Chapter Four
“Let me have a look at those feet, dearling,” Tavig said as he knelt before Moira.
Moira gave a soft cry of surprise. She glanced around, stunned to see that a fire was already built, their meager bedding of thin blankets laid out, and Tavig had already begun preparing the porridge.
The last thing she recalled was that they had halted in the clearing, and she had sat down on the rock intending to rest for just a moment before helping him set up their camp.
She had unwrapped her aching feet and simply lost any sense of time passing.
“Nay, they are fine,” she protested pulling her feet away when he reached for one.
Tavig studied her for a moment, frowning when he saw the hint of nervous fear in her eyes. “Those are the first words ye have said in several hours. I wonder why. Ye werenae so quiet earlier in the day.”
“I said all I needed to. I didnae wish to be too impertinent.”
“Impertinent? What made ye think ye were being impertinent?”
“Ye said I was. Ye said I was an impertinent wee lass.”
“And that made ye grow so quiet and wan? I was but teasing ye.” He could see by the wary look on her face that she was not sure she ought to believe him. “Truly. ’Tis no crime to be a wee bit impertinent.”
“My guardian thought it was.” Moira leaned away from Tavig when his face hardened in an expression of anger.
“I am not your twice-cursed guardian. I willnae knock ye down just because ye say something I may not like.” He grasped her by the ankle, pulled her small foot toward him.
“’Twill take more than a few impertinent or ill-tempered words ere I would even think of striking a lass.
I have no liking for such a thing.” He looked at her foot and cursed.
“No wonder ye began to limp. Ye have sore abused these pretty wee feet.”
“I have abused them?”
“Aye. Ye should have watched where ye were stepping instead of sulking just because I called ye impertinent.”
Moira clenched her hands into tight fists, fighting the urge to pummel the top of his head.
She was not sure if she should believe him when he claimed to have no liking or inclination to strike a woman.
A man could spout such fine sentiments in one breath and knock a woman down in the next.
Fury had dispelled her fears for the moment, however.
She was tired and ached all over. Both conditions added to her anger.
“I wasnae sulking,” she snapped. “And I did watch where I stepped. Ye have some gall to scold me when ’tis all your fault I am sitting here too weary to move and my poor feet fair throbbing with pain.”
“My fault? Ye are fond of flinging out rash, unfounded accusations.”
“’Tis your fault. Ye were the one who tried to flirt with me.
Ye are the one with the covetous cousin.
If not for him, ye wouldnae have been condemned and ye wouldnae have been hiding on board that ship.
None of us would have been aboard that ship if not for yet another of your cousins—that hulking kidnapper Mungan Coll.
Aye, and if your thrice-cursed kinsmen hadnae placed us all on that thrice-cursed ship with their machinations, Annie wouldnae have met that disreputable little sailor, and I wouldnae have had to go out in the storm to try to find her.
That was when we were flung into the sea, tossed up on that barren shore, and left with naught.
And ’twas ye who decided we must take this hell-begotten journey.
If ye hadnae devised this grand plan to walk to your mad cousin Coll’s, I wouldnae be sitting here with aching feet. ”
“It does appear as if neither of us are blessed in our relations,” Tavig murmured. He stared at her for a moment before asking, “Do ye feel better for having said all that?”
“Aye. I do.”
Moira realized that was the truth. She did feel better. It had all been nonsense, a litany of blame for things he had not really done and could not change. She would not apologize for that, however. He slowly grinned, and she gave him a weak smile.
“I had meant to help ye set out our camp,” she said.
“’Tis your first day of hard travel, lass. Ye are weary. Ye will harden to it soon enough.”
“Weel, ’tisnae as if I have been pampered.” She gave a sigh of pleasure as he dampened a rag with water from the waterskin and tenderly bathed her feet.
“Nay, ye havenae, have ye?”
Tavig spoke softly as he frowned at her feet. He could not see very well in the dim light of a nearly set sun and the small fire, but he did not need to. Beneath his hands he could feel the calluses. They were not something he should find upon Moira’s tiny feet, for she was a wellborn lass.
“Is something wrong?” she asked, unsettled by the dark look upon his face.
“Did your kinsmen ne’er buy ye any shoes, or do ye have a liking for running about barefoot?”
“They fed and clothed me. I had no right to expect too much.”
“A pair of shoes isnae too much for your kinsmen to provide.”
“They did give me some.”
“Ye couldnae have worn them verra often, then.”
“Weel, I was only given them last month.” She eased the foot he still held out of his grasp. She was deeply embarrassed that he found her feet hard and rough. His gentle massage was also beginning to feel uncommonly pleasant. “Crooked Annie had even begun to rub my feet with an oil to soften them.”
“It took them so long to realize that ye were roughening your feet?”
Moira shrugged. “They had more important matters to concern themselves with.”
“Aye—themselves,” Tavig muttered as he rose and walked back to the fire
He sat down and started to cook their porridge.
The matter of Moira’s shoes was a puzzle.
Why would Sir Bearnard deny her shoes for so long then abruptly discard his cruel parsimony and give her some?
Why had the man ignored the condition of her feet until just a month or so ago?
It made no sense. Neither did Sir Bearnard appear the sort of man who was given to whims of kindness.
There had to be a reason why the man suddenly cared about his ward’s feet becoming as callused as some common beggar’s.
There was another puzzle he had to solve, Tavig thought, briefly glancing at Moira as she sat down across the fire from him.
Why had she been on that ship? There was no need for her presence.
She could do nothing to help in ransoming Una Robertson.
From what little he had been able to learn of Moira’s life with the Robertsons, Tavig did not think she was considered a part of that family, but was seen as an annoying burden of familial responsibility.
There was, quite simply, no reason for Moira’s place in the Robertson entourage.
As he handed Moira a serving of porridge in a battered wooden bowl, Tavig studied her. He doubted she would know why she had been included. Somehow he had to think of the right questions to ask, ones whose answers would add up to a solution of the puzzle.
“Moira?” he asked as they ate their plain but filling meal. “Why were ye on that ship?”
“We were going to ransom Una. I thought ye kenned that.”
“Aye, I did. I do. I just wondered why ye were going along with the others. Did ye ask to go?”
For a moment Moira used the act of eating her meal to avoid answering him.
She was not really sure what to say. Several times she had asked herself the very same question.
There really was no good answer. That was not something she wanted to confess to Tavig.
It would be admitting that she had no place in the Robertson family.
She dreaded such an admission. Silently acknowledging it to herself was painful enough.
“’Twas Robertson business,” she finally replied. “Why shouldnae I be there?”
“If naught else but because the journey is a long, arduous, and dangerous one.”
“It wasnae verra dangerous until I made the mistake of feeling charitable toward a certain George Fraser.”
Tavig ignored that. “Ye could serve no purpose. Settling a ransom demand is men’s work.”
“Mayhap they thought Una would be in need of a female, one of her own ilk to turn to for comfort after her ordeal.”
“Ye and this Una are close friends?”
It was yet another question she did not really want to answer.
The man had a particular skill for asking such awkward questions, Moira thought as she rubbed out her empty bowl with dirt.
This time her hesitation did not work to hide the truth.
When he took her bowl from her to rinse it with a little water, she realized she would have to tell the full unpleasant truth.
“Nay, Una and I arenae friends,” she muttered. “We arenae enemies, either. She was ne’er unkind to me. I was ne’er part of her life in truth. She was verra busy being trained and readied for a good marriage.”
“And ye were set to work with the maids.”
“Aye. ’Tis but fair that I earn my keep.”
Although he suspected she was worked very hard, Tavig said nothing as he wiped out their bowls and stuck them back into their sack of supplies. “So why would anyone think that ye could be a comfort to her?”
“We are of an age and both maids. There is a great deal we have in common. Why do ye ask? In truth, what does it matter? I can see no reason for your curiosity.” That was not the whole truth, for Moira did see the puzzle, but she did not understand why it should stir Tavig’s interest.
“Everything that concerns ye is of interest to me. A mon likes to learn all he can about the lass he will marry.”
The warmth she felt over his first statement faded abruptly with his second.
“Ye are mad. Just as I begin to think ye are a reasonable mon, ye talk like a fool again. Weel, I have had my fill of your nonsense for the day. I need some rest.” She scowled toward the bedding he had spread out. “Ye prepared only one place to sleep?”
“Aye, my sweet Moira. Only one. The fishermon lived alone, I think.”
“How sad,” she murmured as she stood up, carefully brushing herself off.
“True. It must have been a lonely life for him.”