Chapter Twelve

"[In medieval times] a double birth was treated with suspicion, with the mother often accused of adultery or even witchcraft."

Artuk.org

"No!"

"Nay!"

Sara and Rory yelled out at the same time. The loudness of their protests made Eleri's eyes widen. "No," Sara repeated, her voice tempered. "My parents are completely different from Rory's parents."

"Same with Jamie," Rory said.

"So, you can still marry Jamie?" Eleri asked, looking at Sara.

The thought swelled like bloat inside Sara. Marry Jamie after he nearly died in the church on their wedding day? Even if he wished to when he woke, Sara couldn't do it. "I…we won't marry, though," she said. She slid a finger over the cuts on her knuckles where Rory had touched, and she felt his gaze.

"Why not?" Eleri asked.

"He won't want to after what he's gone through because of my clan," Sara said. It was the safe answer, because the truth brought her back to a pair of amber eyes, eyes that she felt sure watched her now.

Rory exhaled. "'Twould not be safe."

The words sent prickles of unease along Sara's nape, and she raised her gaze. "Not safe?" Sara's stomach churned with nausea at the thought of Jamie touching her, but was he truly dangerous?

Rory crossed his arms, his legs braced. "Jamie is suspicious even without a reason. He won't be easily swayed to believe in your innocence in the fire. 'Tis not safe now for ye to marry him."

The tightness of fear made her stomach flip. "The annulment will stand." Sara wasn't about to jump from an abusive father to an abusive husband.

"Will you tell me about my mother, Sara?" Eleri asked. The sadness retreated somewhat. "I know nothing about her."

The wistful emotions behind her quiet words made Sara miss her mother, Elspet, all the more. "She was lovely and kind and liked to paint, too."

Eleri smiled broadly. "I love to paint." She hugged Sara. Eliza smelled of wildflowers because she pressed the fragrant ones and slid them amongst her smocks. Eleri smelled of oil paints with a hint of baked biscuits.

The girl tipped her head back to smile up at her. "I'm so glad we're sisters"—she glanced at Rory—"and brother."

"Even though Lady Sara and I are absolutely not brother and sister," Rory said.

"Of course," Eleri said, tipping her head. "Although, we could pretend."

Sweet Mary. "I don't think that…" Sara didn't look at Rory. "I don't feel that way about Rory." Especially after he'd held her hand before the steps. "But I can certainly be your sister."

After promising to think of tales she could share of her mother, Sara walked out the door and Rory followed. They waited together on the dark, silent landing until they heard Eleri lock her door. Without a word, Sara stepped evenly down the stairs, but her heart beat like a sparrow's wings as she listened to Rory's tread right behind her.

At the bottom, he caught her arm, turning her to him. Several seconds stretched before he spoke. "In what way do ye feel about me?" he asked. His deep voice teased her, and the words, his question, opened a valve within Sara like a fluttering of leaves on a summer tree.

You are ugly. Her father's words overrode Rory's, and they sounded like her own voice after she'd believed them for years, repeating them and trying to accept them. What good would it do to draw closer to Rory, think of him as anything but her brother's friend? "I…I don't know," she said. "It depends on so much."

"That's thinking," he said, closing the gap between them. "I asked how ye feel about me."

"Feelings are changeable and not dependable." Her words sounded breathless, and she swallowed.

"Ye had distasteful feelings about my brother even though ye went through with marrying him." He was close, the wall at her back. "Did ye hope yer feelings would warm toward him?"

A sizzle of irritation knifed through her, and she frowned. "The only feeling I had toward Jamie MacLeod was obligation and hope that I could help forge a peace between our clans, and, from what you've said, that wouldn't have changed."

"And ye do not feel…brotherly toward me?"

She'd think he was trying to make her uncomfortable for fun, but he didn't wear any type of grin. What did she feel for him? She wasn't about to reveal how she'd imagined kissing him. How she'd dreamed of him, wishing that they could just be two villagers meeting on the beach.

"No," she answered.

"How do ye feel then?"

She exhaled. "I feel safe with you," she said. "I suppose that is trust."

"But not in a brotherly way," he continued the thought.

"More as a friend." There. A friendship wouldn't be mortifying, and it wasn't brotherly. "I trust you as a friend." She smiled, happy with her non-answer.

But he didn't smile back. "Trust shouldn't be given lightly, Sara. I can't say that I truly trust anyone."

"Trust is crucial to a fruitful marriage," she said. Her cheeks grew hot when she thought how that must sound with her taking a leap from friendship to marriage.

"I won't marry." Rory shook his head.

Sara's brows pinched. "You won't marry because you can't trust a woman enough to love her?"

He stared hard at her. She knew his eyes were golden, but in the shadows, they looked obsidian. "Love is a fantasy. I deal with reality and solid things, not something as intangible as the emotions a bride would demand of me."

"And yet you ask me how I feel?" The warmth from moments before had slid away from her. "When you feel…what? Anger, revenge?"

He raked a hand through his trimmed hair. "Feelings are complicated."

"Everything is complicated," she said, not bothering to hide her anger. "My father tried to set everyone on fire. Your clan thinks I was part of it. I was wed for less than an hour to a man who is dangerous, you don't trust anyone, I have unbrotherly feelings toward the bloody Lion of Skye, and I don't know if you're my captor or my…friend."

He watched her as she breathed heavily from her short tirade. "Unbrotherly feelings of…friendship?" he asked again.

She didn't say anything but pressed her hand against her flying heart. Her chest rose and fell as if she'd run up the stairs.

He took a step closer until she felt his legs press her petticoats. The torchlight splashed across his face, his brows pinched in a mix of questioning and what looked like pain. "Or…" he said, his hand rising to her cheek. She almost felt it brush her skin but then he stopped, letting his hand hover in the air. "Or are your unbrotherly feelings more heat?" He leaned forward, and her breath stopped as she felt the brush of his lips against her ear. "Hot like a flame?"

Sensation ran through her as she listened to him inhale as if smelling her, and chill bumps rose across her, pearling her nipples.

"Rory!" Footfalls shot through Sara, making her jump back from Rory, hitting against the wall.

Rory turned, his large body standing before her like a shield. "Jok?" he called, and the footsteps reached the top of the stairs leading down below.

The warrior with the flaming red hair and beard burst into the corridor. "Bloody hell, Ror, where've ye been?"

Sara peered out from beside Rory, and Jok's eyes grew wide as he looked between them both.

"What is it?" Rory demanded.

Jok seemed to shake off his surprise. "Jamie is awake."