Rory: A Scottish Outlaw (Highland Outlaws Book 3)

by Lily Baldwin

  Certainly, his looks and intelligence were indisputable, but was he truly kind?

  Alex eyed the kitchen entrance into the great hall and smiled when Rosie appeared carrying a basket teeming with dirty linens.

  She was about to find out.

  “Good morrow,” Rosie said as she passed in front of Alex and her guests, but then Rosie stumbled and her basket tumbled to the floor, scattering its contents. Straightaway, Adam released Alex and Mary’s arms and bent to help Rosie to her feet. Likewise, Timothy and Robert knelt to the ground alongside Michael to help gather laundry.

  Alex backed away, smiling at the men. One mark for them all.

  A moment later, Mary joined her, also observing the attentive men and their favorite maid. Alex hid her smile behind her hand when she noticed Rosie thanking Robert overly long, but Robert did not let his greatest admirer down. He bowed at the waist after handing Rosie back her basket, causing Alex’s maid to turn as red as a ripe apple.

  “That was not like Rosie at all. She’s always so efficient and—Wait!” Mary hissed under her breath, turning to face Alex. “That was yer doing, wasn’t it?”

  Alex smiled and gave a little shrug. “Ye’ve met yer share of nobility who would not deign to help a commoner. I thought I would test their instincts to gain insight into their hearts.”

  “Well, they all passed yer test.”

  “Indeed, they did.”

  Mary grinned. “Then ye’ve no argument to make against Adam. He is the one. Alex, he is perfect.”

  Alex sighed. “He may be the perfect man—but I wonder if the perfect man is right for me. Anyway,” she whispered, starting to move away, “Rory said he snores.” She hurried forward to escape Mary’s next attempt to champion Adam. Then she winked at Rosie who was bobbing down the hall with her basket intact.

  “Damnation,” Alex cursed under her breath before she smiled and rejoined the men. She had half hoped that two of her three suitors would have stood by while Rosie struggled to gather her linens and get back on her feet, revealing their hearts lacked true compassion. Whichever man then had stepped forward to help would have been the one, making the decision simple. Her test, in the end, proved pointless, which she should have known. Abbot Matthew would never have sent her men whose true goodness was in doubt.

  “Will Rory not be joining us for Mass?” Timothy asked.

  Alex smiled at Timothy. Of course he would be caring enough to notice their party was incomplete. But only she, Mary, and Rosie knew that Rory awaited her in the village so that they might carry out a secret mission for Scotland.

  “Nay,” Alex answered. “Corc, a dear, old codger in the village, mentioned to Rory that his roof had sprung a leak, and Rory was kind enough to offer his assistance.”

  Timothy smiled his approval. “We are closer to God when we help our brothers and sisters.”

  “Ye’re very right,” Alex agreed, warmth flooding her heart. Her eyes passed over his simple tunic. “In fact, ye could be just right for me.” She had not meant to speak those words aloud. “To escort me to Mass,” she said quickly. Timothy smiled and stepped forward, offering her his arm, which she gladly accepted.

  Once in the small chapel, they all stood in a row facing the altar. Adam seemed to follow the Mass with care to every detail. What’s more, he sang beautifully. Robert appeared devout and heartfelt, but his voice croaked from his throat like a choking sparrow. Mary looked at Alex, her eyes wide with horror. Alex soundlessly scolded her, although inside she could not help but cringe.

  On the walk back to the castle, she decided to take her cousin’s advice and spend time with Adam. By all accounts, he would make the best chieftain. But just as she started toward him, Robert intercepted her once again, offering her his arm.

  “May I escort ye back to the keep?”

  She glanced at Adam and could see his disappointment. Still, she had no choice but to weave her arm through Robert’s. “Of course,” she said. “Thank ye.”

  Again, she was struck by Robert’s fine looks, finer even than Adam’s. Rosie certainly had good reason to admire him. His golden blond hair shone in the sun while his dark blue eyes held warmth and kindness. When he smiled, his whole face lit up. Alex started to reconsider her earlier dismissal of Robert when they passed by the stables. Straightaway, he began telling her about his visit that very morning with the stable master. She tried to steer the conversation in different directions to see if he could inform broader topics—his family, the weather, planning for Lammas, but somehow, he always managed to bring it straight back to horses.

  She glanced sidelong at Adam and Mary who were strolling together and laughing at some mutual jest. Then she looked back at Timothy who walked slowly behind them all, his hands clasped in prayer, clearly still conversing with the Holy Father.

  For pity’s sake, everyone was having a more interesting conversation than she.

  The short journey from the chapel across the courtyard and into the great hall felt like an eternity. Once inside, Alex continued to listen while Robert discussed proper horse grooming. But the moment his string of sentences broke, and he paused, she pounced.

  “Forgive me, Robert, but I am due to meet the village midwife. She’s in need of supplies.” Bidding farewell to her company, she dipped in a quick curtsy and hurried from the hall. Once inside her chambers, the others were forgotten. Rosie helped her out of her finery and into her threadbare tunic. Alex sighed as the familiar, soft fabric fell in place.

  “Ye just make certain yer clothes stay on this time,” Mary admonished as Alex lifted the trap door in her chamber floor and started down the stairs that would lead through a tunnel, which ran beneath the moat and ended on the other side of the outer wall.

  “Ye ken he had to undress me last time,” Alex shot back over her shoulder.

  “Ye ken ye liked it more than ye should have,” Rosie countered.

  Alex opened her mouth to issue a sharp retort but then stopped herself. With a shrug, she started again down the stairs, unable to argue Rosie’s point. She had enjoyed Rory’s touch and certainly more than she should have, which is exactly why she had kissed him.

  Once beyond the outer wall, she had to stop herself from running through the village as she made her way to Corc’s cottage. Giving a light rap on the door, she opened it, immediately locking eyes with Rory. In the same instant, her knees weakened. Her heart started to pound. His sky-blue eyes shone as brightly as his smile, which was wide and heartfelt, the most beautiful smile. Her chest tightened as she continued to stare at him. Saint’s above, but she wanted him.

  He stood and brought his finger to his full lips to silence her greeting. She noticed then that Corc was asleep on his pallet. Soundlessly, Rory crossed the small room and gently took her arm, both turning to leave when a tickle grazed her neck. A glint of silver on the ground caught her eye. Her necklace had slipped off. She bent to retrieve it the same moment Rory did. A sharp pain shot through her head when it collided with his. She mouthed a silent curse to accompany his string of silent curses. While she still rubbed her pained skull, he bent and picked up her necklace. He found the break in the chain and pinched the metal to re-close the link.

  “It broke recently,” she explained. “I thought I fixed it, but it still must be faulty.”

  He stepped closer, facing her. “’Tis beautiful.”

  His masculine scent teased her nose. She licked her lips as heat gathered in her core. He stepped closer still. She strained to swallow while he threaded his fingers through her hair and swept it over one shoulder, exposing her neck. A ripple of pleasure shot up her spine. Her fingers stiffened straight out, straining to touch him. He leaned his head down, his cheek a breath from hers while he slowly slipped her necklace into place, his fingers grazing her skin. Her breath caught as he leaned closer to see the clasp, his lips brushing her ear, his warm breath caressing her neck, filling her entire body with aching need.

  “Oh God,” she gasped, pushing past him and chargin
g out into fresh air.

  She turned then and looked back at him. A knowing smile curved his sensual lips.

  “Come on,” she bristled, trying to regain control. “We need a good ride.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Rory said, the heat in his eyes telling her exactly what kind of ride he meant.

  She raked her hand through her hair. “Alba gu bràth,” she said, her voice laced with desperation. “Let’s remember why we’re here.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Alex raced over the moors astride her large, white stallion with her tunic pushed high past her knees. The wind blasted her face, driving back her hair into a tangled white-gold banner. A smile, wide and jubilant, stretched her lips as freedom’s intoxicating potency gripped her innately restless being—which she suppressed for the sake of duty, title, and for the people she loved. For at her core, her very heart, she was as wild as the wolf that prowled the night, racing over the moors to satisfy its animal desires. Only during a mission could she release and satiate her true nature. What’s more, after the shock of meeting her unexpected, not to mention, oblivious suitors, it felt rapturous to be outside the walls of Luthmore, far from the confines of her looming and life-altering choice.

  She glanced back at Rory whose face mirrored her own fervor for the ride. He smiled, bent low over his black mare, giving chase after her horse just for the simple thrill of it. Locking eyes, they both laughed, allowing the exhilaration of their pace and the bright warmth of the day to be their masters. More than that, the excitement of the mission coursed through her veins, and well she knew it lit a fire within him too. Agents were inherently reckless. That was their one absolute commonality—that and their unyielding loyalty to Scotland.

  She drove her heels into her horse’s flanks and raced toward the distant coastline. Salt imbued the air. She inhaled the scent. The gently sloping moors gave way to increasingly rough and pointed swells, like rocky waves churning a verdant sea. And then the green was gone, leaving only jagged rocks that clustered together forming teeming cliffs, beyond which hid the gray-blue water.

  “Whoa,” she said, bringing her horse to an abrupt halt at the very edge where terrain met air.

  Rory eased his horse alongside hers. “Ye were right. I needed that.”

  She laughed, her face flushed and vibrant from the exercise. He leaned toward her in his saddle and swept tangled flaxen strands of soft hair from her eyes.

  “I’m good at guessing people’s needs,” she said. Then she turned away, nudging her horse forward to walk alongside the cliff edge. “Follow me, but don’t look down.”

  Not heeding her own advice, Alex leaned over to peek at the churning waves crashing against the sheer rock face. She leaned farther still. Then a flash of silver caught his eye. His hand shot out, but it was too late.

  “My necklace,” she said, clutching her bare throat.

  He swung down from his horse and peered over the edge. Her necklace had landed on a wide, flat rock protruding several feet down the side of the cliff. Without hesitation, he crouched on his heels and lowered himself over the edge, his fingers straining to hold his weight. Ridges in the wall allowed the narrowest shelf for his toes. He tightened his core, climbing down until he was alongside the necklace. Releasing one hand, his fingers snaked out, snagging the chain before quickly returning to grip the wall. He looked up to find her peering down at him. She stared hard, her body unmoving. He grunted, pulling himself up, all the while his eyes never leaving hers. He found the surface and hauled himself to the top, every muscle in his body straining against the constant downward force. A moment later he stood, hands on his knees, catching his breath.

  “What were ye thinking?” she demanded.

  He ignored her question and removed her charm from the silver chain, which he stashed in his saddlebag for safe-keeping.

  Then he reached behind his own neck and untied the strip of leather he wore, from which hung a small, silver cross. He added her charm to the strip before turning to face her. “May I?” he said gently. Her eyes flashed at him; clearly an admonishment sat just on the tip of her tongue, but she refrained and turned her back to him.

  Warmth flooded up her spine as once more she felt his fingertips brush her skin. His hot breath fell on her neck while he tied the string with her beloved trinity knot now nestled beside his silver cross. She closed her eyes, savoring the feel of him, the heat of his body pressed so closely to hers. “Ye’re a reckless knave,” she whispered, a languid feeling claiming her limbs as she leaned into him. “Ye just risked yer life for my necklace.”

  “Nay,” he whispered in her ear, his lips brushing her skin. “I just risked my life for ye.”

  “Ye’re mad is what ye are.” She cleared her throat, trying once again to focus on anything other than her pounding heart. Stepping away, she turned and faced him. “I am grateful. It was a gift from my mother and is sacred to me. Still, it is not worth yer life.

  He shrugged. “I’ve climbed many cliffs.”

  “But, ye could’ve died.”

  “I do not fear death,” he said simply.

  “If ye do not fear death, then what do ye fear?”

  “My own cowardice.”

  She grabbed the reins of her horse and started to walk along the cliff edge, puzzling over his words.

  When he joined her, she said, “Ye mean to say ye’re afraid of being afraid?”

  He nodded.

  “That’s all?”

  Again, he nodded.

  Alex shook her head. “I’m not certain I understand.”

  She saw a slight smile curve his lips just before he shifted his gaze and looked forward. When he spoke next, his voice was unhurried and intimate like an old friend’s. “When I was seven years old, I started working the docks with my da. As ships came into port us wee lads would unload the smaller cargo. One time, this lad, Henry, and I grabbed a crate too large for our scrawny arms and dropped it, shattering whatever was inside. A man as big as a giant with cruel eyes grabbed Henry by the back of his tunic and tossed him off the ship, but he couldn’t swim. His screams reached my ears. I wanted to jump in after him, but the man grabbed my face hard between his hands and bent at the waist, sneering at me. A red, puckered scar ran down his cheek. It turned white when he laughed in my face. After what seemed like an eternity, he let me go. I was free, but I stood frozen. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. My heart pounded as I looked into his bloodshot eyes. ‘Aren’t ye going to save yer friend?’ he said and pulled back his fist to hit me. My senses returned just in time to dodge the blow. I darted through his legs, then overboard after Henry. I reached him, but I wasn’t strong enough pull him to the docks. I could barely keep his head afloat and nearly drowned myself for trying. Then suddenly, my da was there and another man, and they pulled Henry and me to safety.”

  “Did Henry survive?” she asked.

  “Aye, though he never went near water again.”

  She stopped, turning to face him. “Ye saved him though, keeping his head afloat while ye waited for help.”

  He looked down into her eyes. “After the man released me, for moments, breaths, I just stood there—tethered to nothing but my own fear. I vowed that day never to allow fear to be my guide again. If I am afraid, that is when I act the fastest. When fear strikes me, I hear that man’s laughter in my head. I smell his breath.” Rory shrugged. “Some have called me reckless; I say I’m breaking free.”

  She smiled then. “I believe I called ye a reckless knave.”

  “Reckless to be sure, but a knave?” He slowly shook his head, drawing closer. “I think ye’ll discover that I’m gentle,” he said, his soft voice like a whispered caress. “A good man.” He cupped her cheek, his thumb outlining her bottom lip. She closed her eyes against the sweet ache of his touch. Clenching her fists, she dug her fingernails into her palms as she fought to regain control over her racing heart.

  “Anyway,” she said briskly while she moved out of reach, “yer fear saved ye
r life. For had ye leapt into the water sooner, yer da may not have gotten to ye in time, and both of ye would have died. Then where would that leave me?”

  Smiling, he reached for her hand and pulled her back, wrapping his arm around her waist. Lightning bolts of desire shot through her. His lips were so close to hers. “Ye tell me,” he rasped. “Where would ye be without me?”

  She wanted to kiss him. With her every thought, every breath, with every beat of her heart, she wanted to kiss him.

  But she couldn’t.

  She had to remember that her people came first.

  “I…I wouldn’t have my necklace,” she stammered as she gently pushed against his chest and stepped free from his arms.

  Grasping her horse’s reins, she started forward. The land had begun to change, the cliffs slowly subsiding into green earth once more. Trudging carefully down the steep slope, she stopped near the water where a narrow pass hugged the coastline. It felt cooler by the sea. She inhaled the crisp air, inviting its calming effect. With her mind clear, she could focus once again on the mission ahead. Reaching into one of her saddlebags, she grabbed a fistful of oats and offered the snack to Rory’s mare.

  “Tether her to one of those rocks,” she said, pointing to a series of protruding stones. “And ride with me. She’ll only be in the way.”

  Rory looked unconcerned. “She’s a brave horse and takes direction. Do not worry about her.”

  “Trust me,” Alex said, lifting her tunic high and pulling herself into the saddle. Then she slid forward to allow Rory room to swing up behind her.

  Rory frowned for a moment, confused about why he would have to leave his mare, but then he drank in the sight of Alex pressed against the front of her saddle, her tangled, flaxen hair, cascading down her back.