Читать книгу Highlanders Collection - Бренда Джойс, Ann Lethbridge - Страница 48

Once she realised it, it was difficult not to laugh. Ciara fought against it or James’s victory would be for naught. The purpose of it, she did not ken, but Tavis must have a good one to manoeuvre in such a way. Winning for him was easy, losing unlikely. Throwing a match while hiding it from those who observed was more difficult.

The control of the board switched back and forth several times before she could see the upcoming move that could defeat James. If Tavis took it, she was completely wrong about him losing on purpose. If he ignored it …

His lips twitched again, ever so slightly, and if she had not been watching so closely, she would have missed it as most others looking on did. Then he made a defensive move, allowing the one that would win the game to pass by unused. James smiled then, assured of victory, and slid his piece across to claim the red queen.

The Murrays watching shouted in glee at the outcome as James reached out his hand to Tavis. As Tavis took it, his gaze flickered over to hers and she saw the truth there. The frown that followed warned her off, but it would be more difficult than that to keep her from asking about his actions.

And she would ask.

Damn! Tavis thought as he walked from the game and towards the place in the camp where he would rest for the night. He’d bid everyone a good night’s rest and turned away, but her gaze burned his back. Coward that he seemed to be when it came to Ciara, he ignored it and refused to turn around. She would ask him too many questions and he did not wish to answer them.

Or examine his reasoning too closely, either.

For, as much as he wanted to—and oh, aye, he wanted to—pound James into the ground during their training or to destroy his puny attempts at the more complex strategies of chess, he could not. Any repercussions would be felt by one person.

Ciara.

Making an enemy or opponent out of her betrothed would leave her undefended once she was no longer under MacLerie protection. Which would be very soon. James seemed to have a level head, but he would not risk Ciara’s safety or future by antagonising the heir of the Murrays just because he could.

Even more, Duncan’s words during their talks repeated in his head. Connor’s words warned him over and over again not to be the cause of problems between the MacLeries and the Murrays, and especially not between Ciara and James. Memories of Duncan’s methods of calm, dispassionate behaviour during negotiations were to be his model on this journey. And that was all well and good until it involved the lass.

Had they known the truth when they issued such words to him, each at a different time before he left Lairig Dubh, that the feelings that lay buried deep in him that would be stirred by this journey? Had they seen this happening before he did?

Tavis checked his horse and grabbed his water skins, intent on putting some space between him and her. He would fill them in the nearby stream. Walking would feel good after sitting so long at the table. It was a task that could be left to the servants, but he preferred to see to his own preparations and needs and not rely on others to provide and perform them. Halfway down the path that led to the water, the crackling of branches behind him warned of someone following him. He let out a deep breath. Turning around was not necessary, for he could identify his pursuer without looking.

‘You should be settling yourself for the night, Ciara.’

He said it aloud, not waiting on a response. The footsteps behind him paused for a few seconds, but then moved rapidly, approaching him before he reached the stream’s edge.

‘I would speak to you,’ she said, out of breath from his quick pace.

‘Nay,’ he said, waving her off. ‘Seek your tent. We can speak in the morn.’

It had not worked before and was not successful this time, either; the sound of her steps, crunching the leaves beneath her feet came closer and closer until he could feel the heat of her at his back. So he sidestepped and watched her stumble by him, too close to stop herself. Before she could fall, he reached out and grabbed her arm, righting her on her feet, then releasing his hold.

‘Go back now,’ he said. Crossing his arms over his chest, he nodded with his head back towards the camp. The torches outlining the small gathering of wagons and tents could be seen clearly in the crisp night air. He wondered how she’d got past the guards he’d posted earlier?

‘I would speak—’

‘Go back.’

When she crossed her arms the same as he did, Tavis knew the battle was lost. Still, he had to try.

‘I pray you, return now,’ he said quietly, his voice sounding as breathless as hers did.

‘You lost on purpose,’ she accused, not moving one bit back along the path. ‘This night and when you fought.’

‘’tis of no importance, Ciara. Go back now.’

Even repeating the words, whether plea or order, did no good at all, for she remained as though frozen in place. He rubbed his hands over his face and stared up at the moon above, trying to work out how to make her obey. Would speaking plainly send her back to her tent and away from tormenting him with her every word, every smile, every frown? Facing her, he nodded once more in the direction he prayed she would go.

‘To what good purpose would humiliating the young lord before his people be?’ he asked. ‘Other than my own needs, what good would come from defeating him now?’

She startled at his words and stared at him. ‘Your own needs, Tavis?’

His body reacted as it was wont to do, his flesh rising and hardening just at the very words she spoke. And, damn, but she did not even realise the effect she could have on him! Reminding himself that she belonged to another did not help at all. So, he tamped down his wayward desires and shook his head.

‘I could pummel him into the ground without much effort.’ He nodded back towards the camp again. ‘I could have taken his queen after five moves.’

‘Five? I thought at least seven.’ She smiled at his boast.

‘It would have taken you seven, lass. I had him in five,’ he answered her back. ‘No matter,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘To do either of those would jeopardise what we travelled to Perth to do—confirm your betrothal.’

The intelligence and acceptance in her gaze took his breath away once more. Regardless of who had fathered her, regardless of what truths she might learn on her arrival home, she was the peacemaker’s daughter at heart. She understood completely the importance and the dangers of their situation. Ciara might tease or poke, but she knew her duty and knew how this would go.

The only sign of weakness or surrender to the inevitable came as she smoothed her palms over her gown and touched something in the small pouch at her waist. He’d seen her do it dozens of times during their journey; the pouch never left her belt as much as he could remember.

‘What keepsake do you carry there?’ he asked. As the words escaped, Tavis thought it was a question he should not have asked. A shiver moved along his spine, warning him that the answer was not one he wanted to hear or know. But, if his misgivings showed on his face, they did not stop her from reaching in the leather sack and removing the item kept there.

A wooden horse. She cupped it in her hands, her fingers gripping and stroking it at the same time. Small and worn though it was, he recognised it immediately as the one he’d carved all those years ago before a journey much different from this one.

A lifetime ago when his future still lay spread out before him, filled with possibilities and potential. Before he was truly a man. Before he met Saraid. Before … There was so much to regret.

‘I have kept it close since you made it for me, Tavis. Whenever I feel lost or unsure, it comforts me. When I wonder about my place in the MacLeries, it reminds me,’ she whispered.

Her vulnerability, the lost expression in her eyes, nearly drove him to his knees. When she let her guard down, when she let the confidence she exuded with every breath she took drop, she was dangerous to him and his resolve about his part in the life.

Tavis looked at the horse, lowering his gaze from Ciara, and remembered the exact moment when he saw her play with the small toy for the first time. Duncan had asked him to make it for her, knowing of his skill in woodworking. And knowing he had siblings almost her age, he’d asked Tavis to look after her on the journey from Dunalastair to Lairig Dubh. Neither of them, he suspected, knew the lifelong connection that was being forged because of it. As he held the horse carefully, knowing he could break it if he even tightened his fist around it, Tavis realised that he had not carved in a long time.

Since Saraid’s death.

Holy Christ! He would not survive if Ciara continued to remind him of every weakness in his character and the lack in his life! He turned the carving over in his hand and realised that she’d worn it smooth over the years until the head had no ears and the legs had become little stubs. A sad laugh bubbled up inside of him as he saw the proof of her devotion to his creation.

‘Hell, Ciara, ’tis worn to nearly nothing,’ he said, offering it back to her. She lifted her chin for a moment and he noticed the way her lips trembled. Then she took a deep breath and let it out, an exasperated sound escaping that echoed across the few steps that separated them. With that, she regained control and the woman who stared back at him was the decisive, confident Ciara.

‘I expect it will survive this journey, but not another,’ she said with a hint of sadness in her voice.

Did she speak of the wooden toy or of something else? A reference to the feelings between the two of them, mayhap? His chest ached as he understood the reality of the loss between them that was coming and he closed his fingers carefully around the toy. Anger mixed with the frustration that lived beneath his skin now and before he could think to stop the words, they escaped his mouth with no way to return them.

‘I will carve another.’

The sparkle in her eyes at his offer hit him like an axe. But he knew he would do whatever she needed to keep her strong, especially since he would not, he would never be at her side again to protect her or guide her as he had so very often. A call from the camp stopped any other words or promises.

‘Tavis? Is the lass with you there?’ young Dougal yelled to him. They were just beginning to discover she was gone.

‘Aye,’ he replied. ‘She is on her way back there now.’

Tavis watched as she nodded and turned back away from him. He stopped her before she took a step.

‘This is still yours,’ he said, handing her the first carving. Ciara opened the pouch and placed it inside, positioning the sack on her belt where she’d worn it throughout their journey.

She left without another word, but the damage was already done. He’d been trapped by a wooden animal, skewered by his own memories and desires to protect her and finished off with his own promises. Tavis walked a few paces behind her, making certain she reached the camp, then turned back towards the stream.

He ran his hands through his hair as he walked to the edge of the rushing water. Did he even remember how to carve? Did he still have the small knife he used to work on wood? How had he got himself in deeper when it was the worst thing he could do now? Tavis did not realise he was searching for a good piece to work on until he’d picked up several and tossed them aside.

Giving up on finding any measure of rest this night, he strode back to the camp, then searched his leather satchel until he found the knife. It took him some time to find the right branch of the right age, dryness and size, but he found it. Carving always eased his tension and he hoped it would again … now. But as dawn’s first light crept into the skies above him, he understood it no longer worked that way.

And when he saw the rough shape of the wooden carving, Tavis grasped that he was in more trouble now than he had been when he had let Ciara see him throw the chess game to James. A horse, it was not. Held up against the brightening morn, all he could see was a heart—ragged, uneven and much like his felt this day.