The Highlander's Stolen Touch. Terri Brisbin
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laughed. Though not raised around them, pigs did not bother her at all. A leftover sentiment from her childhood when all animals held a place in her fascination. Especially those Tavis carved for her. ‘A frail lass to be sure.’
They walked to the fence that surrounded the pen and watched as the animals rooted for food. Stretching her legs felt good, so she strode around the large enclosure at a brisk pace for some minutes before stopping near the gate.
The recent rains muddied up the ground, which seemed to please the pigs. A few piglets did not bother looking for something to eat; they knew exactly where to find it. She stood beside Tavis and watched their antics in silence.
‘Have you met James Murray yet?’ he asked. Surprised, Ciara nodded.
‘We met at Uncle Iain’s gathering in the spring. His family was there, as were some others.’
She grimaced. Not a good topic to raise since two other men who she had since turned down were also there.
‘Will this time keep?’ he asked, turning to face her. The intensity of his gaze reminded her of many discussions between them. She heard the concern in his voice, but now accepted it for what it was—that of a friend.
‘I think so,’ she said nodding. ‘We both like horses. His parents want and need my dowry. All the things on which to base a marriage.’ She said it as she struggled to keep all emotions from her face.
He laughed aloud then; it came from the deepest part of him and rumbled all the way out, echoing across the empty yard. Tavis leaned back and let it out, and continued until he rubbed his eyes. ‘You were always a forthright lass, Ciara. I’m glad that has not changed in you.’
‘I prefer the truth of the matter rather than the sweet words or blurry image. My parents encouraged it, but I suspect that James’s parents do not see it as a good thing. If it were not for the dowry, they would never countenance such a match as ours.’
He lifted his hand up as though to touch her cheek, then stopped just before she felt his fingers on her skin. She closed her eyes for just that moment, but forced them open to watch his reaction. Part of her wished against hope that he harboured feelings for her and would speak of them to her before she gave up every last vestige of hope. But, regardless of whether he did or not, she understood her duty and understood that he was not part of her future. Knowing that she belonged to another man, more so with every mile forwards in this journey, Ciara stepped back and smiled at him, relieved to be on better terms with him.
‘Dawn will come early, Ciara. You should seek your bed.’
‘Until the morning, then,’ she said, nodding and turning away from him.
Ciara paused after only a few steps and turned back to him.
‘Do you know of James Murray?’ she asked.
‘I know very little about him. Only what your father has said of him and his family.’
Shrugging and wondering exactly what she’d hoped he’d say, she walked back to the keep where Elizabeth would be waiting for any gossip. For a moment, she wondered why Tavis did not retire, too. Remembering how a number of women, servants and clan, had approached him as he ate, she suspected whenever he did, it would not be alone.
She tried to pass off the burning in her chest as a sign of partaking in too many of the cook’s spicy dishes, but the fire of jealousy was hard to ignore.
Chapter Five
This part of the journey was harder than the rest of it would be. Once they passed through Dunalastair and reached the main road used to bring cattle south to the major cities for the markets, their travel would level out and ease. He knew that, but Tavis also knew that this journey was getting harder by the step for him.
For the first time since Saraid’s passing, he’d become aware of the women around him. Nay, not that he had not seen them, but they began now to appeal to him as women did to men. At the ceilidh at Lairig Dubh and then again at the MacCallums’ keep and village, he’d crossed some line in his life. For four years he’d looked the other way, but that had not worked for him. The invitations he’d received, the expressions of wanting and desire in the gazes of several of the women in both keeps, made it clear that he did not have to sleep alone.
That was the usual way of things—a widow’s bed could be a welcoming place for an unmarried man in the clan. Nights of pleasures shared without the commitment of marriage vows or until the two were certain they wanted to marry. Or not.
Not that he would ever marry again, but …
The remorse that always filled him whenever he thought of Saraid—her life, their life, or her death—flooded him now and reminded him of the terrible failure that would always be his burden. Bile spilled into his mouth as did the bitterness of his actions when Saraid needed him most. He spat on to the ground but, real or only memory, he could still taste it.
Guiding his horse down the steep pathway that led into Dunalastair’s village, he reconciled himself to his fate. But when Ciara raced by him, laughing and calling out a challenge, he put away the dark memories and darker possibilities of his future and followed her.
‘To the bridge!’ she yelled, tearing off her head covering and letting the wind catch the length of her hair.
Damn, but she could ride! And with the mount she had, he would be hard pressed to catch her now. Tavis spurred his horse on to follow, trying to work out if there was enough distance in which he could catch her before they reached the bridge. Doubtful. Still, he bent low over his horse’s neck and urged it on faster and faster.
The wind in his face and the feel of the horse’s strong muscles as it pushed them faster along the road forced all melancholy from him. He focused his thoughts on the woman ahead of him, though now just barely. Dirt flew under the horse’s hooves and branches whipped him. None of that slowed him down, not when victory could be his. They approached a split in the road and he took the one Ciara did not.
Tavis laughed aloud then, knowing now that he would reach the bridge first by using this path. He’d done it many times when travelling here with Duncan. When he broke through the last of the trees, Ciara sat on the bridge, smiling at him. How had she …?
‘You are not the only one who knows the shorter pathways around here, Tavis,’ she scolded.
He should have known better. He should have realised that she would be a fierce competitor even on the way to becoming a dutiful wife. James Murray would not appreciate a woman like Ciara. He was too young and in the power of his parents who, as she’d said, only wanted the match for the money she brought them.
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