Chapter Six #3
Tavig pressed a kiss to her hair. He could hear the fear in her voice, felt it rippling through her body, but she was fighting it.
It fed his sense of guilt even as he felt a wave of tenderness wash over him.
The need to get her to safety gnawed at him, but he could see no chance of rescue for either of them.
Yet, he could not believe that the fate his foretelling skill had urged him to reach for was that he and Moira would die together before they had even become lovers.
He was certain the destiny he had sensed was not an early grave.
“Ye should have run when I told ye to, dearling,” he said.
“That would have been verra cowardly of me. And if ye could leap into the storm-tossed sea to aid me, I could certainly try to get ye free from the grasp of superstitious village fools. There is also the verra practical matter that I have to stay with ye. Ye are the one who kens how to get to your cousin’s.
I have no idea of where I am, of where to go, and of how to survive long enough to get there. ”
“Ah, and here I was cherishing the thought that ye had come to care for me.”
“Ye shouldnae let your vanity place such lies into your head.”
He smiled against her soft hair at her tart response.
She did care for him. It had been there to see in her face as the crowd had turned against him.
It had also been there in her cry when he had been struck down.
Her regard for him might not be the deep, enduring emotion he sought, but she did have some feeling for him beyond the desire he could stir within her.
“Not that it does ye any good now, ye great oaf,” he grumbled.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing, lass. I just curse my stupidity.”
“Ye couldnae ken that ye would be tossed into a hole in the ground for saving a child’s life. The ingratitude those people showed is truly appalling.” She felt him move away, and his absence quickly intensified her fears. “Where are ye going?”
“Not far. There isnae the room here, anyway, I think. The throbbing in my head has eased sooner than I expected, and I thought I would stumble about our prison to see if there is anything of use here. Ye didnae see anything before they closed the door, did ye?”
“Nay, I was too busy falling. I didnae think to see what they threw us into.” She gave a start of surprise when he suddenly took her hand in his, wondering how he could find her in the dark.
“They threw us into this pit?”
“Aye. Like sacks of grain.”
“Are ye hurt, lass?”
“Nay. A few bruises. No more. Ye landed far more heavily than I did.”
“Ah, now I understand why my body aches so much. I thought ’twas from the rough handling I must have received after they knocked me on the head.” He released her hand, moving away again.
Moira heard him give a cry of surprise a moment later and tensed. “Are ye all right, Tavig?”
“Aye, loving. I found a keg of ale. Poor quality, but it should sustain us for a wee while. I think there are a few cheeses hanging here, too. They cannae starve us leastwise.”
“Nay, we can be fat and drunk when they tie us to the stake.” She jumped a little when he brushed against her side. “Do ye see in the dark?” she complained when he sat down at her side, tugging her into his arms.
“We arenae going to die at the stake,” he said in a firm voice as he kissed her cheeks.
“Have ye seen that?” she asked, feeling her first flicker of hope since they had been accused of being witches. She realized that she believed in his ability to foretell what was to happen.
“I wish I could say I have clearly seen a swift and successful escape, but, nay, I havenae seen anything.” He felt her slump a little in his grasp.
“’Tis just that I cannae believe all that has happened to us was for naught but this.
I ken ’tis weak comfort, but cannae believe this was to be our destiny.
Look at the paths we have been forced along.
I was warned of Iver’s trap. I was warned of your fate and rushed to follow ye into those cold waters.
Why would fate or God keep plucking us from the jaws of death only to lead us to this? ”
Moira had no answer for that question. She suspected every person facing death asked it, especially when they were innocent of any wrong as she and Tavig were.
For a moment she tried to convince herself that they could be proclaimed innocent and set free, but failed.
They had been called witches, and such an accusation was as good as a death sentence.
They had no advocates to cry them innocent or money to buy their freedom.
Tavig could not even let the people know that he was a knight and a laird, for such information would surely put him back in the murderous hands of his cousin Iver.
When she found herself praying that he did not think of that as a way to save her life, she realized how much he had begun to mean to her.
That disturbing revelation was still clear in her mind when he touched his lips to hers.
Moira curled her arms around his neck, meeting his kiss with a fierce mixture of passion and desperation.
Tavig groaned softly, pushing her down onto the cold, hard dirt.
She offered no resistance, welcoming the bold strokes of his hands on her body.
If she was to die, she was not going to do so without having known the fullness of the desire they shared.