The Highlander's Stolen Touch (6 page)

Soon he heard reports about the conditions of the roads ahead and offers from some of the men there to provide additional protection for their group. Tavis talked with many, ate heartily, but drank sparingly. He wanted to get an early start in the morn and did not want to deal with a thick head from too much ale. Still, it was a pleasant evening and he was passing it among friends.

* * *

Ciara watched from the high table as several men, and women, joined Tavis where he sat eating. He had, she realised, made the journey a pleasant one so far. Once the surprise of his presence wore off, a very companionable atmosphere fell into place. Since he’d most likely made the arrangements, he needed no one to tell him their path or their supplies. Both tired and not, she finished the savoury meal prepared by the laird’s cook and relaxed in her chair. Watching as he spoke and laughed with others, Ciara savoured the moment and realised something important.

He seemed more at ease here than at Lairig Dubh.

‘You are staring once more,’ Elizabeth warned in a whispered voice. ‘Someone will notice.’

Ciara sighed. She could not help herself. Though things between them seemed settled and comfortable once more, they were not truly. Better than they had been for a year, but not back to how it had been between them. Which was probably for the best since she was travelling to meet her future husband and would soon belong to someone else.

‘He seems happy,’ she replied. ‘He even danced with Morag and others at the ceilidh the night before we
left.’

‘Are you happy about that?’ Elizabeth asked, leaning over closer. ‘Have you released him from your life now?’

‘Of course,’ she began. Elizabeth placed her hand on Ciara’s arm and squeezed her as though warning her that her friend would know the truth. ‘I do not remember seeing him dance in a long, long time,’ she admitted the truth in another way. ‘It felt good to see that.’

Mayhap she had released him from her heart after all? As though he knew they were speaking about him, he turned his head and met her glance. As he rose and said something to those sitting at the table with him before walking in her direction, Ciara smoothed her hair back and wiped her sweaty palms across her lap. So much for releasing him.

‘Ciara. Elizabeth,’ he said with a slight bow to them. ‘Are you recovered from the travels of the day?’

‘Aye, Tavis,’ Elizabeth said in a cheerful voice. ‘The meal has been quite pleasant.’

‘Would you like to walk a bit before retiring?’ he asked them both. ‘The storms have moved on and the skies have cleared.’ They were on their feet before they even spoke and Ciara heard him laugh. Since all three were familiar with the keep and the lands around it, no one needed to lead and they walked in silence until they reached the yard.

As he’d said, the storms were gone and the evening was clear and cool. Though the end of summer grew nigh and autumn would soon arrive, these days were some of the best for travelling with long daylight. She knew where they would walk even before they reached it—it was one of the places she most remembered from their first journey here.

Laird MacCallum’s pigs!

She began laughing as they approached, both from the memories and from the expression on Elizabeth’s face when the usual smell grew too strong to ignore. Her friend began waving her hand before her face, trying to weaken the odour, but pigs were pigs and nothing would help it.

‘I am returning to our chamber, Ciara,’ she said, as she stopped and turned away. ‘Enjoy your walk.’ A gagging sound echoed behind her as she strode away.

‘I did not think Elizabeth such a delicate wee thing,’ Tavis said to her. ‘A few pigs and she runs?’

Ciara laughed. Though not raised around them, pigs did not bother her at all. A leftover sentiment from her childhood when all animals held a place in her fascination. Especially those Tavis carved for her. ‘A frail lass to be sure.’

They walked to the fence that surrounded the pen and watched as the animals rooted for food. Stretching her legs felt good, so she strode around the large enclosure at a brisk pace for some minutes before stopping near the gate.

The recent rains muddied up the ground, which seemed to please the pigs. A few piglets did not bother looking for something to eat; they knew exactly where to find it. She stood beside Tavis and watched their antics in silence.

‘Have you met James Murray yet?’ he asked. Surprised, Ciara nodded.

‘We met at Uncle Iain’s gathering in the spring. His family was there, as were some others.’

She grimaced. Not a good topic to raise since two other men who she had since turned down were also there.

‘Will this time keep?’ he asked, turning to face her. The intensity of his gaze reminded her of many discussions between them. She heard the concern in his voice, but now accepted it for what it was—that of a friend.

‘I think so,’ she said nodding. ‘We both like horses. His parents want and need my dowry. All the things on which to base a marriage.’ She said it as she struggled to keep all emotions from her face.

He laughed aloud then; it came from the deepest part of him and rumbled all the way out, echoing across the empty yard. Tavis leaned back and let it out, and continued until he rubbed his eyes. ‘You were always a forthright lass, Ciara. I’m glad that has not changed in you.’

‘I prefer the truth of the matter rather than the sweet words or blurry image. My parents encouraged it, but I suspect that James’s parents do not see it as a good thing. If it were not for the dowry, they would never countenance such a match as ours.’

He lifted his hand up as though to touch her cheek, then stopped just before she felt his fingers on her skin. She closed her eyes for just that moment, but forced them open to watch his reaction. Part of her wished against hope that he harboured feelings for her and would speak of them to her before she gave up every last vestige of hope. But, regardless of whether he did or not, she understood her duty and understood that he was not part of her future. Knowing that she belonged to another man, more so with every mile forwards in this journey, Ciara stepped back and smiled at him, relieved to be on better terms with him.

‘Dawn will come early, Ciara. You should seek your bed.’

‘Until the morning, then,’ she said, nodding and turning away from him.

Ciara paused after only a few steps and turned back to him.

‘Do you know of James Murray?’ she asked.

‘I know very little about him. Only what your father has said of him and his family.’

Shrugging and wondering exactly what she’d hoped he’d say, she walked back to the keep where Elizabeth would be waiting for any gossip. For a moment, she wondered why Tavis did not retire, too. Remembering how a number of women, servants and clan, had approached him as he ate, she suspected whenever he did, it would not be alone.

She tried to pass off the burning in her chest as a sign of partaking in too many of the cook’s spicy dishes, but the fire of jealousy was hard to ignore.

Chapter Five

T
his 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.