Chapter Seven
“Here now, laddie, that be enough of that.”
It took Tavig a moment to realize he was hearing a voice.
It took another moment to realize that he could savor the look of passion on Moira’s face because there was now light in their prison.
Even as he saw her eyes widen with a look of embarrassment and a touch of hope, he shook away the last of passion’s blinding grip, easing his body off hers.
Blinking rapidly as his eyes adjusted to the sudden light, he turned to look up.
He was both glad and annoyed that he had not had the time to remove any of their clothing.
Moira had been ready to make love, he was certain of it.
Although he welcomed the opportunity for escape, he wished it had come much later.
“Ye best have a verra good reason for this visit,” he grumbled, recognizing the burly innkeeper looking down at them.
The innkeeper laughed as he lowered a rope ladder. “Ye and your wife can finish your loving elsewhere.”
Tavig was not so sure Moira would be willing once they were safe, but he quickly got to his feet, pulling Moira to hers. “Ye are letting us go?”
“Aye, laddie. Oh, I think ye did have a vision or the like,” he continued as Tavig urged Moira up the ladder, “but I dinnae consider the sight such a bad thing. Nay, especially not when it saved the life of my own wee grandchild.” He grasped Moira by the wrist, tugging her up out of the hatchway.
Moira gasped when she saw six other people in the inn gathered around the opening to her and Tavig’s prison.
She only relaxed a little when she recognized two of them as the little girl’s parents.
When Tavig got out, he quickly moved to her side, and she stepped closer to him, her trepidation easing somewhat when he put his arm around her shoulders.
It was a little hard to believe they were going to be released, but they were out of that hole. It was enough to give her hope.
“Why did ye let them drag us away?” she asked, not sure she trusted this sudden change of heart.
“I am sorry for that,” replied the child’s mother.
“We were confused, stunned, in truth. We had thought your mon was stealing our child, but then saw that he had saved her life. Ere we had time to understand what had happened, the folk were crying witch, and what followed was past stopping. We made the quick decision that ’twould be safer for all of us if we waited and then helped ye creep away from Craigmoordun. ”
“That could put ye in danger,” said Tavig. “Have ye planned a good explanation for why we were able to flee?”
“Aye,” the innkeeper assured him. “In truth, I think ye would have found a way yourself, laddie. There is more than enough in that storage room to have aided ye and, given time, I am sure ye would have put it to good use. We will drag one of the ale kegs over and set it beneath the hatch, then shatter the door. There is a heavy mallet down there to show folk how ye could have done it. I will be given a wee knock to the jaw so I can say ye overpowered me. Dinnae fret, I willnae cry ye gone until I have to. I hope that willnae be till many an hour has passed, but ye should move fast, laddie. Get as far away as ye can. Get off Craigmoordun land. Once ye do ye will be safe.”
“How do I ken when I am off Craigmoordun land?”
“Ye head north, and when ye cross a wee brook ye have left this accursed place. I would go a few miles beyond that just to be safe, although I doubt anyone will cross after ye. As I told ye, we are surrounded by foes.” The innkeeper returned Tavig’s weapons as he spoke.
“Would it not be better to wait until dark?”
“Aye, but the folk have chosen a guard for you. Believing I would wish to rest, they have chosen a burly lad to sit here all through the night. Ye must leave now.”
“Show me which door to creep out of, then. I thank ye for giving us this chance.” As Tavig grabbed Moira by the hand and started to follow the innkeeper, the little girl’s mother thrust two sacks at him. “What is this?” he asked as he took one, Moira warily accepting the other.
“Food for your journey,” the woman answered. “I also put in a pair of shoes and a few bits of clothing for your wife. I think they will fit her.” The woman briefly frowned at the delicate Moira. “’Twas hard to find something in such a small size.”
The way the woman began to study Moira closely made Tavig uneasy.
Too careful an inspection would tell the woman Moira was no ragged pauper despite her attire.
Moira might have callouses on her hands and feet, but everything else about her bespoke quality.
Tavig did not want any more questions or suspicions roused.
“Thank ye, mistress. We have a dire need of all those things, ill-fitting or not. We must go now, Moira,” he said, tugging sharply at Moira’s hand and waving the innkeeper on. He scowled at her when she resisted his pull, freeing her hand.
“Thank ye, mistress.” Moira echoed Tavig and, setting down her sack, briefly clasped the woman’s hand.
The moment her hands enclosed the woman’s, Moira realized she had made a mistake, perhaps even a fatal one.
The calloused hand she held was knotted with pain.
The woman’s tired eyes widened as Moira’s touch began to work its magic.
Silently, trying to put all of her own fear and a plea for secrecy into her expression, Moira held the woman’s gaze as she finished the work she had inadvertently begun.
As soon as she was certain her gift could do no more, she released the woman’s hand, picked up her sack, and followed Tavig.
Flora Dunn stared after the couple as they hurried away, then stared at her hand.
She closed it into a fist and opened it again and again until she realized the rest of her family was staring at her.
Without a word she reached out, grasping her husband’s hand and squeezing.
There was no pain. Her husband’s eyes also widened, and she felt hers sting with tears.
One by one she clasped the hands of the rest of her family until they all stared at her with a mixture of wonder and confusion.
“What miracle has cured your hand, child?” asked her father, the innkeeper in a hoarse voice, taking her now straight and limber hand in his.
“That tiny woman but held it for a moment, ’tis all. She enfolded my crippled hand between both of hers, and ’twas as if all the knots within my hand eased apart.”
An old woman shuffled forward to touch Flora’s hand timidly. “Then they were witches.”
“Nay,” snapped the innkeeper. “Mother, when have witches e’er done a kind thing?
My child’s hand is now strong and straight instead of cramped and gnarled with pain.
My wee bonnie grandchild is alive instead of trampled beneath the hooves of our laird’s warhorses.
Nay, that lad but has the sight and his wee lass has the healing touch.
God preserve them, they have blessed us twice. ”
“I dinnae think he kens she has the gift of healing,” murmured Flora. “In her eyes was a plea for silence.”
“Weel, the path they are taking is a treacherous one. He will soon ken her secret as the time will come for her to use it on him. I fear trouble stalks those two.”
“Tavig, cannae we rest yet?” Moira asked. But she did not slow down as she followed Tavig’s swift progress through the heather and treacherous patches of thistle. “I need to catch my breath.”
It felt to Moira as if they had been moving at a steady lope for hours. She was not sure she could trot another mile. Her feet hurt, and the sack she carried began to feel as if it were filled with bricks.
“Not yet, lass. I think that wee burn we must cross is just ahead. I can hear the sound of tumbling water.”
She listened carefully for a moment and nodded. “Aye, I can hear it, too.”
Cursing herself for being a coward, she looked behind her for what she was sure was the hundredth time.
The woman whose hand she had healed had made no outcry, but Moira still feared their rescuers would suffer a change of heart and come after them.
She cursed herself again for not having been more careful, for not having looked at the woman closely before impulsively enfolding her hand in her own.
If she had been more cautious she would have seen that the woman had a crippled hand.
In that one moment of impulsiveness she could have ruined everything—exposed her secret or, worse, put a swift end to all chance of escape for herself and Tavig.
She had risked enough while she and Tavig had been prisoners.
Tavig could have guessed that she had eased his pain with her touch.
It had been impossible just to sit by and leave him in pain, however.
She had decided to take the risk that her special gift would be revealed.
The fact that Tavig had been unconscious during most of her work had helped her maintain her secret.
The woman had been a complete mistake, however.
Moira prayed that the fear she had been gripped with then as she had faced possible exposure would be enough to remind her of the important need to be cautious.
“There it is, loving,” Tavig announced, dropping her hand and bounding ahead to study the brook they would have to cross.
Moira walked up to stand at his side, frowning at the rapidly flowing water. It was clear enough for her to see the rocky bottom, but she could not judge its depth accurately. Neither could she see a way to cross it without getting extremely wet.
“It looks deep, cold, and it runs too swiftly,” she muttered. “I dinnae suppose we can find a way to walk around it.”
“Nay, sweeting. Straight across.”
“Weel, ye shall get verra wet carrying those sacks and me.”
Tavig laughed, stepping into the water and yanking her along after him, “’Tis not enough to drown you.”