Chapter Twenty-Two #2
When she cast a longing glance toward the keep, the need to see how Tavig fared so strong she could taste it, Nicol firmly turned her back to the wounded.
Moira sighed and started to work. Nicol was right.
Tavig did not need her there. Neither could she help him.
He was fighting for his life and only he could wage that battle.
Tavig watched the last of Iver’s guard fall to his sword, then looked at his cousin.
Mungan’s men encircled a wounded Andrew MacBain, insuring that the man stayed alive long enough to prove Tavig’s innocence.
Mungan stood with his arms crossed, clearly stepping back and allowing Tavig to finish the battle.
Iver stood firm, but his pockmarked face glistened with sweat.
Tavig was surprised to realize that Iver feared him.
He knew his cousin had strength, despite his bone-thin build, and he had skill.
Iver was also fresh, having fought no one while he himself had had to fight several men.
It was clear that Iver did not see that he held that advantage or did not believe that it was enough.
“’Tis just ye and me, Cousin,” said Tavig.
“And ye expect me to enter willingly into battle with a mon who already kens the outcome?” asked Iver.
“Ye ken as weel as I do that my gift is erratic. I ken only that we must fight,” Tavig lied, feeling it unfair to tell his cousin that he had seen him dying.
Iver believed wholeheartedly in his gift and Tavig knew such knowledge would only frighten his cousin more, thus weakening him.
“I will give ye the chance to surrender.”
“Hah! To be hanged? Nay, I think not.”
“Ye ken that I have no wish to kill you, but ye leave me no choice.”
“Nay, none at all,” Iver said and attacked Tavig.
At first, Tavig did little more than fend off his cousin’s attacks. It had been years since he had fought with Iver or watched his cousin wield his sword. He needed to study Iver’s skill, to search for that weak point.
It did not take long to find it. Iver was a good fighter, but for far too long he had depended upon guile and treachery to get what he wanted. He had ceased to hone his sword skills. Softly cursing Iver for pressing him, for forcing him to take the life of a kinsman, Tavig pressed his attack.
Iver’s ability to defend himself was better than his offensive skills, but not good enough.
Tavig finally found the opening he sought.
Fighting the urge to hesitate, to offer Iver yet one more chance, Tavig drove his sword deep into Iver’s thin chest. Iver died with barely a sigh.
Tavig pulled his sword free and solemnly watched his cousin fall to the rush-strewn floor.
“A clean strike,” murmured Mungan as he stepped over, idly nudging Iver with his foot before crouching to shut Iver’s wide, staring eyes.
“I didnae wish to kill him, but since he forced me to it, I decided to try to make it as swift and as painless as I could.” Tavig bent to wipe his sword clean on Iver’s jupon, then resheathed it. “He could have surrendered.”
“Aye, he could have, but ’tis easy to understand why he didnae.
” Mungan walked to the head table to pour himself a tankard of hearty wine.
“This was an easier way to die. Much preferable to hanging.” As Tavig walked over, Mungan handed him some wine, then held his tankard high.
“To victory.” He grinned when his men loudly cheered then took a long drink.
“Aye, to victory,” murmured Tavig as he also took a drink.
“Come, laddie,” Mungan said, gently clapping Tavig on the back. “The mon gave ye but two choices—his death or yours. Aye, it pains me that one of our own blood had to die at our hands, but he would have felt nothing if he had put us to the sword.”
“I ken it. This moment of regret will pass soon.” He turned to the men who still kept an eye on Andrew, but were helping themselves to the wine. “One of ye ought to tell the others that the battle is won.”
“I will,” said Mungan. “Ye set here, Tavig, and I will also find our lasses.”
Tavig wearily sat down in his chair as Mungan left. But a moment later his people began to flood the hall. Their exuberance soon infected him. He began to join in the celebration more wholeheartedly and was eager for Moira to join him.
Moira tensed when Mungan hailed them. She waited with little patience as he hugged and kissed Una then amiably scolded them for not staying where they had been put. His talk of victory both pleased and saddened her. She also wanted a few more details.
“Tavig is hale,” he told her. “Go and see for yourself. I need a moment to see how my men fare.”
She nodded and strode toward the keep. It was not easy to get through the people crowding the hall, but finally she gained a clear view of Tavig.
He looked every inch the laird as he sat in his huge chair at the head table, his people gathered around him, celebrating their freedom from Iver’s dark rule.
With increasing sadness she looked around the great hall.
Signs of wealth were everywhere from the ornate tapestries on the walls to the heavy tankards everyone held.
Tavig had said his place was not as grand as Mungan’s, but she could see little difference.
Although she had a dowry now, it was not a large one.
There would be many a bride he could get who would have more and gain him a much-needed alliance.
Added now to her feats that her gift would cause him trouble was the knowledge that Tavig could do a great deal better than a marriage to her.
Before he could catch a glimpse of her, she slipped out of the hall.
She had to leave and she had to do it quickly, before he could find her and persuade her to stay.
By leaving now, she was not only saving him from the trouble a wife like her could bring, but also freeing him to make a better marriage he so richly deserved.
Moira was so caught up in her thoughts that she did not see Mungan until she walked into him.
She scowled up at him as she rubbed her nose which had made hard contact with his broad chest. Una was neatly tucked up at his side.
Moira wondered why fate seemed so intent on putting obstacles in front of her.
“Why arenae ye celebrating with your mon?” Mungan asked. “Ye can return to the great hall with us.”
“Nay. Tavig doesnae need me there.”
“Are ye afraid he will chide ye for keeping a secret from him?”
“Ah, someone talked.”
“Lass, I heard about little else. Ye cannae display such a gift and expect no one to speak of it. The men whose pain ye eased have done naught but sing your praises. Ye should have told Tavig, lass.”
“When ye hide something as long and as determinedly as I have this, ’tis hard to do anything else.”
“Weel, no sense in running away and trying to hide now. Your secret is a secret no longer. Come along, I am sure Tavig will be looking for you.”
Moira sighed, knowing she had to speak the truth.
Somehow she did not believe Mungan would stop her no matter how much he disagreed with her choice.
What she had to do was insure that Mungan did not tell Tavig she was leaving, at least not until it was too late for Tavig to stop her.
Although, she mused sadly, Tavig might not even try to find her after she dealt him a two-edged insult—lying to him by keeping her skill a secret and then deserting just as he celebrated his victory.
“Mungan, ye must promise me ye willnae say anything to Tavig,” Moira asked.
“Aye, I swear it. What is it I am not supposed to say? If ’tis about your gift, there is little use in tying my tongue. Too many others are clucking about it.”
“Nay, ’tis not about my secret. I am leaving Tavig.”
“Leaving him—why? Have ye been knocked in the head, lass? Ye arenae making sense.”
“I am making perfect sense.” She succinctly related all of her reasons and almost smiled at his glowering look.
“If ye kenned all this from the start, why did ye marry him?” Mungan demanded.
“So ye would stop being such a crazy fool and do as ye really wanted to—marry Una.” She was a little surprised when Mungan responded to her tart remark with a wide grin.
“Methinks ye arenae as weak as I first thought ye were, either. Weel, I think ye are wrong to leave,” he added, growing solemn, “but ’tis not my place to try to stop you. Dinnae ask me to help, though.”
“Nay, I wouldnae. Ye need not worry about that tower house, Mungan. I would never let it fall to your enemies.”