Chapter Twenty #2
“Aye, Iver looks upon all men who arenae knights, wealthy, or weelborn as little more than witless beasts to be worked and used until they die. There is no sense of clan in Iver. He sees the people of Drumdearg as no more than tools to feed him, house him, and gain him coin, to buy more mercenaries. He takes what he wants, including their women, and feels they are all too stupid or cowardly to stop him.”
“How can he think such things after living there for so long?”
“He ne’er got to ken the people. He ne’er noticed or thought about them except in how they could serve him.
I should have banished the mon years ago, but I was able to curb his worse instincts, and that seemed to be enough.
My family isnae a verra large one, and mayhap I feared acknowledging the need to be rid of one of them. ”
“Ye cannae be faulted for trying to keep a kinsmon from cutting his own throat,” said Mungan.
“And that is what Iver has done. E’en he has to ken that one of you must now die.
He has done his best to insure that that one was you.
He failed.” Mungan shrugged. “I ne’er liked him, ne’er trusted him, and I willnae hesitate to cut him down, but, as ye said, Tavig, we arenae a large family.
E’en I regret the need to lessen our number. Iver has given us no choice.”
The men began to discuss the details of the forthcoming battle and, although she dreaded the possible consequences of such a confrontation, Moira could see that the plans were thorough and promised victory—if all went as planned.
Once the battle began, Mungan and Tavig would gain more men from the people of Drumdearg.
Some of the men who had been hiding would probably return in time to take part in the fight.
They had a way to get inside the keep. Mungan had even chosen three of his youngest men to guard her and Una while Tavig had chosen the place they were to remain until it was safe.
Her mind told her it would go well, but her heart feared some terrible mishap.
When Tavig stood, pulling her to her feet, and led her to a secluded place within the surrounding wood, she did not resist. Even the knowing looks of the men did not trouble her.
In a few hours Tavig would be in the midst of battle, facing a man who desperately wanted him dead. She needed to be alone with him.
“Have ye had any feelings on what is to come?” she asked as he spread out their bedding.
“Ye mean a vision?” He sat down, tugging her down beside him.
“Aye. I was hoping your sight may have come to your aid, warned ye, or given ye some hope. Do ye see nothing?”
“I see Iver dead.”
“Ye dinnae sound as if ye believe that prophecy.”
“I cannae be certain it is a prophecy. I have wanted it to be so since the bastard murdered my friends. There is nothing else, just the image of Iver dying. Usually there is more to my warnings, my visions. Because it is just the one image, I do fear that I myself have put that image into my mind. I daren’t act upon what may be only wishful thinking. ”
“Tavig, Iver doesnae have the sight, too, does he?”
“Nay. Did ye fear he may have seen me planning to attack and is readied for me?” He idly unraveled her braid, combing his fingers through her thick, wavy hair.
“Ye have the sight. Why couldnae another of your kinsmen?”
“True, another could have been given this curious mix of gift and burden. Iver was not. In truth, he has always resented me for having it. ’Twas odd, for most people only feared or accepted it.
Iver craved it. He envied it even though he kenned that it wasnae perfect, didnae always show me what was to happen, and didnae always show it to me in a way that was helpful.
” He tugged her into his arms, tumbling back onto the bedding and pulling her on top of him.
“I didnae come out here to talk about Iver.”
“Nay?” She slid her hand beneath his plaid and stroked his thigh. “Why did ye bring me out here, then?”
“Lass, sometimes ye ask some verra foolish questions.”
Moira laughed, but as Tavig kissed her, her amusement quickly changed to passion.
She was eager to make love. Although she refused to think that anything could happen to Tavig or that he would fail, she needed to spend what few hours were left before the battle in his arms, passion washing away all her thoughts and worries.
Each step closer to Drumdearg brought her closer to the time she would have to leave him.
The hours in which she could make some sweet memories were swiftly running out.
The guard yelped with pain, cursed, and hastily moved out of the reach of the whip Iver had just scored his back with. “Why did ye do that? I wasnae sleeping.”
“Ye may as weel have been, fool,” Iver snapped, looking over the wall and heartily cursing the dark. “Ye were staring at the keep. My cousin willnae be coming from there.”
Trying fruitlessly to reach the stinging pain on his broad back, the burly man grumbled, “He isnae coming from out there, either.”
“Oh? Ye are privy to my cousin’s plans, are ye?”
“Nay, but, curse it, the mon has been running for his life for months. He hasnae had time to raise an army. He certainly hasnae had the coin to buy any soldiers.” The man scowled into the darkness as he scratched his softening middle.
“Aye, and even if he gets Mungan Coll to aid him, that mon doesnae have the men needed to storm this keep.”
“If I heeded your opinion I would decide that I have wasted my coin in hiring you.” Iver smiled nastily when the man blustered in an attempt to explain his worth.
“My cousin will come. ’Tis but a matter of time.
I erred in trying so hard to make his death appear legally warranted.
I should have just killed the bastard.” Iver rested his bony hands on top of the thick wall, narrowing his eyes as he fruitlessly tried to see into every shadow.
“Tavig was a fool to turn his back on me, but I was an even bigger fool to let him escape my trap.”
“I still dinnae ken how he did it.”
“Fool, did ye forget that the mon has the sight? He kenned what I was doing ere I did it. I was too confident, too certain that he would rush to the aid of his friends. This time his warning must have been exact enough to tell him that it was a trap. Curse it, I should have been the one to get that gift.”
“Then ye would ken where and when he is going to try to take his lands back.”
“Aye.” Iver straightened up, turning to glare at the guard and snapping his whip. “I dinnae have the sight, so ye must be my eyes, and I expect those costly eyes to stay open. Or I may feel compelled to shut them forever.”
Iver left the walls, striding into the great hall.
He flung his whip onto the large head table, sprawled in Tavig’s huge oak chair, and sharply ordered a nervous page to pour him some wine.
Tavig was coming. Iver was sure of it. He cursed his inability to know when or where, his visible fury sending the page scurrying away.
“I ken ye are coming here, Cousin,” he murmured, glaring into his wine. “I should have killed ye before. No games, no tricks, just simply cut your thrice-cursed throat. Weel, come on, then. Ye have successfully eluded my hirelings for months, but now ye march straight to your death.”
Moira shuddered, sitting up to look around She saw nothing, heard only a soft noise from the camp.
The sudden chill of fear that had ripped through her still lingered.
After looking around one more time, she settled back down in Tavig’s arms. She was not surprised to find him awake, watching her closely.
“A bad dream?” he asked, holding her close and kissing the top of her head.
“I dinnae remember one.”
“Ye were frightened. Even in this dim, shadowy light I could see your fear. The cry ye made ere ye sat up was one of fear.”
“Aye, fear. That is all I recall. A deep, chilling sense of fear. No dream, no vision, nothing. Just fear. If fear were cold water, then ’twas as if someone crept up and emptied a bucket o’er me. ’Twas that sudden, that complete.” She shivered. “Ye dinnae think it means anything, do ye?”
“Do ye mean is it a sign?” Gently clasping her chin, he tilted her face up to his and touched a kiss to her mouth.
“Nay. Ye are concerned about this battle, and I ken that ye have been fighting that. Aye, ye have been fighting it since the day we arrived at Mungan’s.
When ye fell asleep, ye couldnae guard against it any longer and, briefly it overwhelmed you. ”
“Aye, mayhap that was all it was. I am sorry. I dinnae mean to trouble ye with my worries.”
“’Tis no trouble, dearling. At least I ken that ye do worry o’er me and arenae sending me off to battle with nary a concern.” He met her look of disgust with a bland smile.
As she smoothed her hand up and down his side, she thought over his explanation of her sudden, violent attack of fear.
It made sense, yet it did not satisfy her.
Why had she never experienced such a thing before?
She had certainly carried a lot of fear during her years with Sir Bearnard, and she had fought it, too, just as she fought her fears now.
It did not really make sense that it should suddenly so overwhelm her that she was ripped from a peaceful sleep, trembling and sweating from the force of it.
“Moira, I can see that ye are still puzzled,” Tavig said against her throat as he kissed her pulse point.
“Aye, I am.” She told him her reasons for doubting his explanation. “Something is different.”
“Mayhap ’tis because my life is in danger, or so ye believe.”
She heard the hint of a question in his voice, saw the almost sly look in his eyes.
He was trying to trick her into declaring her feelings for him—vaguely or directly.
It was a little flattering that he was so interested in the state of her heart that he tried such underhanded ways to make her reveal herself.