Читать книгу The Highlander's Stolen Touch - Terri Brisbin - Страница 11

Ciara could not stop herself from seeking him out in the crowd. This feast was in her honour and she’d hoped against hope that Tavis would attend, but once more, she was foolish to harbour such desires. They’d not spoken since that humiliating night and she’d not had the courage to approach him since. Even if she wished to admit that he’d been right about her infatuation with him, she could not take the step to tell him so. Now though, as she prepared to take this next huge step in her life and begin to move from this clan to another, she wanted to speak of it—to remove it from plaguing her thoughts and her heart as she left the MacLeries.

Elizabeth sat at her side and Ciara smiled when her friend touched her hand in silent acknowledgement of her sadness. It was a sign of her faithfulness as a friend, even when she knew not the whole truth of the matter.

‘You need only tell your parents you do not wish this match to go ahead and they will find a way out of it, Ciara,’ she whispered.

‘I know that. My parents would not force me into a marriage I did not want, Elizabeth. But Tavis was right when he said I must grow up and seek an appropriate marriage.’

The words sounded calm and very mature, but they burned her tongue with their bitterness. Doing the adult thing and accepting and liking it were two different matters and she feared the second would come much more slowly than the first had. Worse, her parents’ efforts to find her a suitable husband had not slowed one bit, despite her efforts to break three betrothals. The feeling that she was being pushed away grew, even though she knew they loved her.

However, a Robertson girl raised by the MacLerie clan was never really part of either family. That fact was hard to ignore.

‘This match has much to offer both clans,’ she repeated the line she’d used before, this time as much for herself as for Elizabeth.

Elizabeth squeezed her hand and smiled. ‘If you are certain, then?’

‘I needed only to see that my feelings were just the ones from my days as a bairn,’ Ciara explained as she tamped down any reaction to Tavis’s entrance into the hall. ‘’Twas never true love.’

Her heart pounded so hard she was certain Elizabeth and anyone within ten feet of her could hear it, but they did not react to it as she did. Ciara had mastered the skill of forcing her wayward and inexperienced heart to ignore Tavis, but as he caught her gaze and nodded at her, her stomach joined in, revealing how much he did yet affect her, tightening and threatening to expel the few morsels of her dinner that she had eaten.

She could have, and she would have, regained control if he had walked in the opposite direction or if he’d called out to someone across the large room. But when he made his way over to where she sat with Elizabeth and some other young women of the clan, there was no way to do it.

‘Elizabeth, Margaret, Ailsa, Lilidh,’ he said nodding to each of her kinswomen or friends as he named them. Then he turned his gaze to her. ‘Ciara.’

He smiled at her and she did the same. For a moment, he looked on her as he always had, at least, as he had before that humiliating night. Tavis held out his hand to her.

‘May I speak with you, Ciara?’ She nodded as she stood, willing, though not expecting, this at all. She clutched her hands, trying to calm the trembling that shook them and revealed his effect on her to anyone observing.

‘Certainly, Tavis. Have you eaten yet?’ she asked.

Ciara always remembered her duties even as she allowed him to lead her away from her friends. He shook his head in reply, so she nodded at the tables that were bursting with foods of all kinds. Ciara pointed to an open place on a bench and they sat. Her chest hurt from the tension in her, her throat and mouth grew dry and she tried to remember how to think.

So much for putting her feelings for him in their proper place.

One of the servants brought over a platter, another brought over a mug of ale and soon Tavis had food and drink enough to feed an army. She watched the dancing while waiting for him to eat before expecting him to speak. They’d shared many meals in the past, but somehow she knew that this one was different. Several people walked by, offering her their best wishes, though none remained long. Finally, Tavis finished eating, took the just-filled cup and turned to her.

‘I want to wish you well in this betrothal,’ he said, his voice low and deep. ‘And I wanted to explain why—’

She shook her head, stopping his words. ‘You were right, Tavis,’ she admitted while glancing away. Saying the words somehow confirmed it in her own heart. ‘My feelings were childish. I have spent the last year regretting what I did.’

He took her hand in his, pulling her gaze back to his, and smiled at her. Her heart pounded from the intensity of his gaze and she swallowed, trying to lessen the tightness in her throat.

‘Ciara, it was my fault as well.’ The heat of his hand over hers warmed her heart. ‘I should have spoken to you before.’ He released her and her hand and heart felt the chill at once. ‘I should have explained about … things, but I always thought of you as that little lass from Dunalastair and didn’t realise you were growing up so quickly.’ He glanced at her and then away at those caught up in the dance. She recognised several of his own siblings there. ‘As I have refused to see my own sisters and brothers growing up,’ he confessed. He met her gaze again and squeezed her hand. ‘And I would not have you leave angry at me.’

The great hall silenced around them and, for a scant second, all she could see or feel or hear was Tavis. Memories of their first meeting, their journey here to Lairig Dubh, the years since and that night a year ago rushed through her mind in that moment. All of it was over and now she would move on, leave this village to marry and live elsewhere. At least they’d had this time to settle things between them.

Time spun out between them, but then the silence receded and the frivolity of the feast seeped back. Tavis startled, tearing his gaze from hers and dropping her hand. Standing then and taking a step away, he forever placed a distance between them. A space that would be filled by another man. A new family in a new place. Even children, if God granted them. But never him and never his. Ciara felt that separation grow inch by inch until the threads that connected them seemed to stretch and eventually snap. She exhaled the breath she didn’t realise she held and smiled.

‘I would never be angry with you, Tavis. You tried to convince me to see what I did not want to on that night. I was not ready for the truth then.’

Someone called out her name and she turned to see her parents arrive. One of the laird’s most trusted men, the man she called father, travelled frequently on clan business. His height meant he towered over others, save for their cousin Rurik, and meant that he could always find her in a crowd. That skill was useful when she was a mischievous child and right now, talking to Tavis in so candid a manner in spite of being promised to another man, it made the same chills run down her spine as any misdeed had. With their hands entwined, her parents moved closer to her and Tavis began to inch away from her.

The occasional scolding aside, Ciara knew their love for her was unconditional—they’d supported her through two previous broken betrothals and she knew they’d do it again if she asked them. Taking in a deep breath and releasing it, she knew then that this betrothal would proceed on to a marriage. She owed them and the MacLerie clan nothing less.

‘Ciara! Tavis!’ her mother said as they reached the place where she and Tavis stood. ‘Are you discussing the final arrangements for the journey?’

Duncan watched him with an unseemly interest as he answered Marian’s question. He had made the arrangements, selected the men to lead and guard Ciara and her friend on their journey. In spite of that, he had not discussed any of it with Ciara. Until just a short time ago, he’d not planned on even seeing her before the journey, but something had driven his feet to bring him here. Now, their peace made, Tavis discovered he was more bothered by her ability to move on, and her feelings for him, than he thought. She seemed to be able to move ahead through mistakes and find happiness, while he remained locked in his past with no way to leave it behind him.

He watched as her brown eyes shone with love as she spoke to her parents. ’Twas difficult at times to remember that Duncan was her stepfather, for their bond was as strong as any he’d seen between father and child. Then when she pushed the loose hairs from her braid back over her shoulders, he realised she was nervous. She entangled her fingers together as she spoke, another sign that she was uncomfortable.

Hell!

When had he begun to notice such things about her?

Tavis needed to get away from this, from her, before he did or said something that would make this strained situation even more tense. And he felt the need to prove she was not the only one ready to move on with life.

‘The arrangements are made. Young Dougal and Iain are ready,’ he reported. ‘And Ciara—’ he dared a glance at her ‘—is ready?’

‘Aye, I am well packed,’ she said, smiling at her mother. The slight twitching at the corners of her mouth meant that it must have been a battle to get packed.

‘And your journey, Duncan? When do you and Marian leave?’ he asked. Ciara’s parents travelled on the laird’s business as well. They would all meet back here in a month and the wedding would be held.

Tavis walked aside with Duncan, discussing the true reasons behind the negotiator’s trip to Glasgow, but he never took his attention off Ciara. Their last encounter seemed like a distant dream as he watched her speaking to her mother. At ease, graceful, confident, beautiful—clearly she’d accepted the betrothal and was content in her coming life. So, why did his gut burn at that realisation? And why was he angered at the thought that she now accepted it? He must be going mad.

Duncan explained many things about his trip and the tasks he would carry out on behalf of the clan and the Earl of Douran, but Tavis heard none of it. As the sounds swirled around him and the memories of things past flowed, he saw only her. As a child travelling with her mother from Dunalastair. As a girl of ten years, telling him stories about all he’d missed while away from Lairig Dubh. As a girl of thirteen who offered her sympathies when Saraid passed. As the young woman who showed up at his door in the dark of night to propose marriage to him.

And now, now as a woman betrothed to another man.

‘Tavis? Are you listening?’ Duncan’s low voice broke into his thoughts and his grasp on his arm shook him from his memories.

‘I am, Duncan.’ He spoke the words, though not certain they were correct.

He stepped back out of the way now as some of Ciara’s friends approached. Gathering around her, they laughed about some matter before tugging her away, but she pulled free and walked to where he stood. She leaned in close and he smelled the scent of heather in her hair.

‘No matter what happens, Tavis, I will never forget how much you’ve done for me. I am and shall always be your friend.’

The kiss on his cheek surprised him. Words were hard to come by just then and harder to say. He forced them out at a whisper so they remained between them.

‘And I am yours, Ciara.’

Tears filled her dark-brown eyes as he spoke and he watched as she tried to blink them away. He would never know what pushed him nearer or what made him wrap her in his arms and hold her close. ‘Be well. Be happy,’ he whispered as he hugged her for a few moments and then let her go.

He’d barely released her when her friends grabbed her and led her to the open space between the tables. The music began and they formed a circle with Ciara at its centre. Laughing and cheering, they danced—celebrating Ciara’s betrothal and, whether they realised it or not, the end of their own childhoods.

Others joined in—wee ones, mothers, fathers, kin of all ages—for they all shared the joy of this betrothal. Tavis threw off his dark feelings and smiled, clapping to the tune as more and more joined in. Then, when one of the clan held out her hand to him, he let some of his past go for a moment and joined in.

They circled and moved back and forth, each of the couples passing the others in a pattern that continued as long as the music played. The players stopped for a brief pause before beginning anew and, to his surprise, another of the women stepped forwards to claim him for the next dance. He laughed as he had not in a long time and, when the dance finished, he danced another and another until the feast was done and everyone began leaving the hall.

For the first time since Saraid’s death, he’d stepped into the middle of the clan instead of standing at the side watching. As he turned to say farewell to someone who spoke his name, he noticed that Ciara was gone.

Disappointed in some way he could not name, he drank down the last of his ale and walked through the keep and out to the yard. Since many of those who lived in the village had attended, the gates were still open to allow them to leave. Waving to several of the men who reported to him, Tavis made his way to the path that led to his cottage.

As he saw the outline of it in the bright light of the growing moon, the same stabbing pain flashed through his heart and soul. He never left a fire burning. He never came home to anyone waiting for him. He was alone as he always was, in spite of this night’s revelries when he’d allowed himself to enter back into the life of the clan for a few scant moments.

Tavis moved around the croft out of habit, needing not lamp or fire to guide his way while trying to avoid thinking too deeply on the matter. Soon, he lay on his pallet, thinking about his plans for the next few days, trying to find sleep. Instead thoughts and memories jumbled inside his mind and would not allow him to find his rest. Problems and their solutions continued for hours, but the one he thought most about was her.

Ciara.

Part of him was pleased that she had grown out of her silly notions about marrying him. It was a sign that she was more sensible now than a year ago when she had turned down several marriage offers and had made one of her own. It gladdened his heart to know she was contented in this betrothal.

And yet, as he tossed and turned and found no rest through the night, at the same time, he was not pleased. His male pride was pricked now by her ability to leave him behind, as part of a childhood outgrown. Even knowing such reasoning was irrational, and was exactly what he told her to do, did not help him put it from his mind.

The main reason he’d decided against escorting Ciara to Perthshire was that he did not want to encourage her misplaced feelings towards him, but that seemed not to be an issue now. Giving in to the futility of finding sleep this night, he climbed from the pallet and walked to the window, gazing out at the bright moon there.

Tavis did not remember making a decision over the next few hours, but somehow he had gathered what belongings and supplies he would need, packed and now stood waiting in the yard at sunrise when young Dougal and Iain arrived to lead the travelling party east. Though none of his men questioned this change of plans, he was certain it was noticed by many.