Chapter Six
A soft cry of fear and surprise escaped Moira when Tavig suddenly appeared at her side.
In the week they had been together, she had not yet grown accustomed to his ability to move so quietly.
He had left her hidden in the tangled shrubs at the edge of the wood while he went ahead to reconnoiter the village they approached.
Moira knew the hour or so she had spent alone had increased her nervousness.
She had just been envisioning Tavig suffering a horrible slow death when he arrived.
A hint of relief tempered her annoyance over how he had startled her.
“Can we go into the village?” she asked, frowning when he sat down very close to her and draped his arm around her shoulders.
“Aye, it looks safe although ’tis a poor place, and the people look as if life has treated them poorly.
I am not sure we will gain much. Not shoes for your poor wee feet or any new clothes, leastwise.
One of us may be able to work for a meal, howbeit, mayhap e’en a sheltered corner to spend the night.
” He touched a kiss to the soft curve of her neck, grinning when she hunched her shoulders.
“So cold to your husband,” he murmured and gave her an exaggeratedly mournful face.
“Ye arenae my husband.”
“I shall call myself that, and ye shall agree with me whilst we are in this village.”
“Oh? Shall I now?”
“Aye, my wee bride, ye shall. These folk look to be a dour pious lot. They will act more kindly toward us if they believe we are properly wed.”
“Cannae we just be kinsmen? Cousins? Or brother and sister?”
“We dinnae look at all alike, lass.”
“Cousins need not look much alike.”
“Nay, but cousins can be lovers, and I believe these villagers willnae abide any hint of sin.”
Moira decided to accept his judgments but gave him as stern a look as she could manage. “Then we shall play the game of mon and wife but dinnae ye try to play it too seriously.”
“Ah, I see.” He slipped his other arm about her waist, turning her toward him to touch his lips lightly to hers. “No stolen kisses?”
“Nay,” Moira whispered, held firmly in place by a weakening heat engendered by his touch and the warmth of his obsidian gaze.
“And no holding ye too closely.” he murmured, slowly tracing the shape of her full mouth with the tip of his tongue. “Not e’en as we sleep beneath the same blanket.”
“Aye. None of that.”
It occurred to Moira that Tavig was attempting to seduce her again and, yet again, she was not doing a very good job of pushing him away.
He nibbled at her mouth. She trembled with pleasure, her eyes weighted into closing.
She allowed him to draw her more securely into his strong arms. Tavig deepened his kiss and she opened her mouth to welcome the enticing strokes of his tongue.
As she curled her arms about his neck a snide voice in her mind told her she was doing a pathetic job of resisting his advances, of giving her constant nays much strength of conviction.
She promised herself she could allow no more than one sweet stolen kiss.
He gave her a long, slow kiss and she savored every heated moment.
The way her blood warmed as he moved his hands up and down her back made her almost regret her decision to resist the temptation he presented her with.
She could not forget that her maidenhead was her only dowry, however.
Although her chances of an honest, reasonable marriage proposal were distressingly slim, she would not toss that meager dowry away for a brief moment of passion.
She just wished the passion Tavig could stir within her was not such a fierce and heady thing.
At times, when she felt the heat of his body next to hers in the night, she found herself questioning the wisdom of her decision to cling to her chastity.
“Shouldnae we be getting to the village ere they all cease work for the day?” she managed to choke out when he released her mouth to dot her throat with soft, teasing kisses.
“Aye, ye are right.” Tavig released her and stood up, brushing himself off. “Ye must cease distracting me, lass.”
Silently muttering every curse she could think of, she ignored his offered hand and stood up to brush herself off also.
The man could be so irritating. It was no wonder there were people who wanted him dead.
His cousin Iver probably did not care about Tavig’s holdings much at all; he simply could no longer abide Tavig’s teasing and nonsense.
Then she hastily, if silently, apologized for making light of Tavig’s desperate situation.
When he took her by the hand to lead her to the village, she almost jerked her hand free.
He led her much the same as he would lead a horse.
Moira recalled that they were to behave as husband and wife, however.
Tavig had already proven that he was a clever survivor.
She decided it would be wise to do exactly what he told her to.
She would just make sure that he did not try to twist their circumstances to his advantage.
It had not taken her long to see how good he was at that, too.
Tavig strode into the village with a cockiness that stunned Moira.
He seemed to forget that he was a hunted man.
She wondered how he could be so cheerfully oblivious to the hard, wary looks sent their way.
There was no welcome from the people they saw.
Moira began to think it was far more than a hard life that soured these people.
She glanced toward the laird’s tower that sat on a rise at the far end of the village.
“’Tis a dark, forbidding place, isnae it?” murmured Tavig.
“Aye. I shouldnae like to have to look at that every day of my life.”
She glanced around at the poor houses huddled side by side along the rutted, muddy road.
They showed as little life as the people scurrying in and out of them.
The laird’s tower cast its long shadow over everything and everyone beneath it.
She shivered. The similarity to the people living under the brutal Sir Bearnard was too close to ignore.
A lot of her old fears rushed back, and she realized how gently Tavig had smoothed them away.
Even he could not tease away the fear and unhappiness that soaked the air around the little village, however.
When Tavig stopped at a tiny inn, she kept close by his side. The innkeeper, a fat balding man with a deeply lined face, sat on a worn bench outside his too quiet establishment. A sour smile crossed his face when Tavig spoke of earning a bed and a meal.
“If it was of my choosing, laddie,” the innkeeper said in a rough voice, “I would put ye and your lass in my finest room right now. ’Twould be a fine thing to have some custom again, even poor ragged children like ye who cannae pay for it.
I swear the old laird can hear the ropes on my beds creak when a guest beds down, howbeit.
He will swoop down here in a winking and demand his share of the tally. ”
“Is there no work to be had in the village?” asked Tavig.
“Nay, I fear not, lad. No one passes through here if they can find another route.”
“Why dinnae ye leave here?” asked Moira.
“We are bound to our laird.” The man shrugged his bulky shoulders.
“And even those of us who feel he has broken his bond with us dare not leave. The mon has made enemies of all who live about us. We are encircled by those who hate us. If one of us is found outside of the laird’s lands, we risk being murdered.
Ye keep on walking. Get away ere someone begins to think ye are one of us or deal with us. There are spies aplenty round here.”
“I had hoped to get my wife something to put on her feet and mayhap just a wee bowl of porridge,” Tavig said, looking up and down the road.
“Weel, ye could try the widow Giorsal. She abides in the last hovel on this side of the road. She had but one child, a son, and he was killed by the laird last Michael-mas. She may need something done for her. She willnae ask it of us for she feels ’twould be done in charity, and her pride willnae allow that.
She has no coin either, but she would have a bed and a wee bit of food. ”
“Thank ye, sir.”
“No thanks be needed, son. A last warning—dinnae show your bonnie face or that of your wee bride too freely. ’Twas having too fine a face that got the widow Giorsal’s lad murdered, and dinnae let anyone try to tell ye elsewise.
Aye, and my sister’s prettiest girl child was dragged up to yonder tower after the last harvest and hasnae been seen since.
A bonnie face can be a curse in this land. ”
As they walked away from the man, Moira whispered, “Mayhap we should leave.”
“Let us try to gain a meal and a bed from the widow first. Ye need both. Aye, and so do I.”
Their progress was slowed by a knot of people outside a small church.
A young woman shook her head as people mournfully told her how lovely her tiny daughter was.
Tavig started to shake his head over the oddity of it all, then looked at the little girl in question and tensed.
She was a healthy, beautiful child with golden curls and a rosy complexion.
As she stepped into the road, he felt the chill of premonition streak down his spine.
The little child waved at a lanky young man across the road and started to toddle over to him.
Tavig was not sure why, but he knew he had to keep the little girl out of the road.
“Nay, child,” he said, grabbing the sweet-faced child by one dimpled arm. “Stay here.”
“Papa,” she cried, vigorously trying to pull free. “I go see me papa.”
“Nay. Ye must stay here.”
The mother rushed to Tavig’s side. “Let my bairn go. Are ye one of that devil’s men? Cannae ye at least let her grow into a woman ere ye steal her away?” She reached for the child.