Chapter Nine
Moira woke to hot, fierce passion rushing through her body.
She arched beneath Tavig’s stroking hands.
Threading her fingers through his hair she pulled his mouth down to hers, hungrily kissing him, groaning softly with eagerness when he met and equaled the desire he had roused in her.
She wrapped her limbs around him, crying out in soft welcome as he joined their bodies.
She rose up to meet him as his thrusting body took her to the engulfing release she craved.
He quickly joined her in that blinding fall into passion’s heady whirlpool, their cries of pleasure echoing in the wood.
She was savoring the tingling vestiges of her release, enjoying the way Tavig lethargically stroked her body and nuzzled her neck, when she recalled what had been going on just before she fell asleep.
A cry of horror escaped her, and she pushed Tavig away.
Sitting up, she clutched a blanket to her chest and looked around.
“Where is everyone?” she asked, ignoring Tavig’s muttered curses as he brushed dirt and leaves off his backside.
“Did ye think I would be loving ye with a dozen men looking on?” he asked and laughed, shaking his head.
“Weel, nay, I didnae really think that.” She shrugged, smiling at him. “I dinnae ken what I was thinking. I just suddenly recalled that there had been a crowd of people here when I fell asleep. Where did they go?”
“Back to Colin’s keep. We met up with them because they had been chasing some Craigmoordun men back home. The same lot of men who nearly rode over that child.” He tossed her her clothes, then began to dress.
“I was afraid he would take ye back to your cousin Iver.” She slipped on her chemise.
“Aye, so was I for a moment. Old Colin was a wee bit tempted, but he couldnae stomach dealing with Iver. ’Tis the first time my cousin’s blackheartedness has done me some good. A shame we couldnae get a horse, though.”
“Weel, we are half the way there.”
“And we have even more food plus an extra blanket,” he said, standing and pointing to their new supplies. “I will make some porridge, lass. We dinnae want to linger here too long.”
Groaning inwardly, Moira finished dressing and packed up their bedding.
She dreaded another day of walking, but consoled herself with the fact that she now had shoes.
The woman in Craigmoordun had judged her size almost exactly, and the shoes were soft and comfortable.
Moira hoped they would continue to suit her after she had walked a few miles.
“We will reach a village by day’s end,” Tavig said as Moira sat down to eat.
“How can ye even think of going into another village?” she asked, accepting the bowl of porridge he served her.
“We will be safe in this one.”
“Ye must have thought we would be safe in the last one or ye never would have entered it.”
“Aye, but I didnae ken any of the people there. I have a friend or two in the next village.”
Taking the waterskin he held out to her, she washed down the porridge then frowned at him.
“These friends will ken who ye are. If Old Colin has heard that ye are accused of murder and your cousin Iver is offering a goodly sum of coin for your capture, then the people in this village will have heard about it, too. Old Colin said the ransom offered for you sorely tempted him. Dinnae ye think it will tempt some of the people in the village?”
“Nay. Ye need not worry about that, loving.”
“Ye cannae believe that. I wasnae suggesting that your friends would betray you, but that some of the villagers may do so. Unless—do ye plan to creep into the village to seek your friends’ aid?”
“I shall march into the village as boldly as I did into Craigmoordun.”
“Aye, and look what that gained us. Ye are mad.” Moira could not believe Tavig would act so foolishly, not when it could risk both their lives, and she began to eye him with suspicion. “Or ye are teasing me.”
Tavig laughed, leaning over to kiss her cheek. “Aye, I tease you. I do have friends in the village, but they dinnae ken me as Tavig MacAlpin.”
“Oh, ye arenae going to don that wretched disguise again. Are ye?”
“Wretched? I thought I made a verra fine George Fraser.”
“Aye, until it rained. It rains a lot in Scotland.”
“True enough. Nay, no disguises. To the friends we will meet at the end of this day’s journey in the wee village of Dalnasith, I am Tomas de Mornay, the bastard son of a fine Scottish warrior and a wee French maiden.
A small reminder of his glorious battles against the English in France.
For a long time I have kenned that my cousin Iver has sought to harm me.
Over the last few years I made certain that there are places I might go where none would ken me as Tavig MacAlpin.
At times I disguise myself, but in Dalnasith I only play a poor mon wearing ragged clothing and appearing untidy. ”
“Ah, so that is why ye havenae scraped the beard growth from your face,” she murmured, reaching out to brush her hand lightly over the coarse stubble on his cheeks.
He took her hand in his, kissing her palm. “I dinnae hurt your fine soft skin this morning, did I?”
Moira blushed at his reference to their lovemaking.
She had been so concerned that Old Colin and his men might be near at hand, she had not given much thought to the fact that they had been making love in the bright morning sun.
Now that she had time to think about it, she was shocked.
What was it about Tavig MacAlpin that made her act so brazenly?
“Nay, ye didnae hurt me,” she mumbled as she concentrated on cleaning out their bowls.
Passion, she decided, had no respect for a person’s more delicate feelings.
She was going to have to be more careful.
She did not want to let her passion rule her and make her weak.
Moira had done enough bending to people and things more powerful than she was.
Suddenly she knew she could not allow some feeling inside of her to rule her no matter how sweet it was.
It was a small rebellion, one that only she would know about, but the decision gave her strength.
A soft groan escaped Moira as she sat down on the soft, mossy ground.
She glanced back at the rocky hill they had spent all morning trudging over.
Seeing it from a level place, she was surprised they had crossed it so quickly.
Looking to the other side of the thin valley Tavig had chosen for their noon respite, she saw more low but rocky hills and groaned again.
“Here, lassie, a wee sip of wine will revive you,” Tavig said, sitting by her side and holding out the skin.
Moira took a hearty drink of the sweet wine, then accepted the bread and cheese Tavig gave her. “How many more mountains do we have to climb?” she asked.
He grinned at her. “Ye cannae call those wee hills mountains, lass.”
“Aye, I can. They certainly feel like mountains when we are scrambling o’er them.”
“The lot of hills ahead of us are smaller and right at the foot of them lies Dalnasith. Now, I havenae been there in a long while, so they will believe I could have been wed in the interim. Ye can be my wife again.”
“Oh? It didnae keep us verra safe in Craigmoordun, did it?”
“Moira, it isnae wise for ye to be traveling about with a mon. Ye ken how folk frown on such things and how they would treat ye if they thought ye were just my leman.”
“They have no right to think that I am your leman.”
“Nay, but they will, and weel ye ken it. By claiming that ye are my wife, we avoid all of that irritation and trouble. I fear I cannae do much to avoid trouble I dinnae see coming, trouble of the kind we met in Craigmoordun.”
“I was wondering why ye didnae sense it was there waiting for us.”
Tavig doused the fire with water and dirt.
“I fear my gift isnae constant. ’Tis actually quite a fickle thing.
And the closer the danger is to me and mine, the more fickle it becomes.
” He shrugged, shaking his head. “Mayhap there were just too many things I needed to be worried about. My gift chose to warn me about the bairn instead.”
“She was the one of us least able to help herself,” Moira said. “Mayhap that is how your gift chooses to work.”
“’Twould be nice if there was such reason behind it, but I fear ’tis just a temperamental thing.” He picked up his sack and their rolled-up bedding. “I get no feelings about Dalnasith, but I cannae promise ye that it will be completely safe.”
“Is there a chance of getting a hot bath and a soft bed?” she asked, picking up her sack.
“Aye, and a hot meal, fresh bread, and some fine ale or sweet cider.”
“Then why do we continue to cool our heels here?”
Tavig laughed, starting toward the hills.
Moira quickly fell into step beside him.
For a hot bath she would scramble over the rocky hills with the speed and ease of a goat.
The brief icy wetting she had gotten while crossing the small river had rinsed off some of the travel dust she had collected, but she craved a long soak in hot water.
With scented soap, she mused with a sigh.
A soft bed would also be welcome, she decided, silently cursing the rocks that prodded her feet through the soft bottoms of her boots.
She would be grateful for any bed besides the hard ground.
Her life with Sir Bearnard had been far from easy, but on the nights she was not being punished in some way, she had at least had a bed to go to when her work was done.
The thought of Sir Bearnard made her shiver.
She looked over her shoulder, almost surprised not to find him looming behind her, his meaty fists raised to strike.
The man and his treatment of her had become a canker in her heart, mind, and soul.
She wondered if she would ever be free of him and the fears he had beaten into her.
“He isnae here, dearling,” Tavig said, his voice soft and comforting.