Chapter Twelve
“The bairn is asleep, we have eaten, and our bed is readied,” Tavig said as he stood across the fire and stared at a still-silent Moira. “Now we can talk.”
“What do ye wish to talk about?” Moira asked, deriving a little pleasure from the glare of irritation he sent her.
“The bairn. Ye havenae said a word to me since Iain dropped him in my arms. God’s tears, ye have barely even looked at me. I need to ken what is going on in that bonnie head of yours.”
She studied him for a moment and was surprised to see that he spoke the truth. He did need to know what she was thinking. It was both pleasing and puzzling. It had been a very long time since anyone had truly wanted to know what she thought or felt. She was not sure how she could put it into words.
The true trick would be to speak honestly yet not reveal too much about how she felt about Tavig.
She still believed that speaking of her love and trying to get him to love her would be cruel.
She could not stay with the man. The terrifying incidents in the villages they had stopped in had only strengthened her conviction that a union between them would be very dangerous.
“He is a bonnie child,” she finally said. “And ye need to name him. We cannae keep calling him “the bairn.’”
“Nay, I ken it. I thought to call him Adair. ’Twas my friend’s name.”
“One of the men your cousin Iver murdered?” When Tavig nodded, she smiled faintly. “’Tis a good name.”
“He was a good mon. There—the child is now named. Is there anything else ye wish to try and divert me with ere we begin to talk?”
“I am not sure what ye wish me to say. In truth, what right do I have to say anything?”
He moved to sit by her side, taking her hand in his.
“More right than any other. Aye, and we are lovers now. That certainly gives ye the right to say a word or two when I am handed a son born of another woman. I would not be so reticent had someone arrived to give ye a child ye had borne for another mon.”
“Nay. I imagine ye would have a great deal to say,” she murmured, half smiling, for he had scowled deeply even as he had said the words.
“We both ken verra weel that that will ne’er happen, howbeit.
He is your son. ’Tis seen clearly with but one look at his tiny face.
Ye have placed a strong mark upon the boy. ”
“Aye. I kenned he was mine the moment Iain set him in my arms. I wouldnae wish him gone, but, considering how many men Jeanne romped in the heather with, it seems verra capricious of fate to make my seed take root. Aye, especially when I was so verra careful,” he muttered, scowling as he briefly tried to think of what he had done wrong.
“Mayhap ’tis just that she couldnae rid her body of your seed.
” She blushed when he looked at her in slight surprise.
“I ken it is done. The maids at Sir Bearnard’s keep are often free with their favors, yet there are few bastards.
I am certain that a woman as careless of her chastity as Jeanne was, must have learned how to be rid of an unwanted bairn.
Ye just bred a verra strong lad who wouldnae let Jeanne shake him free. ”
“Ye are probably right. We are now talking, and ye even look at me now and again, but ye still havenae said how ye feel about all of this. Dinnae try and tell me that ye feel naught, for ye neither spoke nor looked at me for hours. I feared ye were angry with me yet I see no sign of that anger.”
“I banished it.”
“Aha! So ye were angry.”
“I dinnae ken why ye should sound so pleased about that.”
“I was feeling confused and uncertain. I thought ye were angry, but I couldnae be sure. I just like to be proven right.”
She laughed softly. “Dinnae feel too smug, Sir MacAlpin. Anger was but a part of it.” She held up her hand when he started to speak. “Nay, dinnae press me. Most of what I felt was such a tangled mess that even I cannae say what it was. ’Twould be impossible to try to explain it all to you.”
“Then tell me why ye were angry with me.”
“So ye can argue it away? No need. I have done that for myself. I started by reminding myself that the child who stirred my anger had been conceived eighteen long months ago. I didnae ken who ye were that long ago, and ye didnae ken anything about me. ’Twould be foolish to get upset about things that happened ere we even met each other.
” She laughed when he hugged her. “So pleased. I cannae believe ye would be so concerned about my anger.”
“Nay? When Iain set wee Adair in my arms, I saw that poor tiny bairn as a huge wall rapidly being built between us.”
Moira leaned back a little to look at him.
“Now, why should ye think that, and why should I allow it? Aye, it pinches that Jeanne is the child’s mother.
After all, the woman tried to kill me.” Moira shook her head.
“She couldnae even do it with her own hands but tried to rouse others to commit the crime for her. I cannae let that wrong turn me against ye or the bairn. Ye bedded a willing woman. No more. No less.” She realized there was the hint of a question behind her words and inwardly grimaced when he smiled, revealing that he had heard it.
“No more. No less. As I told ye last night, all that went on before was little more than rutting. ’Tis hard to say such things for, again, I dinnae wish the lad gone, but I now wish that I had listened more to my intuitions the last time I passed this way.
” He grimaced and ran a hand through his hair.
“Oh, I let my lusts rule me as I too often have in the past, but that time it troubled me.” He glanced toward the baby who slept near the bedding he had spread out for himself and Moira.
“I should have kept my breeches laced. I dinnae regret the child but I sorely regret that ’twas Jeanne who bore him.
Out of every lass I have kenned since I first felt the spark of interest in them, she is the verra last I should have chosen to be a mother to my child.
’Tis a hard thing to say, but ’tis best that she is dead. She willnae have the raising of Adair.”
“And she willnae be able to use your own son against you,” Moira said.
“Enough. We should not speak ill of the dead and, right now, I fear we cannae find it in our hearts to speak of Jeanne with any kindness. Ye shall have to learn how to do so, though, ere Adair becomes old enough to understand what is said and asks questions about her.”
“So will ye.”
“I willnae be around to see him, will I? My kinsmen will be at your cousin Mungan’s when we arrive, or verra soon thereafter, and they will reclaim me.”
“Not if we are married.”
“Ye arenae going to start that again, are ye?”
“Because of Adair?”
“Nay, and weel ye ken it. If I thought I could be your wife, I wouldnae care how many illegitimate children ye had ere ye met me. How far and wide ye had spread your seed ere we wed would not be my greatest concern.
“Nay, ’tis not the bairn or your rutting past. ’Tis still the fact that a union between us could lead straight to the gallows or the pyre.
Surely what has occurred in each of the two villages we have stopped in has shown ye the danger.
Superstition and the fear it breeds run deep in the people of this land.
When ’tis roused, people are hurt or killed. ”
Tavig cursed when she moved away to clean out their bowls and put their food safely back into their sacks. “Ye cannae cease living your life because of other people’s foolish fears.”
“I ken it, but to ignore them is equally as foolish. I cannae live a life where each night could be the one where the villagers kick in our door, torches held high, and drag us to our deaths. I cannae live kenning that at any time we will have to hie into the woods, fleeing the cries of ‘Witch, witch.’” She stood in front of him, her hands on her hips.
“We are both cursed with something that rouses superstition in many a breast. Apart we can probably get through our lives with only a wee bit of trouble. Together ’tis as if we spit in the eye of superstition, and that will certainly get us knocked down.
Twice we were nearly killed because of it. ”
He grabbed her hand, tugging her down onto his lap. “Nay. Once my gift caused us trouble. The other time it was a jealous woman and an ambitious priest.”
“Ambitious? What makes ye think that priest was ambitious?”
“Only Jeanne accused you. No other mon, woman, or child stepped forward to claim that ye had done them harm. A good priest would have sent them all home, would have seen that ’twas no more than a whore’s stung vanity causing all the trouble.
Not this priest. He saw a chance to make his mark.
To find and destroy one of Satan’s servants?
That would win him favor and prestige. Ye were to be his stepping stone to a larger, richer church. Mayhap even higher than that.”
“Not a verra godly mon.”
“Nay. The priest who serves my people is a verra godly mon.”
“And ye are a verra stubborn mon.”
“When I am certain of what I want, I work hard to get it.”
“I dinnae ken how ye can be so sure of wanting to wed me. We have only been together for a little more than a week.”
“Ye must have kenned something of importance for ye became my lover.”
Moira turned in his hold so that she sat facing him, moving her legs so that he was gently caged between them.
“I kenned that I wanted you,” she said softly, curling her arms around his neck and kissing him lightly on the mouth.
“I kenned that I would forever regret not satisfying the passion ye could stir within me.” She slowly traced the lines of his lean face with soft, gentle kisses.
“Ye are trying to distract me from a talk about marriage,” he said, his voice growing hoarse as she trailed kisses over his throat.
“Is it working?”
“Aye, ye wretch. Verra weel.”