Rory by Lily Baldwin

Author:Lily Baldwin
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Highland
Published: 2016-12-10T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

Rory walked among the long trencher tables that were lined with platters of roasted meats and loaves of bread that had been blessed that very morning. The Lammas festival stretched across the field outside the outer wall of Luthmore Castle, allowing space for feasting, games, and pipers playing lively reels to which young and old danced in merry circles. Rory scanned the grounds, not in search of amusement, but for unbound, flaxen hair. He had not spoken to Alex since she had ridden away from him the night before as if the Devil himself had licked at her heels. As he scanned the revelers, his conscience pricked. Distancing himself from Alex was the honorable thing to do. His hands closed into tight fists as he resolved to do just that, but then he spotted her. She sat on a bench at one of the crowded tables beside Robert.

Rory narrowed his eyes on the golden-haired knight. Robert was a decent man, and according to Rosie, handsome enough to forgive his loquacious tongue and apparently horrid singing voice. Rory reached for a tankard of ale while he observed the pair. Robert’s tongue appeared as active as usual. Alex had not spoken a word to her dinner companion, no doubt because she had not been given the chance. What’s more, despite the din of chatter, laughter, and music, she did not lean toward Robert to better hear his words. In fact, she sat back, her body not truly engaged in their conversation, while her eyes wandered, scanning the crowds. Rory watched her, hoping she searched the festivities for him.

Once more, guilt nagged at him. He had no business spying on her or delighting in her disinterest in her suitors. If anything, he should be hoping for her sake and for the sake of her people that one of the men chosen by the abbot would be found worthy.

But that was just it, he wanted to scream. None of them were good enough for her.

Not that Rory was. But at the very least he fully understood the majesty that was Alex MacKenzie.

Robert was too feckless to appreciate the varied tapestry of her character. If she chose Adam, she would have to yield to convention or they would never see eye to eye and would be unhappy. Rory imagined her life with Sir Adam Lennox, trapped within the confines of wimple and lace, her spirit choked from her enshrouded body—beautiful and unfeeling as a statue meant only to be looked at and admired from a distance. He grew angry just thinking about it.

And then there was Timothy who was gentle and good. He would be kind to Alex and to her people, but could he ignite her soul?

Rory could—that much he knew for certain. There was something unnamable that existed between them, a connection that ran soul-deep. He had felt it shoot through him the very moment they first locked eyes that night in the woods.

He turned to look over at her, but she was gone.

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