Page 11 of Rescued By the Highland Warrior (Highland Whispers of Love #1)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

M oira sat on her bed, unfolding that morning’s events in her mind. At first, her thoughts were consumed with everything that had happened with Roderick, the way in which he held her, and how angry he had been when he found out she was lying.

Then she shook herself off and decided, it would be much more useful to replay what she saw in Mr. Dunbar’s chambers. She had noticed so many different herbs, and she was glad that she had made some time to write them down. Moira scanned the parchment paper filled with her notes and retraced her thoughts for anything she might have missed.

She really hoped that Edin would be able to help.

There was a sharp knock on her door that re-directed her attention, and before she had time to respond, it flung open.

It was Roderick, standing tall in the doorway, his dirty blond hair disheveled, no doubt, from the harsh winds. He looked frustrated, although no more frustrated than he’d been over the past twenty-four hours.

“Roderick,” Moira said, setting aside her parchment paper. “I am sure ye are aware that it is unbecoming to barge into a lady’s bed chambers like this?”

“Me apologies Moira,” he said, without any indication that he was truly apologetic at all. “But I came tae ask ye, whether ye have made any progress since our last meeting?”

If there was one thing that frustrated Moira, more than her own lack of answers concerning the case, it was Roderick’s incessant questioning and lack of patience. In all the cases she’d worked on, she never dealt with someone quite so impatient, but she also had never, she believed, met a person who cared so much.

“I have nae yet made progress,” she said calmly. She reminded herself that he cared, and so his impatience was a matter of his heart—not her failure.

“Ye mustn’t waste any time” he said, pacing up and down the room. “People will go hungry if we dinnae get this sorted soon

Whenever Roderick got angry, Moira got a sense of how he might be in battle, his tension palpable, his focus sharp, and his movements deliberate. It was the same determination that she recognized made him a strong leader and it elicited her admiration. And that, despite her frustrations, gave her a feeling of safety and protection in his presence.

There was a part of her that also liked calming him down.

“What dae ye mean people will go hungry?” She asked.

Roderick paused mid-pace, his eyes narrowing as he turned to face her. The firelight cast shadows across his face, emphasizing the deep lines of concern etched there.

“One o’ our largest wheat fields has burned intae flames, and I dinnae ken what we can salvage at this point, but it is nae much. Our reserves are already slim as is, and even if we dae manage tae trade with another clan, there’s nae much we can get without any sort o’ formal betrothal.”

“I see,” Moira said calmly, her stomach tightening at the weight of his words. The thought of people starving due to her, whether fully her fault or not, was harrowing. She didn’t need more motivation to work any harder—but the idea of it certainly made her pulse race and caused her stomach to fill with dread.

She was accustomed, however, to pushing those worries aside when needed.

“An’ what dae ye expect me tae dae?” She asked. “Ye ken well that I am workin’ as fast as I can.”

“We need tae find out who the murderer is as soon as possible,” Roderick pressed, “so that there will be enough time fer me to mak’ a strong alliance an’ marry a lass fer the good o’ me clan.”

Moira’s stomach clenched, there was something about what he had said that bothered her. For some reason it made her feel as though she wasn’t good enough for him, even though their betrothal was fake, and his plans were sound. She felt as though she was mixing reality with the roles they were playing. It was a very slippery road.

“I’ve been workin’ on it,” Moira said, her voice a bit louder and more determined as she rose from her bed and moved toward him. “But ye dae ken that there is a high chance there was never even a murder tae begin with. As fer our investigative work, we’re going off a hunch, but if ye decide tae base the well-being of yer clan on this, then I cannae stop ye.”

“We’ve been through this before,” he said. “An’ ye admitted yerself that something appeared tae be amiss. There’s nae use in backtracking now.”

“I understand yer frustrations,” Moira continued, as she stood inches away from him. There was a fire in her eyes that matched his intensity, though hers, she believed, was tempered by reason. Although she stood close to a man practically double her size, she didn’t feel threatened—she just felt frustrated, wildly so.

“Dae ye?” He questioned.

“Roderick, I dae. But I cannae just pull answers from thin air.”

“Ye mock me,” Roderick challenged, his eyes blazing.

“Nay.” She challenged back, as they stood as close to one another as they could without touching. They stayed there for a beat, the tension between them as taut as a bowstring ready to snap.

Neither of them moved, their breaths mingling in the charged air. Moira could feel the heat radiating off him, the raw frustration in his gaze matched only by her own. How is it, she thought, that they could get along so well one moment, and then completely snap the next?

Roderick’s jaw tightened, and he broke the tension by looking away as he spoke. “Listen, Moira, I understand that this case may be a challenge, but I dinnae believe that ye have nay power at all to speed things up given the circumstances. All I ask is ye gather yer energies and try tae move things along a little faster.”

“Pardon me?” Moira asked, her eyes widened with fury. If Roderick believed that Moira was going to let his words go easy, he had another thing coming.

“There seems tae be a lot o’ mystery surroundin’ the Triad an’ their supposed skills,” Roderick continued, his tone sharp and his eyes maddened. “Perhaps I was wrong tae place me faith in ye.”

Moira’s hands clenched into fists at her sides, and she took a short breath to steady her anger. “Wrong tae place yer faith in me?” she repeated, her voice threatening to break its calm tone. “Roderick, ye dragged me intae this matter, an’ I’d urge ye nae tae speak on things ye dinnae understand. If anything, ye should be careful nae tae waste mine an’ the Triad’s time, nae the other way round.”

“I dinnae understand it, ye tell me nae tae speak on things I dinnae understand—but ye never explain what they are. What is it that I’m missin’?”

“The Triad took me in when me family was killed. I grew up with the organization, an’ at one point in me life, all I could think about was revenge. But wi’ time, an’ wi’ the help o’ the Triad I grew stronger. I realized that chasin’ vengeance daesnae serve anybody, nae even serve yerself.” There was something in the earnestness of his voice that weakened her, but she kept her tone cold.

Moira had never told anyone outside of the Triad this before, and for some reason, despite her anger, she felt comfortable telling him. She felt that it was something he needed to hear, and she’d been thinking of saying it all along, although only when provoked just now, did she find the words.

“Aye,” Roderick said. “I can see that the Triad has made ye strong, but they’ve made ye cold too, Moira. As cold as ice.”

“Ye cannae understand the things I went through tae survive,” Moira said, her words steady and calm. “Livin’ as a laird in yer castle with everythin’ ye could ever need. I went hungry, cold—there was nay one tae save me. If ye think I’m cold now, it is only because that is what the world required o’ me, as yer world requires yer action from ye.”

Roderick smiled, shaking his head. “There it is. There’s the real Moira—willingly hardened by the world, unyieldin’, an’ sharp-tongued. Ye hide behind that mask o’ kindness an’ civility when wi’ others, but if only they kent...”

Somehow Roderick had managed to get to her, really get to her, past the surface level layers of her anger and frustration. He had touched on a wound that Moira didn’t feel like re-opening, and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could stand there listening to his assessment of her.

“That’s enough. Ye’re the one who called me cold an’ calculatin’. Ye have nay place tae judge me thoughts or actions, an’ now I would like ye tae leave.”

Moira walked away from him, standing in front of the window with her back to Roderick, her arms crossed firmly against her chest. If she hadn’t been trained in managing her emotions, she would have felt like crying—but all Moira could think about was that she needed space from him.

He didn’t speak any further, and she watched his reflection on the glass of the window, waiting for what would do next. A fleeting shadow of what appeared to be sadness crossed over his eyes, and he let out a heavy sigh.

He turned away from her, and Moira watched as he closed the doors.

She stood there for a while, gazing out at the grey skies, wondering why she felt the need to explain herself to Roderick, and what exactly the problem was with her being so cold.

Moira must have been standing there, gazing out of the window for a while, but she was only momentarily taken out of her trance when she noticed a figure moving toward the stables. The skies were even darker than before, and it was nearing sunset, but even in the diminishing light, she recognized who it was.

After a few moments, she noticed Roderick leaving the stable with a horse. He pulled it behind him, and once stationary, he placed a foot on the stirrup before swinging himself up onto the saddle in one smooth motion.

As Roderick rode off, something inside her urged her to follow.

Where was he goin’?

She had just shared something very intimate with him, and now he was leaving? She couldn’t explain it to herself, but for some reason, she pulled away from the window, hastily put on her coat, and raced down the stairs.

The castle was quiet, and she rushed to the stables without trouble, mounting a horse faster than seemed possible and raced off. The cold evening air bit at her cheeks as she urged the animal forward, the hooves of her steed pounding against the earth in a steady rhythm.

She was a good rider, and soon she noticed his horse ahead of her in the distance, moving further and further away from the castle, following a winding path. She made sure to follow him at a safe distance.

It wasn’t the first time that Moira had had to follow someone undetected, so she was particularly good at it too.

Eventually, Roderick stopped at a small town that was nestled in a hollow between two rolling hills. The town was small, but charming, made up of narrow cobbled streets, weathered stone cottages, and market stalls selling food and goods.

She tied her horse to a tree in a hidden area at the edge of the town, an area that Roderick would not have to pass to get back home. As she got down from her horse, she made her way into the town, that was already beginning to quieten down for the evening. She treaded carefully, watching Roderick who was illuminated by the faint glow of lanterns that lined the streets.

What are ye daein’ here?

At first, she considered that he might have been there investigating, but as she continued watching, she noticed that he wasn’t speaking to anyone at all. Instead, he kept to himself, walking along the stalls, and stopping only to look at produce—before continuing ahead.

Eventually, he stopped at a small tavern. Moira watched as he came outside, standing against the wall, a chalice of ale in hand. He stood there, drinking slowly, not speaking to anyone, seemingly lost in the deepest of thoughts.

The townspeople she saw didn’t seem to take notice of him either, or at least, if they did, they were too wrapped up in their own business to give him a second glance. He seemed at ease, as though he had come here countless times before .

Once finished with his drink, he went walking around the stalls once more. He moved more quickly this time, before coming suddenly to a halt.

Moira realized that she was too close, and instantly rushed to hide behind a stack of crates near the side of one of the stalls. Her heart hammered through her chest as she stayed there for a moment, and after a few seconds, she slowly peeked out again. She noticed that Roderick was finally talking to someone—a young bairn.

The bairn was crying, she must have been just a few years old, and her face was flushed red, as streaks of tears poured down her face.

She saw Roderick crouching by her. She creeped forward, careful to stay hidden, to get a closer look. She was close enough now to make out what he was saying.

“What is wrong wi’ ye, wee lassie?” He asked, his voice soft, “there’s nay reason tae be lookin’ so sad.”

“I cannae find me maither,” she wailed.

Roderick’s expression softened even further, his eyes filled with a mix of sympathy and concern.

“Ah, yer maither’s lost, ye say?” he murmured, his voice low and comforting. “Let’s see if we cannae find her together, aye?”

The young bairn nodded, wiping her tears.

Moira watched as Roderick picked up the child, taking her around the market, as he stopped at each stall. Her chest tightened as she too felt sympathy for the young bairn, and admiration that Roderick would be so gentle and caring.

She watched as he gently cradled the child in his arms and followed him until he eventually found what appeared to be the mother.

Moira’s heart swelled involuntarily, as Roderick passed the child back to her bewildered mother. The mother’s eyes glistened with tears of relief as she whispered something that Moira could not hear.

In response, he went to the closest market stall and bought the little girl a slice of frosted cake. Her face, still blotchy from crying, broke into a smile, as she reached out her hands to accept it.

As he walked away, she took a few steps forward, still keeping her distance, but unable to stop herself from following his movements. Something about the way Roderick had behaved had replaced her previous anger with a certain, unexpected, warmth toward him. It still felt strange to her to have these unusual feelings, and she couldn’t make sense of it at all, but there was something that urged her to get closer to him. An uncontrollable force that willed it.

As she saw Roderick get back onto his horse and ride in the direction of the castle, she immediately snapped herself out of it. Just because he made her feel things she wasn’t used to feeling, it didn’t mean that she had to feel vulnerable. Moira, got back on her horse and followed him to the castle, the cold air doing little to cool her thoughts.