rory stood in the entrance to the hall. His look had changed, his eyes filling with a fire that threatened to burn her.

“Pardon, my lord?”

“The pleasure of your company at supper. Take the meal with me, in the solar.”

She started shaking her head before words could even escape her.

“Nay, I could not.”

“Cristane.” Rory moved toward her. “I would continue this discussion, privately. You have my word I’ll not repeat the mistake I made back in the lodge. But we must talk. My mother . . .”

He stopped when the steward approached.

“What of your mother?” she pressed.

But Rory would say no more. She could sense this was not a subject for the steward’s ears. A private supper was a horribly bad idea given their recent history, but Cristane already knew she would accept his invitation. She wanted to finish their conversation too, and besides, she had never possessed enough willpower to resist this man.

“Very well.”

If he seemed surprised by her acquiescence, she was even more so by how quickly her resolve dissipated whenever Rory was near.