Page 54 of Highland Fire

“Just when did they die and how? I havenae wanted to ask, but it may be of importance.”

“They died ten years ago. We were returning from a market fair in a nearby village when we were set upon by thieves. They killed Mama, Papa, and Grandmère, my mother’s mother. The men-at-arms with us were also murdered, and I was left for dead. S’truth, I nearly was. An old lady found me and nursed me. ’Twas weeks ere I began to recover. Then she began the search for my kinsmen. Not long after, Sir Bearnard came to take me away.” She saw Mungan and Tavig exchange a long look. “Do ye think Sir Bearnard killed my family?”

“’Tis a possibility, lass, but after ten years ’twould be hard to prove. What matters now is that ye do have land and ye have money. Ye arenae to let that bastard keep it from ye any longer.”

“She doesnae need to worry on that,” said Mungan. “Robertson willnae get his greedy hands on what belongs to my wife. As soon as the lass and I are wed—”

“Ye arenae marrying her,” yelled Tavig.

“Please,” Moira cried. “I have just learned that the last ten years of my life have been a lie. Mayhap ye can give me a wee bit of time ere ye begin to plan my future.”

Tavig pulled her into his arms, smoothing his hands up and down her back. “Aye, lass. Ye will have all the time ye need.” He glared at his cousin. “Where are we to sleep?”

“We? I told ye there will be no more of that. Ye will not be bedding her here.”

“What does it matter?” snapped Una, slamming her tankard down onto the table and sloshing mead onto it. “The two of them have been rutting about in the heather for days. ’Tis a wee bit late to untangle them now.”

Moira closed her eyes, letting the argument swirl around her. She appreciated Tavig’s efforts to get his obstinate cousin to listen to reason, but she wished they could save all their squabbles until the morning. The journey she and Tavig had completed was enough to exhaust her and make her long for a soft bed. Learning that she was not a pauper, that her cousin and guardian had been cheating her for years, was a hard blow. The wealth of emotion the truth had produced had drained the last of her strength. She wanted to go to sleep. She did not want to think anymore. Closing her eyes, she decided her three companions did not really need her to add to their rousing argument.

It took Tavig a moment to realize that Moira had gone limp in his grasp. Leaving Mungan and Una to squabble between themselves, he lifted the sleeping Moira onto his lap. He had hoped to force Mungan to give up his mad idea of marrying Moira, but the man was clinging to it the way a starving hound clung to a scrap of meat. The way Una kept glaring at Moira made it clear there would soon be trouble from her as well.

“Mungan,” Tavig said, interrupting Una’s explicit instructions on what Mungan could do with his offer to keep her as his mistress. “Moira and I need a bed.”

“I told ye that ye cannae keep bedding down with my bride.” Mungan slammed his fist down on the table, sending his half-full tankard of ale spinning onto the rush-strewn floor.

“She isnae your bride yet. Until she declares herself to ye, she is mine.”

“Has she declared herself to you, Cousin?”

“She shared my blanket. For a lass like this, ’tis declaration enough until she says otherwise. Now, where are we to bed down?”

Grumbling all the way, Mungan led Tavig to a small room at the top of the east tower. Tavig watched his cousin closely as he gently settled Moira on their bed. Mungan stood by an arrow slit that overlooked the loch, staring morosely at the tower house. Shaking his head, Tavig stood beside his cousin.

“If ye wanted it so badly why didnae ye just take it some when over the last ten years?” Tavig asked.

“I tried a time or two, but the cost was too high. Ye ken that I am not one to waste my men’s lives, and trying to take that cursed tower exacted a high toll amongst my men. Yet I cannae leave it sitting there, looming over me, and allow some enemy to mon its parapets.”

“Moira would never be your enemy, Mungan.”

“She is naught but a wee lass, Tavig. For most of her life she has been in Robertson’s hard grasp. She could easily fall under the grasp of another rogue and one who will covetously eye my lands. I cannae put my fate in the hands of a wee skinny lass.”

“Then put it into mine.”

Mungan scowled. “What do ye mean?”

“Ye ken verra weel what I mean. She is mine. We are fated. We will marry.”

“She hasnae said she will wed ye, has she?”

Tavig silently cursed Mungan’s insight. “Nay. She fears superstition would be roused to a deadly height if she, a redhead, married a mon with the sight I but need to show her that, at least at Drumdearg, that wouldnae be so. I must convince her that she exaggerates the danger we may face.”

“Maybe ye will, but mayhap ye willnae,” Mungan drawled, strolling to the door.

“What do ye mean by that?”

“Exactly what ye think I mean. The lass is still free game, Cousin.”

Mungan was gone before Tavig could reply. He cursed his obstinate cousin, glaring at the tower house before walking to the bed. Moira was sleeping peacefully, oblivious to the continuing arguments concerning her future. He briefly considered leaving her alone, but knew she would not be comfortable sleeping in all of her clothes.