*Cait*
The days after I pulled Rory from the river are a blur of motion, unspoken doubt and wary glances. He walks with the grace of a nobleman, and while Father doesn’t say it aloud, I see the caution in his eyes.
Still, Rory’s manners win Laird MacRae over. He bows with just the right tilt of the head, speaks with quiet courtesy, and never oversteps his place. He tells us he was on his way to a wedding at a kirk in the Highlands when thieves set upon him in the woods. They stole his horse, his coin, and left him for dead. One of them struck him so hard across the head, he barely remembered stumbling to the bridge before falling into the river. That’s where I found him, but cunningly, Rory leaves out how I saved him, telling my father it was a guard who came upon him.
When Rory shares
