Page 22 of A Scot in the Storm
“I remember the storm.” Abigail’s fingers tightened around the bowl. “And waking up on the rocks. Before that…” Her voice faltered slightly. “Nothing’s clear.”
It was not entirely the truth. Rory knew it immediately, her face showed everything the lass was thinking. ’Twas as if she was weighing the choices, deciding what was safest to reveal.
Mrs. Gable looked toward Rory as he gave the smallest shake of his head.
Not now.
“Well,” Mrs. Gable said briskly, “whatever knocked the memories from ye can wait until morning. Ye’ve a look about ye like death warmed over.”
To Rory’s surprise, Abigail smiled faintly.
“That’s a phrase we use where I’m from too.”
“Where’s that then?”
Another pause.
Rory nearly smiled himself.
“Far away,” Abigail said carefully.
“Aye,” Mrs. Gable replied dryly. “I gathered that much from the strange clothes.”
That earned the tiniest huff of laughter from several men nearby as the tension eased.
Rory pulled out a chair across from Abigail and sat. Now that she was warm and no longer half-conscious on the rocks, he could study her properly.
Her clothing was fascinating. The seams impossibly fine, perfectly straight. No tailor alive could produce stitching that precise. The strange fastening running down the front of her jacket looked almost like tiny metal teeth locked together.
And the fabric itself…
He had never touched cloth woven so tightly.
“What?” Abigail asked suddenly.
Rory realized he had been staring.
“Yer clothes are peculiar.”
A startled snort escaped her.
“Trust me, right now yours are winning that contest.”
Several nearby workers barked startled laughter into their cups.
Rory’s own mouth threatened to curve.
Aye, she was bold.
Outside, thunder rolled farther out to sea. The storm was weakening, but Rory still could not shake the image of the dry circle around the Wine Tower, nor the uneasy certainty that on Samhain night something had crossed onto his shore that was never meant to.
Ewan entered dripping rainwater onto the stone floor and stopped beside Rory, looking Abigail over openly.
She met his gaze without flinching. Another thing Rory noticed about the lass. Most women would have looked away beneath the scrutiny of a room full of strange men. Abigail simply looked back.
Ewan lowered his voice slightly. “We should talk.”
Rory nodded and rose, following Ewan into the corridor outside while wind rattled the shutters overhead.
