Page 4 of Rescued By the Highland Warrior (Highland Whispers of Love #1)

CHAPTER FOUR

R oderick had hoped to enjoy the evening, for it was one of the liveliest feasts the castle had hosted in a long time. Everyone he cherished was there, aside from his father, of course.

There were plenty of people that Roderick considered part of his extended family in attendance, and he was looking forward to introducing them to Moira, his councilmen in particular.

Roderick wanted Moira to feel comfortable and at home, and although their relationship may have been false, there was no reason for him to want his investigator to feel unsettled. He did not understand exactly how it worked but he wanted Moira to be at her best.

As he watched her that night, he sensed that Moira didn’t appear to be behaving entirely like herself, or that was his impression at least. Roderick, of course, didn’t know her enough to be able to fully assess her. It had been years since their one and only meeting, and although he’d spoken with her earlier, he did not have a strong grasp on who she was.

He could tell that she was extremely intelligent, albeit a bit cold, but she was also bold and to the point. If she wanted answers, she would get them–that’s what made him feel confident in her investigative abilities.

As he watched her walking around the room, he also noticed how she engaged with everyone. It seemed as though she was hanging on to the words of every person she spoke to. He assumed that this was a tactic. But as the night went on and he saw Moira settled in the corner laughing with Miss Barclay, a Councilman’s daughter, he started thinking she might not be taking the investigation seriously enough.

He decided to intervene.

Roderick led Moira to the heart of the grand hall, in the middle of the dance area. The air was alive with music, laughter and the sounds of the guests' boots stomping onto the stone floors. The musicians were playing a hearty tune, and while Roderick took in the mix of familiar faces, the noble women in their silk dresses and the councilmen moving to the fast beat, he was also acutely aware of Lady Wilson’s hand in his.

As she looked up at him, her face betraying the fact that all was not completely settled beneath her calm veneer, the music seemed to stop. Although the fiddler continued to play, his bow darting across the strings, and the harmonious drone of the bagpipes still echoed through the room, a quieter air settled between them. The music and the sounds from the guests faded into the background, all but a distant hum, and Moira’s expression shifted, her gaze sharpening as she abruptly removed her hand from his.

Roderick was amused by Moira’s perturbed air as he reached out for her hand once again. His fingers wrapped gentle but firm around hers, as he bought his other hand to settle at her waist.

“It is custom, Lady Wilson,” Roderick said calmly. “Tae dance with yer betrothed.”

Moira nodded and brought her free hand to rest lightly upon Roderick’s shoulder.

“I dinnae mean tae disturb ye,” Roderick said, leading Moira with deliberate steps as they were guided by the beat of the song.

“But?” Moira asked, as Roderick guided her an edge closer.

“But,” he said, his voice hushed, his face inches from hers as they turned in smooth unison, “ye seem rather distracted.”

Moira was about to frown, but as Roderick knew she had been trained to do, she schooled her features to remain impassive, cold as the grey stone of the walls and floors of the castle.

“Aye, an’ what does that mean exactly, Roderick? If ye’ve somethin’ tae say tae me, then ye may as well come out an’ say it.”

“I’ve nae problem bein’ upfront wi’ ye, as I hope ye are wi’ me. That’s why I wanted tae ask ye if ye are workin’ on findin’ out who killed me faither? Ye seemed very distracted.”

Both Moira and Roderick moved in unison, their bodies perfectly timed to the rhythm of the fiddle and drum. Outwardly they blended in perfectly with those dancing around them but inside Roderick felt the raging of his growing indignation. He wanted answers, he wanted vengeance, it he felt things were out of his control.

The faint wry smile that spread across Moira’s face added to that. She smirked, letting out a sharp breath that was almost a laugh.

“Roderick, how dae ye think this works? I need tae get tae ken everyone in this castle afore I can gather the right information. Given how many there are, it’ll tak’ some time, dinnae ye think? I have tae at least ken who is who.”

“I ken,” Roderick responded. “An’ I want ye tae feel comfortable, but I want tae see ye daein’ yer job as well.”

“Aye, ye’ve been watchin’, havenae ye, Roderick?”

“Aye,” Roderick nodded, holding Moira and staring at her intently before his gaze flickered briefly toward the edges of the room where councilmen and families lingered, whispering quietly among themselves. Talking with Moira always felt like exercising his mind, he could sense her cunningness and her efforts to diffuse and deflect. It was hard for him not to respect it, and he was surprised that he enjoyed it, despite his frustrations.

“I’ve hired ye tae dae a job,” Roderick said, “and all I expect is that ye handle it professionally as promised, and that ye dinnae waste yer and me time.”

“Roderick,” Moira said sharply. “It’s nae as though I expect ye tae understand or learn the ways of what I dae, but ye’re nae dim—I ken that much. Surely ye understand that tae extract information from people, ye must first earn their trust? Ye need tae slowly cultivate genuine relationships tae get what ye want.”

“And what is it that ye want?” Roderick asked, trying to bait her.

They moved in a quick circle, the lively strains of the fiddle weaving a melody that was both fast-paced and tense, mirroring the charged energy between them. Around them, the other dancers seemed to blur into the background, their chatter and laughter a distant hum mixed in with the music.

“What I want is fer ye tae stop telling me how tae dae me job. I want ye tae quit speaking on things ye dinnae understand, or ye’re going tae make this much more difficult fer the both of us, Roderick.”

Roderick tightened his jaw, for he knew he was being unreasonable with the lass, but he couldn’t control his irritation. “Difficult fer us, or difficult fer ye, Moira? Because I’m starting tae think ye enjoy making things complicated.”

Moira raised an eyebrow, her smirk deepening as though Roderick’s frustrations amused her, as though he was playing into her hands despite his intentions of setting her straight.

“Perhaps I dae, Roderick. Complication keeps people on their toes. Keeps them honest,” she said.

“Honest?” Roderick’s voice lowered; his tone edged with skepticism. “Aye, because ye’ve been so transparent with me.”

Moira’s expression hardened, her amusement fading. “I’m as honest as I need tae be. And if ye truly want answers, Roderick, ye’ll give me the space and time tae gather them. Without yer constant looming.”

Although their voices were still hushed, Roderick found it increasingly difficult to bite back his indignation. Soon he was no longer aware of the music, or their steps in perfect synchronicity, and he directed his frustration completely on Moira, moving even closer to her than he was before.

“Loomin’? Is that what I’m doing now?”

“Aye,” Moira replied coolly, tilting her head to the side “Ye’re loomin’ and watchin’ like a hawk, waiting fer me tae fail. It’s a wonder I can get anything done with yer eyes on me all the time.”

Roderick inhaled deeply, willing himself to stay composed. “If I watch, it’s because I’ve got too much at stake, Moira. Me faither’s murder is nae a game. It’s nae just fer me—this castle, these people—they all deserve the truth. I called in the favor because I thought ye could help.”

“An’ I will,” Moira said firmly, her voice dropping as they moved closer again. “But ye’ll need tae trust that me methods. Unorthodox as they might seem tae ye, they will yield results. Or would ye rather I bungle it, trying tae please ye?”

Roderick stared at her for a long moment, his eyebrows burrowing before he finally spoke. “Fine,” he said softly, the frustration in his voice half-way dissipated. “I’ll give ye the space ye need. But Moira, I’ll warn ye now—if I feel like ye’re nae takin’ this seriously...”

Roderick was cut off by an unexpected change in the air, all the musicians but one lone fiddler player had stopped playing, the sudden shift in tempo signaling the start of a slow dance.

Roderick suddenly became very aware of the subtle sway of Moira’s waist beneath his hand and how her gown clung to her form. He was suddenly acutely attuned to her.

“I’ll leave ye tae it then,” Roderick said, clearing his throat and releasing Moira from his grasp. In an instant, he headed off into the crowd.

“Roderick wait,” she called after him

He paused, mid-step, shoulders stiffening in irritation. The crowd moved around him, oblivious to the tension threading between them. Slowly, he turned, his honey eyes locking onto hers deep green ones, curious, but also exasperated. She moved closer and lowered her voice.

“I’d like tae visit yer faither’s bed chamber as soon as is possible, tae see if there’s anything amiss. Aside from talking tae the inhabitants of this castle,” she suggested, “that would also be a good start.”

The idea of stepping into his father’s private place brought up an array of complex emotions, but for the first time that evening, Roderick agreed with the logic of Moira’s words.

“I’ll see tae it that it is arranged,” Roderick said shortly before leaving Moira to do as she saw fit for the rest of the party.

Moira let out a sigh as he left her to fend for herself but suddenly she felt a little cold without his heat around her. She was no longer in the mood for laughing, as his admonishments had unsettled her, but possibly she was even more unsettled by the shadow of his hand upon her waist.

Moira tried to continue her subtle investigation, but she found it hard to stay there much longer. Sure, the laird had given her what she had asked for–he had left her alone to do her job–but she couldn’t stop thinking of the tension between them during their dance, unpleasant though it had been. And, in truth, many of the guests were drunk past the point of intelligible conversation. She felt the need to be alone—truly alone. So, she left.

By the time she slipped off upstairs, things had died down considerably. She retired to her bedroom, carefully unpacking the things from her case. It was quite silent in her chambers, and she enjoyed the rare moment of solitude, the only sounds the soft rustle of her movements and the creaking floorboards.

After unpacking her clothes Moira reached the essentials, stuffed at the bottom of her black case, hidden between the mundane objects a lady travels with. A notebook, a coin, some daggers, a slingshot, leather gloves and tools that reminded her of so many missions she had gone on before.

It was almost as though she had forgotten about that part of herself. Had Roderick been right? Had she been too distracted at the feast, laughing with Miss Barclay, that she had forgotten what she was there to do?

Moira knew she had to be careful, always on guard as she had been taught. She knew that despite the way the laird, or anyone else made her feel, this mission had to end well. It was a point of pride for her. No matter that she hadn’t chosen this mission herself, anything other than success was not an option.

Moira was startled from her thoughts by a sudden knock. Quickly she covered her case and turned toward the door, her heart quickening. She wondered who it could be at this hour, and her mind raced to the more unsavory options.

Was it someone from the feast? Someone who had heard too much?

“Who is it?” she called, her voice steady and cool despite her anxious state. Usually, Moira wasn’t so jumpy. She’d been on many missions before, but there was something different about this one. Something that was making her feel more vulnerable than usual.

When there was no response, Moira turned the handle cautiously edging the door open just enough for her to peer out into the dimly lit hallway. Immediately, she relaxed and opened the door wide, as she was met with Miss Barclay’s cheerful face.

Miss Barclay’s golden hair was alight with a yellow glow from the surrounding wall sconces, and she smiled warmly at Moira, who was quite relieved after her initial reaction of mistrust. She knew she had nothing to worry about with Miss Barclay.

“Oh, I didnae mean tae disturb ye, Lady Wilson,” she said, her voice smooth and light. “I just wanted tae say how lovely it was meetin’ ye tonight. There really arenae many like ye around.”

Aye, ye have nae idea.

“Thank ye,” Moira responded, breaking out into a genuine smile. “It was really lovely meetin’ ye as well. Ye helped me get through the night.”

“I was actually wonderin’ if ye might join me fer a walk in the gardens tomorrow? They’re braw this time o’ year, an’ it’s especially pleasant in the mornin’s.”

“Well, that sounds like a fine idea tae me,” Moira said, conscious of her case and all the weapons and tools it held behind her. “But now, I was must get some sleep. ‘Twas a lively party, an' it certainly took a lot out o' me.”

“Aye,” Miss Barclay nodded. “I can imagine. And I am so thrilled fer ye and the laird. I was nae the only one who noticed the manner in which ye an’ Roderick danced. If ye dinnae mind me sayin’, it was right romantic indeed...”

Moira’s stomach involuntarily tied into a knot, but she nodded, smiling warmly. She reminded herself that Miss Barclay had not heard the contents of their conversation, and if she had, perhaps she would have seen their dancing a little differently.

“Laird Fraser an’ I dae love tae dance,” she said, her tone light but her eyes sharp. “I look forward tae seein’ ye tomorrow morn, Miss Barclay. Rest well.”

Miss Barclay nodded, and Moira watched as she moved gracefully down the hallway, slowly disappearing into the shadows. She stayed watching at the door until she was finally gone, as was her habit.

She’d learned to never turn her back on someone when they left, no matter how kind that person might seem, especially not at night. Once the hallway fell completely silent again, Moira sighed to herself looking back at her case, concentrating on her next steps, and slowly closing the door.

But something stopped it. A thick black boot wedged between the door and the frame, stopping her from closing it completely; hadn’t she just reminded herself not to turn her back on an open door?

She instinctively admonished herself for being so careless, unarmed, with all her weapons in the case, but then she looked up.

Roderick. He wore a determined expression and held a small lantern in his right hand.

“Come,” he commanded, “we’re going tae me faither’s chambers.”

“Roderick!” she responded, steadying herself. “What if Miss Barclay had seen ye, she only just left.”

Moira looked cautiously out into the hallway, her mind racing.

“Time is o’ the essence, Moira,” Roderick responded coolly. “Are ye comin’ or nae?”

She sighed. There was no use her pressing on the point further, this had been her idea after all.

“Just wait there,” she responded quickly, “I need tae get somethin’ first.