Chapter Thirteen
Errol held back as Moira entered the room, rubbing his palms over his face. Jesus. How had they gotten to this position? And why, now that he’d had a taste of Moira, couldn’t he now get the taste of her off his tongue? He wasn’t sure he wanted to even if he could.
Moira ducked her head out. “Are ye coming?”
He grunted at the primal thoughts her simple question evoked in his mind. How he wished he were. He wanted to get lost in her soft skin. Her warm curves. Have her nails score his back. Feel her breathy moans against his neck. Hear her scream his name as she reached her climax.
Shite. He blew out a breath. He needed to change the direction of his thoughts. They would serve him no purpose.
“Well?” Moira prodded, her brows raised.
He nodded and followed her into the dark chamber, unable to see aught. “We need a torch so we can see what’s inside.” There was a torch near the entrance of the cave, so he exited the room and lit it, then returned to Moira.
Lifting the torch, he held it up to the walls, more faded paintings covered the ceiling and walls. Illustrations of wild beasties, birds, and fish, walking the earth, flying the sky, and swimming the lochs, told the story of the vibrant highland wildlife.
“Who did this?” Moira asked, her eyes wide as she studied the artwork.
“I dinnae ken. Someone with a lot of time to spend in caves drawing.”
For a long moment Moira studied his face before smiling, a small laugh escaping her full lips. “Ye jest.”
“Aye,” he admitted sheepishly.
“I didnae take ye for the sort, Errol MacLeod.”
“And what sort did ye think I was?”
With her head tilted to the side, Moira tapped her chin with her index finger. She looked like she was trying to figure out how to answer.
“Serious. Unyeilding,” she finally answered. Then added, “bossy.”
“Bossy? What are ye talking aboot? I am no’ bossy.”
She lifted a brow as she leveled her gaze on him.
“Och, please! Ye are one of the bossiest men I ken, and I ken a lot of them. Ye are right at the top with the rest.”
He scoffed at her assessment. Not wanting to continue the conversation, he returned to studying the chamber. In multiple spots the names Hart and MacLeod were written out. Sometimes together, sometimes apart.
There appeared to be scenes depicting a story. They needed to find the beginning painting so they could make sense of what was being told.
“’Tis a story,” Errol said, pointing the torch to the artwork. “If we can find the first one, we can figure out the order from there and read the story.”
“I think ye are correct.” Moira walked the perimeter of the cave, studying each scene before pointing to one. “I think ’tis this one.”
He scanned the scene she pointed to. It showed the MacLeod and Hart clans each on their separate borders. If this truly was a story about the clans being united, it only made sense that the beginning would show them as separate entities.
“I believe ye are right. Now, let us try to decipher what ’tis trying to tell us.”
For the next few hours, they went from scene to scene, slowly putting the pieces together.
The clans were indeed at odds when this particular story started.
That was clear by the picture depicting them each on their own lands, archers ready to shoot given the command.
Swords drawn. Close to the border was a MacLeod man and a Hart woman, hands outstretched toward each other.
“’Tis the beginning of their love story,” Moira said quietly, awe lacing her voice and making it soft.
She pointed to the next scene. “Here, they’ve been wed.
They’re standing under a thistle-covered arch, hand in hand, two rings at their feet.
That can only mean they have been united in holy matrimony, dinnae ye agree? ”
Errol nodded in agreement. Moira was amazing. The rise and fall of her chest quickened with excitement at what they’d uncovered.
She moved to the next scene. “Here,” she pointed. “The woman’s belly is big and round. She birthed a bairn.”
Visions of Moira, round with his child, filled his head and he found the image hard to shake.
Just the thought of them together should be forbidden.
Her belly swollen with his bairn was definitely forbidden.
His eyes slid to the paintings. A MacLeod and Hart union had come to fruition afore. Why couldn’t it again?
Nay. He shook his head to clear it. He and Moira would never be together. They couldn’t.
“It looks like she had a wee lad.” She brought her face closer to the scene to see it better, then spun to him. “If they had a son, then their lineage lived on. Do ye ken of such?”
“Nay. My da has been adamant that ye Harts are our enemies. E’en the pretty ones such as yerself.”
Moira’s mouth dropped open at his words.
In turn, he snapped his mouth shut, cursing to himself. Why the hell had he said that?
She pressed her lips together and then met his eyes, a smile spreading across her face. “Ye think I am pretty?” She asked coyly.
He closed his eyes and groaned. It wasn’t a lie. Moira Hart was the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes upon. But that was something he was supposed to keep to himself, not announce it to the world.
She toed the floor of the cave with her booted foot. “Do ye?” She prodded.
Taking a deep breath, he nodded. “I do,” he finally confessed.
Her smile grew wider. “Thank ye. Ye are the first person to tell me that.”
He scoffed. “I cannae possibly be.”
“Ye are. Well, aside from my parent’s, but they dinnae count. They are supposed to say such things.”
Clearing his throat, he dragged his gaze from hers and focused on the story unfolding in front of them. “What is the next scene ye can decipher?”
He felt her stare for a long moment afore she looked away. “They had the bairn and lived together in a keep. I wonder if it is MacLeod Keep. Do ye think? Mayhap an early version of it.”
Approaching the scene, he studied the building. It was a square tower, similar in looks to the main building of their keep afore the various wings were added. “’Tis possible.”
“I wonder if they had more children. It seems that men always want more. One isnae good enough.” She added gruffness to her voice to imitate a man speaking.
“Daughters serve no purpose other than as a bargaining tool. One can ne’er only have one son.
What if something happens? There needs to be another to take his place. ”
Errol stiffened.
Moira hitched her breath, reaching out a hand to rest on his arm. “Errol, I am verra sorry. I wasnae thinking. Trying to be comical. I should ken better.”
He shook her hand off. “Dinnae apologize. ’Tis fine.
” But her words stabbed him right in the heart.
His brother, now dead and gone, was just a memory.
He was the one that would have taken Errol’s place if something had happened to him that prevented him from leading the clan.
Instead, without that option, even more precautions were taken with Errol.
It was the only way to ensure that he would be there for the time when his father finally met his maker.
It wouldn’t be in the near future. Nay, his da was strong as an ox. Big as a bear. He would remain laird for many years to come, and Errol will be there to support him.
Moira turned solemn. He believed she did truly feel bad for the words she’d said. He kenned she hadn’t spoken them in spite, she was making a jest. Naught more.
“What else do ye see?” Errol asked, trying to improve Moira’s mood.
Once again, a smile lifted her lips as she studied the scenes. She was enthralled with history. It was written all over her face. In the way her eyes widened when she looked at the paintings. Her excited voice when she spoke about what she’d uncovered.
It made him want to invite her to MacLeod Keep so she could spend time going through their history as well.
He scoffed. His father would never allow it.
“What is wrong?” She asked, her brows drawing down, crinkling her forehead.
He shook his head. “’Tis naught. I’m letting my thoughts take o’er.”
“Do ye want to share?”
“Nay. No’ now.” He dipped his head toward the wall. “Have ye found aught else?”
“I only see the one child, so I dinnae believe there were any more. But this last scene.” She tapped her fingertips on the picture.
“The male and female are separated again. And the bairn is no longer with them.” She dragged her fingers along to the last painting.
“This one speaks of death. I cannae decipher if it is his, hers, or both of them. But at least one of them passed.”
Moira walked the perimeter of the room. There were several small recesses carved into the stone. Carefully, she inspected each one. Making a face when she withdrew naught but spiderwebs. Wiping her hands on her skirts, she continued on.
“There is something here,” she said, excitement lacing her voice as she withdrew a small bundle tied with fragile twine. “It has to be part of this. It looks similar to other items we’ve collected.”
Errol drew closer and watched over her shoulder as Moira broke the twine away, unveiling another letter. Like the one previously, the edges of the parchment were browned with age. Delicate. It looked like it would tear or crumble easily under Moira’s careful fingers. He listened as Moira read.
‘Congratulations on continuing on this journey of love’s discovery.
If ye are reading this, ye will ken that though we loved with all of our hearts, our love was not meant to be.
Instead, it was cursed. Culminating in a tragic end when we only wanted a future together. Our blood lives on. Mayhap ’tis ye. We fought for a future we wanted to see. We wanted to live. But ’twas lost to us.
Mayhap ye are the one to bring us together once again.
With the hope, love, and understanding we had always wished for.’
Her eyes met his. “It sounds like they did not have a happy ending.” Her voice was sad. Quiet.
“I agree, Lass.”
He opened his arms and she walked into them, nuzzling into his chest. For some reason, he felt the need to offer her comfort.
“It’s as if they kenned they would fail, but they pushed on anyhow,” Moira’s voice cracked. “But ’twas all for naught in the end.”
He stroked her hair as she worked through the emotions the story elicited. “They had hope. Sometimes, Lass, that is all that we have.”
Moira pushed away from him. “Now, ’tis up to us. We are the hope that can bring their story to light.”
Squeezing her tighter, he nodded. “Come on, let us sit for a bit. ’Tis been a trying day.”
He pulled her to the wall and they both sank down to the ground, the coolness of the stone floor seeping through his trews.
She rested her head on his shoulder. “What do ye think happened to them?”
“I dinna ken. ’Twas many, many years ago.” She swept her hand along the dirt, unveiling a carved seal. Sitting up, she swept the remainder of the dirt away. “Errol, look.”
The seal was once again a blending of the Hart and MacLeod. This time, carved into the seal, was one animal—half stag, half lion—brought together to combine as one. The two prominent animals of their clans.
Moira ran her fingers along the carving, and he leaned back against the wall, resting his arm on his knee.
One thing was for certs. Their history had been built upon a lie.
Now, they just needed to uncover it.