Chapter Twelve #2
She laughed as he moved, standing with her in his arms. He carried her over to their rough bed, gently laid her down, and sprawled on top of her.
She had not tempted him solely to shut him up.
Her need for him was strong. Moira suspected that facing death yet again fed her greedy desire for Tavig.
Tasting the passion he could stir within her was the sweetest way to prove to herself that she had indeed cheated death once again.
“Now mayhap we can finish what we have twice started today, only to be interrupted,” he muttered as he yanked off her boots then his own. “Aye, and what I feared ye might now be thinking of denying me.”
“Because of Adair?” She lifted her hips to aid him in the removal of her skirts and petticoat.
“Aye, I didnae think that when ye grew so distant to me that ye just tried to sort out your thoughts and feelings. I feared ye had grown distant because ye couldnae forgive me. Since I couldnae—aye, and wouldnae—deny that the child was mine, I wasnae sure I could cross that cold distance and pull ye back to me.” Tossing aside the last of their clothing, he eased himself into her arms, sighing with a mixture of pleasure and relief.
“I feared that we would ne’er lie together again. ”
“Tavig, I near to threw myself into your arms after kenning ye for but one week. Do ye really think that after breaking every rule so completely and so swiftly, I would leave your bed because ye sired a child ere ye had ever met me?”
“Yet ye are willing to allow the fears of ignorant people to send ye away from me.” He watched her closely, brushing a few stray wisps of hair from her face.
“The fear of ignorant people can kill us. A bairn can cause us no harm.” She threaded her fingers in his thick hair and pulled his face down to hers. “Ye should be flattered that I am so concerned for your safety.”
“I am, and it gives me hope. But ’twould flatter me more if ye cared enough to face those risks at my side.”
Before Moira could say a word, he kissed her.
She quickly ceased to think, allowing herself to become a creature of only feelings.
She wanted to sink into the passion they shared, to forget the fear she had tasted but hours ago.
Making love with Tavig made her feel a strange mixture of free, strong, beautiful, and safe.
She matched him kiss for kiss, stroke for stroke.
The bolder she grew, the fiercer he became in his passion, and his increasing loss of control heightened her own desire.
When he joined their bodies, she greedily welcomed him.
Her release was swift and blinding. She was only faintly aware of how he shuddered with his own, hoarsely calling out her name, as she fell headlong into the sweet semiconsciousness of ecstasy.
Her senses slowly returned as she savored the lingering warmth in her body.
Tavig made a lethargic effort to leave her, and she tightened her grip on him, using her passion-weighted limb to hold him closer.
As the last remnants of her desire left her body, she sighed.
She was content, sated, all her lingering fears eased, yet she wished the delicious feelings Tavig stirred within her could last far longer than they did.
“Ye are a wonder, dearling,” Tavig murmured, easing the intimacy of their embrace, turning onto his side and tugging her into his arms. “A fast learner, too.”
Moira smiled against his shoulder as she idly smoothed her hand over his broad chest. “Is that a good thing?”
“Oh, aye, this mon certainly thinks so. It could be bad for my health, though.” He smiled and kissed her forehead when she giggled. “We had best get some sleep. There isnae much left of this night, and we cannae sleep away the day. We still have too many miles to go.”
Stretching languorously when he rose to put on his braies, Moira wondered idly if Tavig knew what a fine figure of a man he was.
A huge yawn broke her fascination with Tavig’s lean form, and she realized how exhausted she was.
After slipping on her chemise, she waited for Tavig to return to bed and then curled up in his arms. Even as she relaxed, preparing to go to sleep, a concern tickled at her mind.
“Oh, the bairn,” she murmured, sitting up to look at the sleeping child. “Are ye sure ’tis safe to leave him sleeping on the ground like that?”
“We have no other place for him to sleep.”
“I think he is old enough to move about, Tavig. He could wake without our kenning it and crawl away.”
Tavig sat up frowning and rubbing his chin. “I suppose we could take him into the bed between us. Then we would sense if he began to move about.” He sighed, smiling crookedly at her. “Although I much prefer curling up with you in the night.”
“And I much prefer you, especially since bairns can be quite damp by the morning. I think we shall have to put him between us, howbeit. He could hurt himself badly crawling about our camp or the wood without someone to watch o’er him.”
Inwardly cursing then silently apologizing to the tiny Adair, for it was not the child’s fault, Tavig set the sleeping baby in between him and Moria. As he resettled himself beneath the blanket, Adair turned, snuggling up to Moira.
Tavig frowned at the child, a little ashamed over the pinch of jealousy that assailed him, then glanced up to meet Moira grinning at him.
“Like father, like son,” Moira said, laughing softly.
“Verra amusing.” He lightly touched the child’s thick black curls. “He doesnae enjoy all the benefits his father does,” he drawled, smiling when Moira blushed then tried to look annoyed. “This is all verra cozy, but I shall be pleased to get the child into his own bed.”
Moira closed her eyes, the need to go to sleep swiftly grabbing hold of her. “Aye, it wouldnae be good for him to become too accustomed to this.”
Tavig watched her as she fell asleep. He knew she was not referring to some normal rule of child-rearing but to the fact that she did not intend to be around much longer.
If little Adair became too attached to her, he would be hurt when she left.
Tavig wondered if she gave any thought to how he would feel, then hastily subdued his flash of anger at her.
She had never said that she would stay, had clearly stated her reasons for refusing to marry him. He had no right to be angry with her.
Failure was a bitter taste in his mouth. Moira had become his lover, but he wanted more—much more. He cursed fate for having shown him his mate only to thrust them into situations that convinced Moira they could not marry. It was as if God and fate were forcing him through some ordeal.
Gently draping his arm around Moira and Adair, he edged as close to them as he dared without waking them.
Moira had quickly accepted his son. That had to mean that she cared for him.
He was almost afraid to search his heart and face what he felt for her.
The terror he had experienced when she had been dragged before the priest gave him a painful glimpse of his feelings.
So did the cold that seeped through his veins when he thought of her leaving him.
Somehow he was going to have to break through her stubborn resistance.
He just wished he could shake the feeling that he faced a long, hard fight.
Moira grunted as a weight settled on her stomach and chest. She cautiously opened one eye, exhaustion clouding her vision.
Adair’s face was but inches from her own.
She watched a bubble of drool leave his mouth then winced as it hit her on the nose.
A sigh escaped her as she wiped it off and another quickly replaced it.
The dim light surrounding them told her that it was barely dawn.
She ached to go back to sleep, but the wide, bright obsidian eyes staring down at her told her she would not be allowed that luxury.
A fleeting glance revealed that Tavig was still sleeping.
“I didnae suppose it occurred to ye to wake up your father,” she whispered, gently moving the child off her and slipping out of bed.
The air was cool enough to make her shiver.
She dressed quickly, keeping a close eye on Adair.
She had had little to do with small children.
There had been a few in and around Sir Bearnard’s keep, but the mothers had done their best to keep the children out of sight and very quiet.
Moira suspected Sir Bearnard’s brutal temper had a great deal to do with that.
“Ye cannae be that hungry, laddie,” she murmured, gently taking away a rock before Adair could stuff it into his mouth. “Just be patient whilst I try to get ye your milk.”
She changed his wet rags, smiling at the way he played with his feet.
He had to be hungry, but he did not fret.
Moira started to get the uneasy feeling that, unlike a lot of babies, he just knew that he would be fed.
She quickly scolded herself for giving in to foolish superstition.
He had his father’s eyes, but that did not mean he also had his father’s unique gift.
Adair was simply a quiet, happy child and, if she did not hurry and get him his milk, he would probably start howling.
By the time she filled Adair’s goatskin bottle, Tavig was awake.
He grinned at the way she cursed the goat, which was reluctant to give up its milk to her inexperienced hands.
Moira picked up Adair, sitting by the fire as Tavig started it.
She looked from Adair to Tavig and back again several times as the baby quietly drank his milk.
“He really does look like you,” she said with a smile, finding that what had been painful at first now amused her.
“Aye, Jeanne didnae leave her mark on the boy at all. At least, not that we can see now.” He began to prepare their porridge.
“Will it trouble ye if he does grow to reveal some hint of his mother?”