Chapter Nineteen
Tavig groaned, eased out of Moira’s lax hold, and rubbed his forehead.
It took him a moment to realize that the pounding he heard was not coming from inside his head.
As he staggered to his feet and pulled on his braies, he glared at the door.
Still struggling to shake off his grogginess, he stumbled to the door, opened it, and scowled at Mungan.
“Why arenae ye still abed with your bride?” he demanded of his cousin.
“Because we are about to have visitors.”
“Aye?” Suddenly awake, Tavig muttered a curse. “Robertson is here.”
“Weel, he will be riding through my gates in an hour or less.”
“’Twas a foolish hope, but I had wished he wouldnae appear for a few days yet.”
“All things considered, ye are verra lucky he wasnae here when ye arrived.”
“True. I will be ready and at your side ere he arrives. Are the lasses to greet him as weel?”
“Aye, although it wasnae easy to convince Una of that.”
Glancing back at the bed, Tavig groaned. Moira was awake. She sat in the middle of the bed, a linen sheet wrapped around her, staring at him with wide eyes. In her eyes he saw a glimmer of the fear he had tried to defeat.
“Nay, it wouldnae be,” he murmured as he turned back to Mungan. “Moira will be there.”
Shutting the door after Mungan left, Tavig strode to the washbowl.
He washed, then fled to the garderobe. Although he knew he was being cowardly, when he returned he was a little annoyed to find Moira still sitting where she had been.
He had hoped she would get dressed and be ready to meet Robertson, thus saving him the distasteful chore of forcing her to do something that so clearly frightened her.
“Ye have to be there to greet him, lass,” he said as he started to dress.
“Why? Cannae ye and Mungan tell him everything?” She shuddered. “He will be so furious.”
“He cannae hurt you,” Tavig assured her as he sat down on the bed, taking one of her cold hands between his. “Mungan and I would ne’er allow him to.”
“I ken it, or at least a verra large part of me kens it. Howbeit, inside of me is a small terrified child who refuses to see reason. All she keeps saying is that Sir Bearnard is coming, and he will be verra angry. All she wants to do is hide.”
“Una undoubtedly feels the same, but she will be there to face her father. Can ye do less? And, loving, she is probably counting on ye to be with her, to stand firm at her side. After all, ye are the only one amongst us who can understand what she is feeling as she faces that bastard and confronts his anger.”
Moira sighed. He was right. Una would be expecting her, would need her. And if Una could face her father, then Moira knew she would feel the worst of cowards if she did not do the same.
She slid out of bed to get dressed. The knowledge that she would soon be face-to-face with Sir Bearnard so filled her mind that she was not concerned about washing and dressing in front of Tavig.
It was not until she tried to braid her hair that she was fully recalled to his presence.
He stepped up behind her to take over the chore.
She was grateful for his help as her hands were shaking badly.
“Think of it as finally saying faretheeweel to the mon,” he suggested.
“That may help.”
Her braid done, he turned her toward him, taking her into his arms and kissing her gently.
“I wish I could let ye hide. I dinnae like forcing ye to face something that makes ye turn so pale and has ye shaking like this. Aye, I can deal with Robertson, but I feel helpless against the fear he has scarred ye with.”
Despite the fears knotting her insides, Moira had to smile at the frustration darkening Tavig’s expression. “And ye really hate feeling helpless, dinnae ye, Tavig?” She reached out to stroke his cheek.
“No mon likes it. Aye, and vain though it may be, I have always considered myself a mon who could fix most anything, solve most any problem.” He grimaced, jamming his fingers through his hair.
“These last few months have been most unsettling. I havenae solved the problem with Iver and I cannae fix what Sir Bearnard has done to you.”
“Nay, ye dinnae have that quite right. Ye will solve the problem with Iver and do so verra soon, even if it isnae in the way ye wished to solve it. And I? Nay, ye cannae take the fear out of my heart. Howbeit, ye have taught me to be less fearful. That is no small victory. I feel certain that a fortnight ago I wouldnae have been able to face my guardian no matter what ye said or did. I would have heeded that tiny terrified child inside of me and run, then hid, despite being sure Robertson would find me and kenning that I would pay dearly for making him hunt me down.”
Moving toward the door, she looked at him. “Now, we had best get down to the great hall ere he arrives and ere I give in to that part of me that is cowering and scrambling to get away.”
He smiled, stepping forward to take her hand. “Ye are far braver than ye think ye are.”
As she followed him down to the great hall, Moira heartily wished he was right.
She was so knotted up with fear, she was feeling ill.
That did not seem very brave to her. She could not let Tavig face Sir Bearnard alone, however.
There were matters that had to be settled that were between her and Sir Bearnard Robertson alone.
If she intended to hold on to her tower house after leaving Tavig, she had to start by letting Sir Bearnard know she would never allow him to keep her birthright from her again.
If she could not even face her brutal, deceitful guardian while surrounded by men ready to protect her from him, she would never be able to convince Mungan that she could be a strong ally.
She looked for Una as she and Tavig entered the great hall, finding the girl standing only a few feet to the right of the door.
The moment she saw her cousin’s wide-eyed, pale face, Moira slipped free of Tavig and hurried to Una’s side.
Seeing Una so close to collapsing restored a little of Moira’s calm.
It would help no one and nothing if they both met Sir Bearnard trembling and weeping with terror.
The man would thoroughly enjoy that, she mused with a spark of anger.
“Una, be easy,” she urged, signaling a page to bring her a tankard of wine.
“I thought I would be calm,” Una muttered, snatching up the wine the page brought and taking a long drink. “I have a husband now, a big, strong husband. I thought that would be enough. Instead I feel terrified.”
“Big and strong as Mungan is, Cousin, he cannae cure a fear that has been beaten into you since the day ye were born.”
“Come, lasses,” Mungan called from the head table. “Sit with us.”
“If ye dinnae mind,” Moira replied, “I think we will feel better if we can face Sir Bearnard on our feet.”
“Aye, ’tis easier to run away,” muttered Una.
“Then when the time comes, we will stand with ye,” Tavig said as he sat down next to Mungan.
Moira nodded before turning all her attention back to a still-trembling Una. “There, that should make ye feel calmer. There shall be two strong men, swords at hand, standing by our side. Aye, and ye ken that ye can count on every one of the other dozen or so men lurking in this hall.”
“I ken it. I wish it would make me as brave as ye are.”
“Brave? I am so afraid I feel ill with it. When Sir Bearnard enters this hall, I may empty my stomach all over his boots.” She smiled when Una uttered a weak, unsteady giggle.
Una sighed, pulling out of her skirt pocket a linen square to dab at her tear-filled eyes.
“I feel oddly sad as weel. He is my father, Moira. I havenae seen him in weeks, months. I should want to see him. I should be eager to tell him of my marriage and present my husband. Instead I find myself praying that some disaster will befall him ere he reaches the gates. Is that not sad? I must be the most ungrateful daughter any mon has been cursed with.”
Grasping Una by the shoulders, Moira gave her cousin a little shake.
“That is exactly what Sir Bearnard would want ye to think. Ye are wed to a mon ye love and a mon most fathers would welcome an alliance with. If there is naught between ye and your father but fear, ’tis he who put it there.
Ye have naught to be grateful to the mon for, except mayhap that he didnae kill you. ”
“Aye, a part of me kens that. ’Tis still sad, though.”
“Oh, aye, ’tis sad. There is no arguing that.” Moira tensed as she heard the sounds of men approaching the great hall and echoed Una’s shudder as a chillingly familiar voice reached their ears. “Easy, Una, stand firm,” she whispered and knew she was speaking to herself as much as to Una.
Tavig and Mungan reached their sides just as Mungan’s men ushered Sir Bearnard and Nicol into the great hall.
Moira sent Tavig a look of thanks when he halted Mungan so that they stood a little apart from the women.
It allowed them to be close enough to support her and Una yet not so close it would appear to everyone as if the women hid behind their men.
It allowed her and Una the face-saving illusion of bravery without all the risks.
She did not feel brave at all when Sir Bearnard looked her way.
He looked mildly surprised to see that she was still alive, then irritated over her survival.
Nicol beamed at her, but his father stopped him from coming any closer.
A familiar wrinkled face appeared from behind Nicol and Bearnard, and Moira smiled at the gaping Crooked Annie.
A moment later Moira found herself tightly enfolded in the old woman’s bony arms. She grimaced, patting Annie’s thin back as the woman wept.
“I thought ye were dead, lass,” Annie wailed. “I thought ye were lying cold in a watery grave.”
“Weel, as ye can see, I am dry and hale.” She wriggled out of the woman’s hold and glanced at Tavig. “Some wine?”