Chapter Fourteen #3
She thought she saw a brief frown darken Tavig’s face but could not be certain. It could easily have been a trick of the shadows caused by the moonlight. Tugging the blanket sling more securely around Adair, she concentrated on getting to Mungan Coll’s keep and, she prayed, a soft, warm bed.
As they approached the gates of the castle, Moira felt some of her apprehension return.
Barricaded against the dark and all the dangers it could hold, the castle did not look very welcoming.
The men on the walls watched her and Tavig so closely she could feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.
Once inside, Moira became increasingly sure that she would feel safe, but standing in front of the huge barred gates waiting to be judged and admitted was unnerving.
“’Tis Tavig MacAlpin,” Tavig called up to the men on the wall. “I have come to see Mungan.”
“’Tisnae easy to see who ye are in this light. Why should we take ye at your word?” called down one man.
“Is that ye, Conan? It sounds like you. Come, what enemy approaches with a lass, a bairn, and a goat?”
“There is something to ponder. But what friend or kin comes in the dark of night? Aye, and when has Tavig MacAlpin e’er arrived at these gates without a horse?”
“When he has been sent to his heels by that bastard Iver. Come, ye can see that we are no threat as we stand here. Let us in so that ye can judge us by a stronger light. If ye deem us enemies surely ye can deal with but the two of us.”
“Get right up to the gates then so that only the pair of ye can enter.”
Moira stood close to Tavig as he waited next to the gates.
A moment later a small door opened. Before she could see who was there, she, Tavig, and the goat were dragged inside, the door slammed and barred behind them.
A burly gray-haired man walked up and gave Tavig one long, searching look then enfolded the slimmer Tavig in what looked to be a bone-crushing hug.
“Conan,” Tavig protested. “Let a mon breathe.”
“So ’tis ye, laddie,” Conan said, releasing Tavig and giving him a sound clap on the back. “Mungan will be pleased.”
“Ah, good, he is here. I wondered if he would be. I need his help, and from what I hear, he has been a busy lad.”
Conan grimaced. “Ah, ye mean the lassie. That was a mistake in many ways, but ye ken how Mungan is once he gets a thought in his head. The twice-cursed thing cannae be shaken out.” He nodded toward Moira. “Are ye going to introduce me to your lady?”
“Aye. Conan, this is Moira.” Tavig smiled faintly as Conan gallantly kissed Moira’s hand. “The bairn is my son, Adair, by a woman named Jeanne.”
“I think ye have a lot to tell.” He waved his hand toward the keep. “Go on in, lad, Mungan is just setting down to a meal. I suspicion ye will welcome some food.”
“Ye arenae coming in?” Tavig asked.
“Nay. ’Tis my turn upon the walls. I will hear it all on the morrow.”
“Aye, there have never been any secrets kept from you.”
A thrill of anxiety snaked down Moira’s spine as she entered the keep hand in hand with Tavig.
It briefly flared to full life as they walked into the great hall.
A huge dark-haired man sat at the head table.
She instinctively took a step backward when the man stood up, strode over to them, and enfolded Tavig in his big arms. Moira noticed with some surprise that Tavig’s feet were a few inches off the ground as he endured his cousin’s hug.
“What are ye doing slipping in here after sunset?” the big man demanded as he released Tavig.
“Fleeing from Iver and his dogs.”
“Aye, I have heard a whisper or two that there has been some trouble. Dinnae frown, Cousin. I dinnae believe ye killed those men. My first thought when I heard the news was that Iver didnae have the wit to ken that no mon who kens ye would believe ye could kill any mon in such a cruel way. Still, ’tis odd that ye would come to my gates in the dark, a time ye ken weel as an unwelcoming one. ”
“I had no choice. Iver’s dogs have been nipping at my heels for the last two days.
They are up in the hills just south of here.
” Tavig smiled faintly when Mungan ordered one of his men to get a small troop of soldiers together and go hunt down Iver’s men.
“I would like at least one live prisoner,” he told the man as he strode by.
“And have ye wed, then?” Mungan asked, a hint of disbelief in his voice.
“Nay, not yet.” Tavig lifted Adair from his sling. “A lass named Jeanne left me this as her legacy—my son Adair.”
“A fine-looking lad. Lass,” he called to one of the maids, who quickly hurried to his side. “See to the bairn’s care. His name is Adair.” The maid took Adair, smiling and cooing to him as she carried him out of the hall. “Ye should have introduced your woman first.”
“Aye, in normal circumstances.” Tavig clasped Moira’s hand in his. “This is Moira Robertson.” He grimaced as he watched the expressions on Mungan’s broad face. The surprise and delight Mungan revealed confirmed Tavig’s growing suspicions.
“Ye rogue,” Mungan bellowed, grinning as he clapped Tavig on the back. “Ye have brought me the ransom.”