Читать книгу Highlanders Collection - Бренда Джойс, Ann Lethbridge - Страница 41

This part of the journey was harder than the rest of it would be. Once they passed through Dunalastair and reached the main road used to bring cattle south to the major cities for the markets, their travel would level out and ease. He knew that, but Tavis also knew that this journey was getting harder by the step for him.

For the first time since Saraid’s passing, he’d become aware of the women around him. Nay, not that he had not seen them, but they began now to appeal to him as women did to men. At the ceilidh at Lairig Dubh and then again at the MacCallums’ keep and village, he’d crossed some line in his life. For four years he’d looked the other way, but that had not worked for him. The invitations he’d received, the expressions of wanting and desire in the gazes of several of the women in both keeps, made it clear that he did not have to sleep alone.

That was the usual way of things—a widow’s bed could be a welcoming place for an unmarried man in the clan. Nights of pleasures shared without the commitment of marriage vows or until the two were certain they wanted to marry. Or not.

Not that he would ever marry again, but …

The remorse that always filled him whenever he thought of Saraid—her life, their life, or her death—flooded him now and reminded him of the terrible failure that would always be his burden. Bile spilled into his mouth as did the bitterness of his actions when Saraid needed him most. He spat on to the ground but, real or only memory, he could still taste it.

Guiding his horse down the steep pathway that led into Dunalastair’s village, he reconciled himself to his fate. But when Ciara raced by him, laughing and calling out a challenge, he put away the dark memories and darker possibilities of his future and followed her.

‘To the bridge!’ she yelled, tearing off her head covering and letting the wind catch the length of her hair.

Damn, but she could ride! And with the mount she had, he would be hard pressed to catch her now. Tavis spurred his horse on to follow, trying to work out if there was enough distance in which he could catch her before they reached the bridge. Doubtful. Still, he bent low over his horse’s neck and urged it on faster and faster.

The wind in his face and the feel of the horse’s strong muscles as it pushed them faster along the road forced all melancholy from him. He focused his thoughts on the woman ahead of him, though now just barely. Dirt flew under the horse’s hooves and branches whipped him. None of that slowed him down, not when victory could be his. They approached a split in the road and he took the one Ciara did not.

Tavis laughed aloud then, knowing now that he would reach the bridge first by using this path. He’d done it many times when travelling here with Duncan. When he broke through the last of the trees, Ciara sat on the bridge, smiling at him. How had she …?

‘You are not the only one who knows the shorter pathways around here, Tavis,’ she scolded.

He should have known better. He should have realised that she would be a fierce competitor even on the way to becoming a dutiful wife. James Murray would not appreciate a woman like Ciara. He was too young and in the power of his parents who, as she’d said, only wanted the match for the money she brought them.

He tipped his head at her and jumped down from his horse. Gathering the reins, he walked to the bridge and held hers while she climbed down. Both of them were out of breath as they entered the village of Dunalastair, walking the horses to cool them down. Ciara had moved from here when she had only five years, so her memories of the place were more from her visits back. Without asking and out of habit, they walked down the lane that led to her mother’s old cottage.

‘Will the others be offended that I keep leaving them?’ she asked as they turned on to a smaller path and stopped before a small cottage.

As he watched, she walked to the edge of the enclosed garden and peeked within. Her mother had a talent with growing herbs and much more and this was where her skills had developed. With Ciara at her side. The tears that glistened in her eyes were no surprise to him. Tavis allowed her some private moments before calling out to her.

‘Word will get to your uncle before you do, Ciara. We should go.’

She fumbled for a small pouch tied on her belt, one he had not noticed before, and she ran her hand over its surface, feeling whatever was inside it. Almost as a bairn rubs a blanket when troubled, she repeated the action again. Then her hand dropped and she faced him. ‘Aye. Uncle Iain likes to be the first to know when he has visitors.’

‘Are your other uncles expected?’

He knew that Ciara’s mother had four brothers, two older and two younger, for he’d met them all several times. Padraig, married to a MacKendimen lass, served as Iain’s second-in-command and oversaw all Robertson warriors. Caelan, recently betrothed to the MacLean’s daughter, oversaw the clan’s holdings. Only Graem, now ordained and appointed as secretary to the Bishop of Dunkeld, lived elsewhere and visited infrequently.

‘He did not say. This is only a short visit, so I suspect not,’ she said as they made their way to the keep on the hill.

* * *

By the time they arrived at the gates, the rest of their escorts and companions caught up with them and they entered together. The men laughed when she told them all she’d won and Tavis knew he would be taunted unmercifully about that when she was not there. He greeted several of the Robertsons as they were guided into the main hall. As Ciara said, this was not a formal visit by the heads of their allies, so few were there to greet them, the rest carrying on their duties.

‘Ciara!’ Lord Iain’s loud voice filled the hall as he called out to his niece.

Tavis watched as she ran to him and was wrapped in his embrace. The older man had never married and had no children, but this niece was special to him. Remembering the rumours and speculation that surrounded Marian’s fall from grace when she was known as the Robertson Harlot, Tavis wondered if Lord Iain knew the truth about Ciara’s father.

For Ciara did not.

He followed Ciara forwards and waited for her to introduce both Elizabeth and Cora to her uncle before speaking or offering greetings. Reaching inside his leather jacket, he removed the folded parchment he carried to the Robertson laird.

Watching the two speak in hushed tones, he thought they looked more like father and daughter than uncle and niece. He shook his head, pushing all the conjecture away, for if there was an unknown truth between them, Tavis was not and never would be privy to such matters.

And it mattered naught.

His duty was to see Ciara safely to her betrothed and bring them back to Lairig Dubh for a wedding. And he would do that. Then, he would return to his life and continue to serve the Clan MacLerie and the earl. He did not fool himself that he counted as family or stood higher than others who served. As he’d told Ciara that night, she was too high for the likes of him. Now, seeing her being greeted as family by this powerful laird, that fact was pushed in his face and unavoidable. Lord Iain released her, though he kept Ciara at his side, and waved Tavis forwards. He bowed, offering the letter from Duncan.

‘My lord,’ he said, as he stepped back.

‘Tavis,’ the Robertson said, reaching out his hand in greeting. ‘Welcome back to Dunalastair. My thanks for seeing Ciara safely on her journey.’

The laird invited them all to supper and directed his servants to see to their comfort. The men divided up, he and young Dougal and Iain would share a chamber off the hall while the others would sleep with the laird’s men below. Although he was offered a bath several times by several obviously accommodating maidservants, Tavis decided to use the stream not far from the keep in the woods instead.

It was as he was leaving the keep that the laird called to him for a word. He waved the others to go on and followed the laird to the private chamber off the hall. Offered first a cup of ale and then a seat, Tavis waited to discover the purpose of this meeting.

‘So, Tavis, what does she know? What does she remember?’

He was so surprised by the questions he swallowed a mouthful of ale too quickly and choked on it. It took several deep coughs to clear his throat to breathe. And a few more minutes to consider how to answer such questions. Tavis decided on candour.

‘She was too young to know or remember any of it. Though the rumours and gossip spread, Ciara would never have heard of it.’

‘And the MacLeries?’ Lord Iain probed while watching him closely over the rim of his goblet.

‘She is as our own. If her mother is still called by anything other than Marian Robertson, it is not done by the clan MacLerie.’

Tavis remembered the night they arrived in Lairig Dubh and how Connor and Duncan had proclaimed her one of them. And they’d made it clear that insulting her was insulting all of them. No one had ever spoken that name again.

If Ciara ever wondered about her father, she had never voiced such a thing to him. But then their talks had focused on horses, animals, horses, his siblings, horses and … horses. Even as she grew, she remained fascinated with them. It was the reason why he’d carved several of them for her over the years since she’d become part of their clan.

Strange—he’d not noticed her lack of interest in her father’s identity through all the years he’d known her. By the time she might have been old enough to be curious about a father before Duncan, his own interests and life lay elsewhere.

‘And she’s never asked you for the truth?’ The laird’s voice was quiet, but threatening in some way at the same time, as though he suspected more between them than existed.

‘Why would she do that, my lord?’ he asked.

‘Your friendship is known by many.’ Ciara’s uncle met his gaze and let the words imply what they would.

It took him no time at all to answer the insult. Tavis lifted his fist and swung at the man. The laird side-stepped it easily, giving time for Tavis to realise the importance and foolishness of his action. He dropped his hands to his sides and waited for the laird’s response.

When the Robertson turned away and refilled his cup, Tavis shook his head. He had not done something so stupid in a long time. The laird was within his rights to demand punishment for such an offence. Worse, by swinging his fists at him, Tavis had almost confirmed his suspicion that something more existed between him and Ciara than did.

‘My lord, I …’ He really couldn’t finish because he wasn’t certain for the first time what to say.

‘She told me of her plans to marry you.’

Of all the things the laird could have said, that was not any of the possibilities he’d thought of. Ordering his imprisonment for one; calling his men to beat him senseless for another; gelding him to prevent any more untoward actions towards his niece—but this? Tavis let out his breath before replying.

‘The words of a child, no more, my lord.’

‘That is what I have always believed, Tavis. I want to protect her just as you do.’ He emptied his goblet and left it on the table where the pitcher of ale sat. ‘It is important that no questions be raised about Ciara’s virtue during these negotiations.’

‘You insult my honour and hers once more, my lord.’ Tavis crossed his arms over his chest.

‘Nay, I but bring to your attention that others have noticed the closeness between you and my niece. Within your lands, the MacLerie might control what is said, but you left those lands days ago and now expose Ciara to gossip. Gossip that could tie her to a past best forgotten.’

Tavis finished his ale. The laird was correct. Friendship between a man and woman who were not related by blood or marriage was not the customary thing. So, it was natural that others would question it.

‘I will see that there is no more gossip, my lord.’

‘And I will keep you no longer from your duties,’ the laird said, dismissing him. ‘Supper is in two hours. It will be ready for you in your chamber.’ Tavis turned to leave, but the laird was not quite finished. ‘I’ve decided that two of my men will join you for the rest of the journey south.’

‘That will defeat the entire purpose of sending her with only a small escort of MacLeries, my lord,’ he began through gritted teeth. ‘If the Robertsons join in, then this will look like more than it should be—a cousin visiting a cousin.’

The Robertson stared at him through narrowed eyes and then nodded. ‘A wise observation, Tavis. I will leave you to it then.’

Tavis followed him out and continued on his way to the stream. The words and the warning given him weighed heavily in his thoughts. And he considered the other questions asked of him. Had others raised questions about Ciara’s father? As far as he knew, no one had been named such and no one had claimed to be him. But, with Marian’s reputation and the stories that were yet remembered by many, how would she know?

He took a narrow path next to the keep’s gate and followed it for almost a mile to the stream. Young Dougal and Iain already swam in the cool water and he joined them, leaving his clothing in a small clearing by its side. Though they’d ridden through storms and rain, nothing felt so good as this. He dived under and came up on the other bank.

Tavis spoke to the others about the plans for the rest of the journey. They should make good time because the roads ahead were well used and would lead down from the more mountainous lands to the flatter ones as they approached the southern part of Scotland. He had no doubt that Murray warriors would await them near Perth to escort them to the family’s keep.

The journey back? He had no idea of what would be involved or who would make it, so he did not waste time worrying over it. After enjoying the refreshing water, they headed back to the keep for supper and a good night’s rest.

Iain Robertson returned to his chambers after watching Tavis leave to seek out his men. Pouring a full cup of ale, he sat in his chair and drank most of it in one mouthful.

Watching the grave errors of his youth brought full circle to him was not easy. He’d had years to wonder how she would turn out and now he could see it for himself—Ciara was a beautiful, accomplished, intelligent young woman that any man would be proud to call daughter.

As he would if he were free to speak the truth. But he could not, for others had paid with their lives and their souls to keep her true parentage a secret.

There was no way now to right the wrongs he’d done in the past. There was no way now to keep the secrets that lay silent with the dead. And when loved ones were threatened, there was no way that oaths sworn under pressure would remain intact.

Iain drank the rest and thought about how much Ciara resembled her mother. Both blonde, both with the same shade of brown eyes. Pushing away the past, Iain threw his cup down and rubbed his eyes and face.

Too much depended on his sister and her peacemaker husband and too many years of not worrying about the consequences now caught up with him. The truth they’d all hidden had kept his clan and their honour intact for these last ten or so years. Was he strong enough now to weather any challenges made if the truth were outed?

God help him, he hoped so.

Ciara feared her cheeks would never stop blushing. Touching them, she felt the heat of it and knew she must look feverish. Elizabeth’s had the same red glow, but she was more distraught over it than Ciara was. In the chamber assigned to them by her uncle, she’d sent Cora on some errands so that she and Elizabeth could speak on what had happened. But no words would come.

She had never considered herself sheltered or easily embarrassed or ignorant until now. After organising her clothing in their chamber, she and Elizabeth had decided to take a walk before supper. ’Twas something they did often, especially on this journey and especially after riding so many hours each day.

One of her favourite places on a hot summer’s day was the stream that ran along the edge of her uncle’s village and the falls that the stream had carved in the hillside over the centuries of running over it. The most wonderful little pool caught the water and she loved to put her legs in the water on hot afternoons when she visited Dunalastair.

They’d sped along the path and reached the stream, intending to turn south along its run to reach the pool. The sound of splashing and men’s voices, familiar ones, captured their attention and she led Elizabeth along the banks to find them.

And find them they did!

Though Ciara had seen naked men before, seeing Tavis naked was something she’d dreamt about, but never thought possible. He sat near the opposite bank, in the water up to his waist, his broad chest and muscular arms glistening in the sun that managed to peek through the trees. He dunked his head under the water and shook it back away from his face, giving her a view of his strong back.

When he swam across and climbed out of the water, she thought her heart had stopped! Elizabeth clutched her chest, so she must be having the same reaction. Then her friend covered her eyes and turned away. Ciara allowed herself several additional moments to watch him dress, holding her breath for fear of giving her position away and for fear of making a sound.

A proper young lady would have screamed in fear and shock and run away at first glance. A proper young lady would have covered her eyes or had the decency to faint. She did none of that, instead watching every move he made and never turning away from his magnificently masculine form.

Until Elizabeth grabbed her by the hand and dragged her away.

They stumbled through the trees, back to the path and ran to the falls and the small pool there before stopping. There they’d fallen to their knees, laughing as they did when they did something naughty as girls. Though seeing Tavis naked made her feel something she’d not felt before—an ache that throbbed deep within her and sent tendrils of heat throughout her body. Her mouth grew dry, but she craved … something.

Now, back in their chamber, Ciara wanted to speak of it to Elizabeth, but the image of his body as he climbed out of the water interfered with her attempts to do that. And that led her to thoughts of what being his wife might involve. And that kept her blushing at the truth of it as she understood it and unable to speak to Elizabeth.

So, when the call came for supper, Ciara fought to keep all of her confusion and embarrassment inside. Mayhap if she did not look at him, she could control these strange feelings? Mayhap she should beg off and remain here until morning? Once they were on the road, she could avoid Tavis easily until the unease wore off.

Nay, she was a grown woman now and she would soon learn a man’s body intimately. Not Tavis’s. She would need to put Tavis from her mind. Accepting that she must move on, Ciara rose and walked to the door. As she lifted the latch, she faced Elizabeth and smiled.

‘I was wrong today,’ she admitted. ‘I should not have remained there.’

‘He is … beautiful,’ Elizabeth said.

‘He is not mine to gaze on that way.’

Her wayward thoughts then brought James Murray into her mind. He was at least a half-score of years younger than Tavis and did not have the training and experience as a warrior that he had either. Though quite attractive, he did not have the wildly handsome features that Tavis did, with his green eyes matching the tones of the forest around Lairig Dubh and his chiselled chin and wonderful mou—

What was she doing? She seemed more under the spell of her childhood feelings about Tavis now than she had a year ago! She met Elizabeth’s gaze and could see her deciding whether or not to pursue this. Her friend smiled and nodded.

‘I am sure that James will be as pleasing as what we saw today.’

Knowing the truth, they laughed for a moment, until Cora opened the door, urging them on to supper. Ciara had only a few more days, a week at most, to tame these errant thoughts and reactions before arriving in Perthshire. Taking in and releasing a deep breath, she calmed herself and nodded to Cora.