Page 72 of Highland Fire

“I cannae be certain it is a prophecy. I have wanted it to be so since the bastard murdered my friends. There is nothing else, just the image of Iver dying. Usually there is more to my warnings, my visions. Because it is just the one image, I do fear that I myself have put that image into my mind. I daren’t act upon what may be only wishful thinking.”

“Tavig, Iver doesnae have the sight, too, does he?”

“Nay. Did ye fear he may have seen me planning to attack and is readied for me?” He idly unraveled her braid, combing his fingers through her thick, wavy hair.

“Ye have the sight. Why couldnae another of your kinsmen?”

“True, another could have been given this curious mix of gift and burden. Iver was not. In truth, he has always resented me for having it. ’Twas odd, for most people only feared or accepted it. Iver craved it. He envied it even though he kenned that it wasnae perfect, didnae always show me what was to happen, and didnae always show it to me in a way that was helpful.” He tugged her into his arms, tumbling back onto the bedding and pulling her on top of him. “I didnae come out here to talk about Iver.”

“Nay?” She slid her hand beneath his plaid and stroked his thigh. “Why did ye bring me out here, then?”

“Lass, sometimes ye ask some verra foolish questions.”

Moira laughed, but as Tavig kissed her, her amusement quickly changed to passion. She was eager to make love. Although she refused to think that anything could happen to Tavig or that he would fail, she needed to spend what few hours were left before the battle in his arms, passion washing away all her thoughts and worries. Each step closer to Drumdearg brought her closer to the time she would have to leave him. The hours in which she could make some sweet memories were swiftly running out.

The guard yelped with pain, cursed, and hastily moved out of the reach of the whip Iver had just scored his back with. “Why did ye do that? I wasnae sleeping.”

“Ye may as weel have been, fool,” Iver snapped, looking over the wall and heartily cursing the dark. “Ye were staring at the keep. My cousin willnae be coming from there.”

Trying fruitlessly to reach the stinging pain on his broad back, the burly man grumbled, “He isnae coming from out there, either.”

“Oh? Ye are privy to my cousin’s plans, are ye?”

“Nay, but, curse it, the mon has been running for his life for months. He hasnae had time to raise an army. He certainly hasnae had the coin to buy any soldiers.” The man scowled into the darkness as he scratched his softening middle. “Aye, and even if he gets Mungan Coll to aid him, that mon doesnae have the men needed to storm this keep.”

“If I heeded your opinion I would decide that I have wasted my coin in hiring you.” Iver smiled nastily when the man blustered in an attempt to explain his worth. “My cousin will come. ’Tis but a matter of time. I erred in trying so hard to make his death appear legally warranted. I should have just killed the bastard.” Iver rested his bony hands on top of the thick wall, narrowing his eyes as he fruitlessly tried to see into every shadow. “Tavig was a fool to turn his back on me, but I was an even bigger fool to let him escape my trap.”

“I still dinnae ken how he did it.”

“Fool, did ye forget that the mon has the sight? He kenned what I was doing ere I did it. I was too confident, too certain that he would rush to the aid of his friends. This time his warning must have been exact enough to tell him that it was a trap. Curse it, I should have been the one to get that gift.”

“Then ye would ken where and when he is going to try to take his lands back.”

“Aye.” Iver straightened up, turning to glare at the guard and snapping his whip. “I dinnae have the sight, so ye must be my eyes, and I expect those costly eyes to stay open. Or I may feel compelled to shut them forever.”

Iver left the walls, striding into the great hall. He flung his whip onto the large head table, sprawled in Tavig’s huge oak chair, and sharply ordered a nervous page to pour him some wine. Tavig was coming. Iver was sure of it. He cursed his inability to know when or where, his visible fury sending the page scurrying away.

“I ken ye are coming here, Cousin,” he murmured, glaring into his wine. “I should have killed ye before. No games, no tricks, just simply cut your thrice-cursed throat. Weel, come on, then. Ye have successfully eluded my hirelings for months, but now ye march straight to your death.”

Moira shuddered, sitting up to look around She saw nothing, heard only a soft noise from the camp. The sudden chill of fear that had ripped through her still lingered. After looking around one more time, she settled back down in Tavig’s arms. She was not surprised to find him awake, watching her closely.

“A bad dream?” he asked, holding her close and kissing the top of her head.

“I dinnae remember one.”

“Ye were frightened. Even in this dim, shadowy light I could see your fear. The cry ye made ere ye sat up was one of fear.”

“Aye, fear. That is all I recall. A deep, chilling sense of fear. No dream, no vision, nothing. Just fear. If fear were cold water, then ’twas as if someone crept up and emptied a bucket o’er me. ’Twas that sudden, that complete.” She shivered. “Ye dinnae think it means anything, do ye?”

“Do ye mean is it a sign?” Gently clasping her chin, he tilted her face up to his and touched a kiss to her mouth. “Nay. Ye are concerned about this battle, and I ken that ye have been fighting that. Aye, ye have been fighting it since the day we arrived at Mungan’s. When ye fell asleep, ye couldnae guard against it any longer and, briefly it overwhelmed you.”

“Aye, mayhap that was all it was. I am sorry. I dinnae mean to trouble ye with my worries.”

“’Tis no trouble, dearling. At least I ken that ye do worry o’er me and arenae sending me off to battle with nary a concern.” He met her look of disgust with a bland smile.

As she smoothed her hand up and down his side, she thought over his explanation of her sudden, violent attack of fear. It made sense, yet it did not satisfy her. Why had she never experienced such a thing before? She had certainly carried a lot of fear during her years with Sir Bearnard, and she had fought it, too, just as she fought her fears now. It did not really make sense that it should suddenly so overwhelm her that she was ripped from a peaceful sleep, trembling and sweating from the force of it.

“Moira, I can see that ye are still puzzled,” Tavig said against her throat as he kissed her pulse point.