Page 53 of Highland Fire

“Weel, I fear this fool is quite confused and needs it explained.”

“An explanation would please me as weel,” Tavig said. “Why have ye set your heart on this particular lass?”

“I havenae really set my heart on her,” Mungan replied. “Truth to tell, she is a skinny wee thing and not much to my taste. Howbeit, I cannae get my hands on her lands without wedding her.”

“My land?” Moira shrugged when Tavig looked at her. “I dinnae ken what he means. I have no property.”

“Nay? Come look here,” Mungan ordered, standing and walking to a window at the far side of the great hall.

Moira scrambled to follow, Tavig and Una right behind her. Mungan tugged her to his right side when she reached the window, pointing to a sturdy peel tower on a hill directly across the loch. Tavig and Una pressed close, looking out and frowning with the same confusion Moira felt. As Moira looked at Mungan, she fleetingly noticed that Una was entwined around Mungan’s left arm. Tavig took her hand, tugging her closer to him. Matters were getting very complicated.

“’Tis a verra fine tower house, Sir Mungan,” she said. “What does it have to do with me?”

“’Tis yours,” Mungan replied, scowling at her.

“Nay, ye are mistaken. I have nothing.”

“Ye have that and more, though I cannae say how much more. I was only concerned about that thrice-cursed tower which looms o’er my lands like some carrion bird. I have been trying to get my hands on it since your parents died, but that cur Sir Bearnard wouldnae deal fairly with me. I even offered for your hand though I loathed the idea of gaining something through forcing a lass to my bed. Robertson laughed at my offer. That is when I conceived my plan to just take ye and wed ye. Aye, then that fat swine would cease to laugh.”

“I dinnae own anything,” Moira said, feeling confused and somewhat desperate.

“Wait,” Tavig urged, placing his arm around her shoulders and ignoring his cousin’s dark scowl. “Mungan, are ye verra sure Moira owns that tower house? Mayhap her parents didnae own it?”

“I wish I could say they dinnae, but no one kens better than I just who owns it,” Mungan grumbled, placing his hands on his hips and glaring at the tower house. “Do ye remember what a whimsical fellow my father was?” Tavig nodded, and Mungan continued. “Weel, he met with the lass’s parents once and was so taken with the young couple, he gave them that lump of stone.”

“He gave it to them? He asked naught for it?”

“Not a farthing. And I was but a wee lad—”

“Mungan, ye were ne’er a wee lad.”

“Weel, I was too young to stop that as I stopped so many other fancies he was seized with. That old mon would have left us with naught but rags had I let him do all he pleased. That tower was the last thing he gave away. I held tight to everything else or retrieved it later. I think I could have dealt with the lass’s parents, but there is no dealing with Robertson, who holds all the lass’s properties and coin.”

“Coin, too? Are ye sure? The lass was told that she had nothing, not a farthing.”

“Aye, Robertson would tell such a lie. His steward can be more truthful, though. It took but a wee bit of cajoling to get that spindly wee mon to tell me all he kenned about Robertson’s lands and monies.” He gave one sharp bark of laughter. “That coward was verra free with Robertson’s secrets.”

“But if ye hurt Robertson’s steward, then Robertson must be aware of all ye have learned.”

“I didnae hurt him.” He held his hands out in a pleading gesture when Tavig scowled at him. “I swear it, Cousin. I but hung the wee mon up by his heels for a while over a fire. I cannae help it if the fool believed I was going to roast him alive. God’s bones, the fire wasnae even hot enough to singe what few locks of hair he had. Once he told me what I wished to learn, I let him scurry away. There was no reason for Robertson to be suspicious, and that little coward of a steward would ne’er confess what he had done. Robertson would cut his skinny throat.”

“I own land and I have money,” Moira said, her voice hoarse and weak. “Sir Bearnard has been lying to me for years.”

“Ye sound as if ye dinnae believe it.” Tavig kissed her cheek, holding her tighter. “It doesnae surprise me, lass.”

“Why would Papa keep her if she could keep herself?” Una asked. “She made him so angry, ’twould have made more sense to use her dowry to arrange a marriage for her and be rid of her.”

“Aye,” agreed Mungan, “it would make more sense if your papa wasnae such a greedy bastard.”

“Aha, he wanted what she had for himself. Aye, that does sound like Papa.”

“I need to sit down,” Moira said, walking toward the table.

She retook her seat at the table and filled her tankard with Mungan’s strong mead. Moira drank it all and refilled her tankard as Mungan, Una, and Tavig returned to their seats. Tavig was looking very worried. Moira knew she ought to tell him something to ease his concerns, but she could think of nothing to say. Her emotions were in a confusing tangle. Her thoughts leapt from place to place and back again until they were a knot of half-finished ideas and opinions. She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. She wanted to confront Sir Bearnard with his deception. She wanted to kill him.

“Are ye all right?” Tavig asked, placing his hand over her tightly clenched fist.

“I dinnae ken.” She took several deep breaths, hoping to calm herself for she knew she needed to think clearly. “I think I need a wee bit of time to understand just how many lies I have been told since my parents died.”