Page 45 of Highland Fire

Unless some miracle happened, Iver had won, and that was a bitter taste in Tavig’s mouth—a defeat made all the more bitter by how close he had come to reaching Mungan Coll, aid, and safety. The moment Moira reached Mungan and told him everything that had happened, he was certain Mungan would try to come to his rescue. He was also sure it would be too late. MacBain and his hard-eyed men would get him to Iver before Moira could get to Mungan. Iver would undoubtedly take some time to gloat over his victory, but not enough to allow Mungan to rescue him.

As he thought of Moira, Tavig sighed, saddened by the thought of never seeing her again and angry at himself for not planning for such an inevitability. She was not his wife, nor had he the tools or the time to write down his wishes for her future. She would have no choice but to return to Sir Bearnard’s brutal care. Tavig could not shake the feeling that he had failed her—badly.

And his son as well, he realized, cursing viciously at himself. He had not claimed Adair as his own by spoken or written word. That was going to make it very difficult for Adair to claim what was his by birthright, far more his than Iver’s. Despite his looks, Adair would have a hard time proving that he was Tavig MacAlpin’s son. Worse, when Moira was taken from the child, the boy would truly be orphaned. It was only a small comfort to know Mungan would care for the boy.

At least they are alive, he told himself fiercely. If Andrew MacBain and his cohorts had captured Moira and Adair, neither would have survived for long. Worse, Tavig knew he would have had to live through the hell of watching Moira abused then murdered. The very thought of it twisted his insides into hard, painful knots of fear. Tavig prayed that Moira had the good sense to do exactly as he had ordered.

Moira stared up at the sky as she finished changing Adair’s rags. She could no longer deny that it was sunset, and Tavig was nowhere to be seen. Setting Adair in his sling, she used another blanket to set the sacks of supplies like panniers on the goat’s back. Head straight for the hills, Tavig had told her. Looking down at a peacefully sleeping Adair, she knew she had no choice but to obey. Her only hope—and she knew it was a small one—was that she would reach Mungan Coll in time for him to hie to Tavig’s rescue. Not only did she doubt her ability to get to Mungan’s keep with any great speed, but also she doubted Iver would allow Tavig to live very long after he got his hands on him.

“He wouldnae let ye live verra long either, laddie,” she murmured, winding her way through the trees, fixing her gaze on the hills she had to cross and dragging the reluctant goat behind her. “Ye are Tavig’s son. Ye may not have been claimed openly by him—save within my hearing—and ye may have no paper, but ye do have the look of him. Iver would take one peek at ye and ken exactly who ye are. He willnae think on how ye have naught to prove your claim, he will just see Tavig’s son and want ye dead. I just wish that saving your life didnae mean losing all chance to save Tavig. Not that I could help him anyway,” she grumbled, shoving aside a branch blocking her path.

Adair gurgled sleepily, reaching out to grab her long braid and tucking it against his cheek as he closed his eyes. Moira briefly touched his thick black curls and sighed. She was so afraid for Tavig she ached, yet every instinct told her to walk away from him, to leave the man and save the child. Moira prayed that when Adair grew up, he would understand not only why she made such a choice, but how hard it was for her to do it.

The colors of sunset were fading to the dull gray of twilight by the time she reached the end of the wood. She frowned toward the hills she was supposed to cross. Between her and them was a wide stretch of open land with only a few wind-contorted shrubs, none of which was big enough to hide her, the baby, and the goat. The grass was long, but it would only hide her if she crawled, and the goat could not be made to do that.

She tied the goat’s lead to a low tree branch then edged forward. There was no sign of Tavig’s enemies between her and the hills, but she knew that did not mean that they were gone. Cautiously, keeping to the shelter of the trees, she moved to look to the west, relieved to find no signs of people there.

When she looked to the east she froze. A fire was clear to see, as were the six men gathered around it. What held her full attention was the figure on the ground, half-hidden by a low shrub. She was sure she was looking at Tavig’s hunters and Tavig himself. The figure on the ground moved slightly, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Tavig was alive.

Adair shifted a little in the sling, and she silently cursed. Knowing Tavig was so close and alive had briefly caused her to forget her priorities.

“But kenning that he is in reach and alive, how can I just walk away?”

And just what do ye think ye can do? asked a snide voice inside her head. She had no answer. As she continued to watch the men she began to have an idea, however. Tavig’s captors were clearly not swilling water from the skins they were tipping up to their mouths. Even from where she stood she could hear the increasing rowdiness that indicated inebriation. If the men kept drinking as heavily as they were, Tavig’s captors would soon be aware of very little.

She came to a decision, praying that she was not allowing emotion to conquer good sense. Returning to the goat, she untied the animal, gagged him, and started toward the hills. Moira kept looking in the direction of the men’s fire but did not see it until she was within a few feet of the rocky base of the hills. She covered those last several feet swiftly, anxious to get within the shelter of the rocks.

Tugging the goat along, she wended her way over the uneven ground until she found a drover’s trail. She tied the goat to a windblown shrub then looked for a good place to hide Adair. Although she did not plan to leave him alone for very long, she needed a place that was sheltered from the night air and any animals that might wander by.

There was nothing to meet her requirements, and she slumped against a moss-covered rock. Moira knew she could not just tuck the child away, even for only a little while. If something happened to her, he would die. She was going to have to take him with her. Even as she wondered if she had gone completely mad, she took a knife from Tavig’s sack of supplies.

“Adair, ye have been the quietest bairn I have e’er met,” she said, lightly touching his cheek and smiling faintly when he smacked his lips in his sleep. “Please, I beg of you, dinnae change your ways now. We are going to try to save your father, or at least give him a second chance to save himself.”

Moira took a deep breath and raced back across the clearing, pausing to breathe once she reached the safety of the trees. “If Tavig escapes,” she muttered, “he is going to kill me—slowly.”

After taking a moment to bolster her courage, she began to make her way through the trees. She could see the light of the fire again and crept along until she was directly across from it. Easing off the sling, she gently placed a still-sleeping Adair on the ground. She could see the bush Tavig huddled near, his long body too big to be completely hidden by it. Once at the very edge of the trees, she clamped the knife between her teeth and dropped to her stomach. Praying that the men were as drunk and half asleep as they appeared, she edged toward Tavig on her belly. All she had to do was cut his bonds and hand him the knife, she told herself over and over as she inched closer to him.

Tavig winced as he tried to shift his cramped body into a more comfortable position. He glared at his captors. The two men he had wounded had already drunk themselves into unconsciousness. Two of the others were sprawled on the ground, soon to join them, and the other two would not be able to stay awake much longer. Their confidence in his inability to escape or threaten them angered Tavig, especially since he knew they had every right to feel that way.

A faint tug on the ropes around his wrists caused him to tense. He resisted the urge to jerk away, his first thought being that some animal was inspecting him for his value as food. The cool touch of steel against his skin told him what was happening—someone was cutting him free. He knew it had to be Moira.

“What in God’s sweet name are ye doing here?” he asked in a taut whisper, keeping his gaze fixed upon MacBain and his men.

“What little I am able to do to try to keep ye alive,” she whispered back.

“Lass, I told ye to run, to flee.”

“Aye, and I was being verra obedient until I saw you. Now, cease talking, or one of those pigs may stagger over here to see why ye are muttering away to yourself.”

“Adair,” he protested, elated to have a chance to escape, yet furious that she would put herself in danger.

“He is quite safe, and as soon as I cut you loose, we will be scrambling o’er those wee hills. I willnae do any more than cut through your bonds. I cannae. Adair and I are crossing o’er the hills at a point where the forest is closest to the rocks. If ye can get away, that is where ye will be able to find us.”

“Dinnae hesitate and try to wait for me to join you.”

“I have no intention of doing that. In fact, I intend to move as fast as I dare and get as far away as possible. There,” she said as she finished cutting through the ropes binding his ankles. “Take care.”

He heard only the faintest of rustles as she left. It surprised him that she could move with such stealth. Still watching his captors, he subtly tried to rub the feeling back into his wrists and ankles. He waited tensely for some outcry that would indicate that Moira had been seen. Minutes crept by, and none of the men even glanced toward the hills. Relieved though he was that she had escaped, Tavig vowed to rebuke her soundly for the risks she had taken. He had to admire her skill, however.