Page 32 of Highland Fire

Scrambling after him, Moira silently agreed with him. She was not sure how she could accomplish it, however. And what good would it do her anyhow? She would soon be returning to life under Bearnard Robertson’s brutal rule. If she strengthened her spirit and restructured her pride he would quickly beat them back into submission. What use was it to shake off his ghost when in a week she would be face-to-face with the man himself? In fact, it was a little cruel of Tavig to try to inspire her to regain her spirit and pride. He had to know that such a return to her old ways would only gain her more pain in the end.

She was still puzzling over the matter as they reached the top of the hill. Below them was a village similar to Craigmoordun except that there was no ominous tower house casting a shadow over it. There was, however, a small stone church. Moira shivered, idly rubbing her arms in reaction to a sudden inner chill. If anyone decided to accuse them of witchcraft, this time there could be men of God near at hand to render a swift sentence. She looked at Tavig, who stood by her side and frowned down at the village.

“Dalnasith has a church,” she murmured.

“Now, lass, ye arenae feeling an urge to confess, are ye?” Tavig grinned, kissing her cheek.

“Nay, although I should be making my penitent way to yonder church on my knees.”

“I should wait until we are beyond all these rocks.”

Moira ignored his irreverence. “If there is a church, there is probably a priest residing there. Not every church is left deserted like the one in Craigmoordun. If there had been a priest there, we never would have lived long enough to escape. Priests mete out a swift and fatal justice to those they believe are in league with the devil.”

“We willnae be cried witches down there.”

“So confident. Ye felt we would be safe in Craigmoordun.”

“And so we would have been, had I been more cautious. I fear I acted without thought when I kenned the child was in danger. There are ways to act upon my warnings without being so dangerously obvious.”

“I didnae mean to criticize. Ye did what ye had to. ’Tis just that, after what happened in Craigmoordun, I fear I am reluctant to enter another village.” She smiled faintly, a little embarrassed by her timidity. “The chance of gaining a bed and a hot bath is verra tempting, though. It kept me clawing my awkward way over those twice-cursed hills. I but falter a wee bit now.”

“’Tis understandable.” He took her hand in his, touching a soft kiss to her palm. “Now, remember, ye are a de Mornay, Moira de Mornay, wife to Tomas de Mornay.”

“I hope we arenae asked too many questions. I have ne’er been verra skilled at weaving lies.”

“They ken me, lass. They willnae press ye hard. Most folk in these tiny villages arenae interested in some traveler’s past, but in what he has seen or heard in his travels. We shall just divert their curiosity with tales of the world outside the confines of Dalnasith.”

“I am sure ye are verra skilled at telling tales,” she murmured as he led her down the hill.

“It has been said that I have a clever tongue.”

“I am sure it has. Clever, smooth, and sweet.”

“Ah, ye think I am sweet, do ye?” He laughed at her repressive look. “It ne’er hurts to be able to talk away trouble. Fewer people are hurt. Careful, dearling, the trail grows steep and rocky here.”

Moira did not see that as much of a change, but did not say so. She concentrated on maintaining a steady footing as she and Tavig made their way down the hill. Three men stood guard at the edge of the village, but made no move toward them to either help or stop them. Moira wondered if Tavig had paused at the top of the path, in full view of the village, in order to let the guards know that only a man and a woman approached. When the men laughed at the clumsy way she and Tavig negotiated the last few yards of the steep trail, she knew the men did not see them as a threat.

“I thought it was ye, Tomas,” a burly man said as he stepped forward to shake Tavig’s hand “The lass?”

Blushing a little as all three guards stared at her, Moira elbowed Tavig to hurry his answer. She was afraid to say much, certain she would call him by the wrong name. Tomas was close to Tavig, and she was a poor liar.

Tavig put his arm around Moira’s shoulders, tugging her closer. “My wife, Moira. Moira, this brute is Robert.”

“Ye are wed?” Robert laughed heartily, slapping his knee and shaking his head. “That news willnae please everyone.”

“What does he mean?” Moira demanded of Tavig.

“He but jests, dearling.” Tavig slapped Robert on the arm. “He just ne’er expected a rogue like me to marry.”

Tavig was staring hard at his friend. Moira got the distinct impression Tavig was silently telling Robert to shut his mouth. Robert cast her a nervous glance from beneath his thick graying brows. There was some secret between the men, something Tavig did not want her to know.

Moira smiled, deciding to pretend ignorance. As far as she knew, Tavig had been honest with her thus far. She could not believe that he now kept some large, important secret from her. Curiosity nibbled at her, but she subdued it. It was Tavig’s place to tell her about whatever it was he was trying to hide. She just hoped he would not leave her ignorant too long and thus vulnerable to some unpleasant surprise.

“Weel.” Robert cleared his throat and smiled at Moira, his teeth gleaming white through his thick, ill-trimmed gray and black beard. “Ye found yourself a bonnie lass, Tomas.”

“Thank ye,” Moira said quietly, her gratitude for the compliment echoed by Tavig.

“My wife, Mary, will be glad of a visitor,” Robert continued. “Now she can hear some of the news from afar that a lady likes to hear. Go on down to my home, laddie. I will be done here come sunset, and we can share some ale.”