Page 9 of The Chief

Chapter 5

Rory had anticipated this moment all day.

And whenever he’d caught a free moment amidst readying the men, fortifying the castle walls, and sending scouts in all directions to confirm Kerr’s claims that McKinnon was indeed on the move, he’d thought of one thing.

The girl who had become a woman before his eyes. Whose breasts he’d nearly spied once quite by accident a few years earlier, a day he’d not easily forget. She and his sister had apparently thought it prudent to cool themselves on a hot summer’s day by the river that ran from north to south just outside the castle’s outer walls. He’d come upon them inadvertently. When Cristane had turned his way, not seeing him approach, he’d seen the outline of her full breasts beneath her thin, wet shift. And before he’d turned away, he’d also caught a glimpse of the dark triangle between her legs.

He clearly remembered holding himself in his palm that night as he thought of her standing by that river. He’d realized the sweet, pretty girl he’d always valued for her pleasant disposition was a girl no longer. His sister’s maid had very much become a woman. And if their circumstances had been different, he would have gladly given his buckle to her years earlier.

But not once had he imagined she might feel that way about him. And Rory had always prided himself on his ability to ascertain others’ feelings and intentions. His father, his brother . . . they’d complimented him on little, but both had praised his ability to understand others.

He’d never known.

And now that he did? Nothing had changed. Their circumstances remained exactly the same. And yet he’d come to the feast anyway. Perversely, he had needed to see her, even knowing it might give the other maids another excuse to treat her poorly.

Nay, I will not allow it.

“Tell me the truth,” he whispered in her ear. Had it always been so delicately shaped? Her hair was pulled back on both sides in the loose braids she so often gave her sister, the two twining together at the back. But the rest flowed freely, beckoning him to breathe deeply of its sweet scent. “How long?”

As more couples joined them, Rory led her to the outer rim of the floor.

“My lord, please.”

He pulled back enough so they could see each other. The nose that always wrinkled when she laughed, her deep and lovely eyes . . . every feature he knew so well looked different to him now.

Less lovely, more sensual.

Less friendly, more womanly.

Rory, get ahold of yourself.

“I am not my lord, but Rory. I am not some man you’ve just met but one you’ve known for many years. So aye, you’ve the right of it. Please.” He did inhale then and wanted to bottle her scent and take it with him always. “Tell me.”

A new song. This one faster. If this had been any other dance, he’d have been forced to give her up by now. But this was the lover’s pick, and because of it, Rory was free to hold her hand, touch her waist, spin this beautiful woman around for as long as the pick continued.

He dearly hoped several men picked poorly.

He’d made her uncomfortable, even more so than earlier, and so he decided to make her laugh. He spun her about once, twice, a third time, and she crashed against his chest, laughing despite herself. Others seated about the hall were watching them, he knew, and a perverse part of him wanted them to see. To talk.

Have I ever been happier than in this moment?

It was the most reckless he’d ever felt, the most joyful, although he knew he shouldn’t be putting her in such a position. She likely knew it too, and yet they continued that way, dancing, laughing, for what seemed like hours. Yet it wasn’t long enough by half.

“The last pick,” someone yelled as a maid, Maria, came tumbling toward them with a stableboy. Though young, the couple beamed at each other in a way that told him they were one of the few pairs who would use this feast day as the beginning of something real. Turning the game into reality.

“They like each other,” he whispered, taking Cristane’s hand once more in the very position they’d begun in.

She peered over his shoulder, the music slowing for one final time.

“Aye, they do.”

Their eyes met.

They had been talking of the young couple, but something changed within that look—both of them were now thinking about their own connection.

God, he loved her blush.

“How long have they liked each other?” Rory asked with a smirk.