Page 18 of Rescued By the Highland Warrior (Highland Whispers of Love #1)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“ R oderick,” his mother’s voice sounded alongside a gentle knock on his study door. “Can I come in?”

“Of course, Maither,” he responded vacantly, his mind muddled with clouded thoughts. “I’m nae too busy.”

Isobel entered and stopped as soon as Roderick’s eyes met hers.

“What’s the matter with ye, Roderick?” she asked. “I can tell that somethin’ is botherin’ ye more than usual, an’ dinnae nae try to tell me otherwise.”

“I found some letters from Faither hidden at the hunting lodge,” Roderick responded curtly. He had decided to speak to Isobel about his concerns. He was too uncertain, too burdened and he needed his maither’s council.

“An’?” Isobel questioned, closing the door behind her.

“An’ I’m wonderin’ whether I’m doin’ the right thing, being wi’ Lady Wilson.”

“Roderick, why on earth would ye be wonderin’ that? Tell me more about these letters, for I ken neathin’ about them.”

“Faither wrote a letter addressed tae me, in which he made it more than clear that he wished me tae marry Malcolm’s daughter and tae give Malcolm’s family the position they deserve after livin’ on the periphery fer so long. The other letters were ordinary business of the clan.

Roderick frowned, unable to disguise his anguish as he ran a hand through his hair. He didn’t want to have to lay all this on his maither’s shoulders, but the problem was plaguing him.

He wanted Moira but he still also wanted to honor his father’s wishes. The conundrum was driving him mad.

Isobel stepped closer, her expression softening. “Roderick, I kenned yer faither better than anyone else, and although I dinnae ken the reason fer those letters, I dae ken that ultimately, all he would have wanted was tae see ye happy. It daesnae matter who ye are wi’.”

“That isnae true,” Roderick said shortly. “I am the laird. Faither taught me that the clan’s survival comes above all else.”

“It’s obvious that ye feel deeply for Moira, Roderick. An’ if he were here, he’d agree wi’ me that it would only be right fer ye tae be wi’ the lass that ye chose. If yer faither hadnae chosen who he wanted, we wouldnae have gotten together, an’ ye wouldn’t be sittin’ here today.”

“Maither,” he said shortly, unable to conceal how affected he was by her words. He was irritated, and he didn’t have time to think about why. “I dinnae have an obligation tae Moira.”

“What dae ye mean?”

“What I mean,” Roderick corrected himself quickly, “is that I just want tae dae right by faither.”

“Aye,” Isobel responded thoughtfully. “I understand that, son.”

“Nay, ye dinnae truly. This situation is far too complicated fer ye tae understand, Maither.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized how condescending and aggressive they sounded.

The more he suppressed his yearning for Moira, the more he tried to cast her aside for the good of the clan and for his father, the more erratic and untethered he felt. The injustice of it all was an uncompromising frustration that burned fiercely inside him.

“I understand that this is difficult fer ye son,” Isobel said, her eyes full of kindness that only served to make Roderick feel worse. “All I can advise ye, although I see right now ye dinnae want me advice, is tae listen tae yer heart more than ye’re listenin’ tae some old words.”

Roderick didn’t respond, and he picked up a quill from his desk twirling it idly to keep his hands busy.

“All will be well, son, ye just have tae trust yerself tae ken what’s right,” Isobel said, and then left the room with one last, concerned, look at her son.

Roderick sat in silence after she left. He felt he owed her an apology, but even more he felt he needed to talk to Moira.

He left his study, walking swiftly and purposefully to her chambers, his body pumped with adrenaline and full of determination. Roderick knew his anger wasn’t useful, but time was of the essence.

Roderick knocked on Moira’s door a few times, and despite there being no response, he opened it slowly.

“Moira?” He asked, walking through. The chambers were dark, but as he looked around, he noticed a slither of light coming from behind a screen in the far corner.

He walked toward it without thinking before he noticed what it was.

“Roderick!” Moira exclaimed, clutching her breasts in a tub as Roderick took in her naked body. His stomach clenched and his manhood hardened almost immediately, as his mind involuntarily recalled the night before.

“Apologies,” he said, swiftly turning his back to her, his jaw tightening as he forced himself to focus on anything else. “I will return at a more convenient time.”

“Nae,” she said, the silkiness to her voice both soothing and exciting. “Dinnae leave, just give me a moment tae get out o’ the tub, an’ we’ll talk.”

“Aye,” Roderick said, his voice low, rougher than he intended. He turned his back, his shoulders tense as he tried to focus on the stone walls, on anything really, other than the feelings he was desperately trying to suppress.

As he heard the soft slosh of water, his resolve wavered. He clenched his fists at his sides, steeling himself against the pull that made his gut tighten. It was maddening how his body reacted to her. Why couldn’t he just show some semblance of control?

Against his better judgment, Roderick turned his head just enough to steal a quick glance.

It was a mere glimpse, but it struck him and weakened him at the same time. He needed her and it drove him mad.

After a few moments, Moira came out, her silky hair dripping down her neck. She was dressed in a robe that did little to hide her full curves and her contrastingly small waist.

“Why are ye here, Roderick?” She asked, her lips parted. “I thought ye had a lot tae attend tae?”

For a moment, Roderick was completely distracted by the way she looked and how she made him feel. But he quickly snapped himself out of it. This was not the time or place.

“We need tae discuss the case,” he said shortly. “And what happened on the ride back from the lodge.”

“I agree,” Moira said, pacing toward the bed. She sat there, looking up at him with her arms crossed and a determined expression swept across her face.

Roderick forcibly snapped his mind back into focus after it lazily wandered to thoughts of her curves.

Moira—calmly sitting before him—on the bed, wasn’t helping.

“We dae need tae talk about it,” she said. “But honestly, it is a little difficult tae dae so if ye refuse tae give me all o’ the information. How am I supposed tae solve the case like this?”

“What dae ye mean?” He demanded, all his frustrations fueling together, matching hers.

“I mean that ye need tae tell me what those letters said, it could be crucial tae the case.”

“It is not yer concern what was in those letters,” Roderick said firmly, his jaw tightening as he met her gaze.

Moira opened her mouth to protest, Roderick was sure of it, and whatever she was going to say, he knew that he’d find it difficult to refute.

Being near to her again was already driving him crazy. It weakened him—so much so that he hardly wanted to discuss the case. Maybe he had thought he could, but he had been wrong. Not when she was looking at him like that.

He needed to get away, back to the privacy of his study, so that he could really think .

Before she had a chance to speak, he turned on his heels and headed for the door.

“Roderick,” she hissed. “Will ye wait?”

But he couldn’t.

He stormed out of her chambers, slamming the door shut.

He moved quickly from Moira’s chambers through the castle’s main halls with his brow furrowed, and his lips taut. Everything was hitting him all at once, and he couldn’t come up for air.

Suddenly he was stopped in his tracks as he almost collided with Malcolm head-on.

“Laird Fraser,” he remarked, “where are ye off tae in such a hurry?”

“Aye, nowhere,” Roderick said gruffly, straightening his shoulders. “Just business tae attend tae is all. How are ye, Malcolm?”

“As fine as one can be durin’ such difficult times,” he responded with a faint smirk.

“Aye,” Roderick responded, “difficult times indeed.”

There was a certain tension in the air between them, although Roderick chalked it up to his mood.

“An’ how is yer daughter keepin’?” He asked. He couldn’t help it, as soon as he saw Malcolm he was reminded of what his father had written. It haunted him as he gazed upon his weathered and aged face.

“Aye, me Fiona,” he said, his grin widened. “She’s the strongest lass I ken, though I dae worry fer her, as any faither would. She is set to visit me here.”

Roderick felt his guilt growing, and he struggled to meet Malcolm’s gaze. He clenched his fists at his sides, willing himself to maintain his composure.

“I ken,” he said, carefully, “that me faither perhaps would have wanted us tae marry.”

As he spoke, he watched closely for his reaction, but his thoughts drifted to Moira. She wasn’t truly his betrothed, yet the mere act of this conversation felt as a betrayal. The night before had complicated things and seeing her undressed in the bathtub just now had him yearning for things he knew he shouldn’t have been.

“I dinnae disagree with ye there, me laird,” Malcolm said, disrupting his thoughts, as a satisfied look swept across his face.

“Aye,” Roderick responded, disappointed in the man’s lack of reaction.

Then, Malcolm stopped him with a firm hand to his shoulder. The weight of it was steady, and the suddenness of the gesture made Roderick tense. He forced himself to remain still, though every instinct in him urged the opposite.

“Before ye go I thought I might add, me laird, if I may,” he said, his voice low, “that if ye and me Fiona had been betrothed, it is likely we wouldnae have had a food shortage problem this upcoming season.”

Roderick’s spine stiffened. The unspoken threat underlying Malcolm’s words was as clear as day. Everything swirled through his mind: his father’s wishes, his duty to the clan, and Moira.

At first, he felt panic, but it quickly turned to anger as he understood the implication of what Malcolm had said.

“Are ye sayin’ what I think ye’re sayin’ Malcolm?” He asked stiffly. “That ye’ve been withholdin’ supplies?”

Malcolm smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m nae sayin’ anythin’ in particular, me laird. ‘Twas just a consideration. Just that I have always done and will always continue tae dae what is best fer the clan.”

Roderick held Malcolm’s gaze, his jaw tensing as his anger bubbled beneath the surface of his skin. The lack of respect that Malcolm clearly had for him didn’t bother him so much as the audacity he had to dangle the clan’s survival as though it were a bargaining chip.

People were going to starve, and Malcolm was treating the matter like it was nothing more than a simple transaction. The thought made Roderick’s stomach churn with disgust.

He was just about to speak—just about to put Malcolm firmly in his place—when a movement flickered in his periphery.

His chest tightened.

Moira.

She moved from the opposite side of the hall with quick, determined steps, her dark hair swaying with each stride. Even from across the corridor, she captured his attention wholly within the span of a second.

“Laird Fraser,” she said hurriedly. “May I speak wi’ ye privately, please?”

“Aye,” he nodded, the disruption breaking the tension. He cast one last glare at Malcolm, before he turned his attention fully to Moira. “Follow me tae me study,” he said.

As he strode past Malcolm and then Moira, he heard her footsteps trailing close behind. The walk to his study helped ease some of his frustration, but not nearly enough.

As soon as they stepped into the study, Roderick shut the door behind them and turned to face her. “What is it, Moira?” he asked, his voice lower now, edged with concern.

“What were ye talkin’ wi’ Malcolm about?” She demanded. Roderick moved past Moira, further into the room. The tension was already weighing on him, and standing so close to her was too much.

He exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair before turning back to her. “It was just clan business, nae anythin’ ye would understand.”

He knew he wouldn’t be able to stay on the fence for much longer, he had to make a choice. Saving the clan by marrying Fiona, giving up the investigation and worst of all, Moira. Or risking it all for the truth and love.

He knew his behavior was hurting her and the wounded expression on her face only made him feel worse.

“An’ why is it nae me business, Roderick? Why would I nae understand?” She asked, stepping closer.

“Well, Moira,” he said. “It is nae as though ye are truly me betrothed. Yer place is wi’ the Triad and I respect that; that is yer choice.”

Moira flinched as though he’d struck her, but she recovered quickly, her eyes flashing with hurt and anger.

“How about yer place, Roderick,” she retorted, her eyes alight. “Ye have nay right tae judge me life or me affiliation. After everythin’ I’ve told ye, I cannae believe ye’d use it against me.”

“If I have nae right tae judge yer life, ye have nae right tae judge mine. It isnae yer place tae ask what I discuss with me councilmen, just as it isnae yer place tae be in this clan.”

“Well, ye have made very sure tae remind me of me place since this mornin’, havenae ye?” Moira shouted, her voice sharp with emotion that cut through the tense air in the room. “I ken well that me place isnae next tae ye.”

Something about the way she spoke made Roderick hesitate. It tempered his anger a little, as though the sharpness of her words had pierced through his defenses. There was a raw honesty in her voice that he hadn’t expected—and more than anything he was reminded of why he didn’t want to see her hurt.

“Ye’re the one who told me,” he said calmly, though his voice was vulnerable now too, “that ye are only here tae fulfil a mission. Ye’re the one who wants tae leave an’ move on wi’ yer life.”

“I never said that!” She cried. “But yes, I would like tae return tae me life as it was.”

Moira’s arms folded firmly across her chest, and she stared out the window, her mouth set in a line that quivered as she tried to gather herself. It looked as though she was going to cry.

And it was that look that finally sent Roderick over the edge. He realized with clarity that he didn’t want to be fighting with her, he didn’t want to hurt her. All he wanted was for her to be close so that he could touch her the way he had the night before. He remembered how tender she had been then, and he could see it in her now.

“Moira,” he said softly, walking toward her, his steps deliberate and slow. The sun streamed in through the window, casting a shadowy glow between them as he searched for her eyes. “Look at me.”

She refused, staring fixedly at the window.

He took one hand to her face, gently lifting her chin until their eyes met, his touch tentative yet firm, as though afraid she might break beneath his fingers. He could feel the warmth of her skin, the tremble in her breath, but he also sensed the wall she’d built between them.

He couldn’t exactly blame her after how everything had gone.

“Dae ye want tae leave me?” He asked her, his voice rough, feeling as though the future of his entire well-being rested solely on her response.

But Moira didn’t respond, instead there was a glint in her eye that betrayed a desire. Roderick recognized it as a deep hunger that matched his own.

“I ken,” Roderick said, pulling Moira toward him by her waist, his lips falling gently to the side of her warm neck, “that ye dinnae want tae leave me.”

He continued to kiss her, his lips moving slowly, softly against her skin. Moira’s breath hitched, her hands trembling as they found their way to his chest, pressing against him as if to pull him closer, yet also to hold him at bay.

But soon her hands softened, and she gave in—turning her head slightly to meet his lips with her own.

They hovered there for a moment, on the edge—Roderick’s heart beating fervently as his eyes slowly closed.

He could wait no longer. He brought his lips to hers, and it was as though a dam had broken inside of him. He kissed her with so much force that he felt himself plummeting beyond the point of control.

It was reckless, and unproductive, counterintuitive even—but there was nothing that could make him to stop.