Chapter Fifteen
“Me?” Moira was so shocked the word came out as a hoarse croak, and she had to clear her throat. “I am the ransom for Una?”
“I had begun to suspect it,” Tavig said, shrugging when Moira turned her horrified gaze his way. “It answered so many questions and puzzles, dearling. The biggest one was, why were ye being taken along at all?”
“Oh, aye? And is that why ye brought me here? To hand me over to him?” She was not sure she believed the look of hurt that passed over Tavig’s face.
“Dearling, when are ye going to have some faith in me? I am not like your kinsmon. I brought ye here for precisely the reasons I told ye—I need my cousin Mungan’s aid, and ye will be reunited with your kinsmen here if that is what ye still desire.”
The expression in Tavig’s dark eyes told Moira that she had disappointed him, even caused him some pain, but she found it difficult to cast aside her wariness completely. “So that my cursed kinsmen can hand me o’er to him.”
“Nay, lassie. I would ne’er allow it.”
Mungan looked from one to the other several times before walking around Tavig and Moira three times, then pausing to face them. “’Tis indeed strange that the Robertsons would send one of my own kinsmen with the ransom. Ye must tell me how ye became a part of this, Tavig.”
“I am not delivering Moira for ransom.” Tavig put his arm around Moira’s slim shoulders, pleased when she did not tense or pull away from him despite the anger still evident in her expression. “Moira is here because she travels with me.”
“With you?” Mungan grumbled and began to scowl only to roar a moment later, “Have ye been bedding my bride?”
“Mungan, just because ye decided to call Moira your bride doesnae make it so.”
“Nay,” muttered Moira. “That is a privilege only Sir Tavig MacAlpin can enjoy.”
Tavig ignored her remark. To his dismay, his cousin did not. Mungan was choosing to be clever now. There was a look of curiosity and contemplation on his dark angular features as he studied Moira. Tavig knew he was going to have to convince Moira to weigh her words more carefully.
“Cousin, she is mine,” Tavig said, drawing Mungan’s full attention back to him. “She and I are destined.”
“Ah, so that is how it stands. Ye have seen this, have ye, Cousin?”
“Aye, I ken it.”
“Weel, come to the table.” Draping his muscular arm around Tavig’s shoulders, Mungan moved toward the long linen-draped table at the head of the hall.
“We are a wee bit hungry.” Tavig pulled Moira along with him.
“When I tell ye all that has happened in the last fortnight, aye, and in the last month, ye will see matters far more clearly.” Mungan sprawled in his heavy oak chair at the head of the massive table, and Tavig took a seat on the bench to his right, tugging Moira down beside him.
“Where have ye confined Una?” demanded Moira.
“Confined her? There is no confining that wench.” Mungan scowled toward the heavy doors of the great hall. “She is late for the meal again. A verra contrary woman is your cousin,” he said to Moira. “She sore tries a mon’s temper.”
“Ye havenae hurt her, have ye?” Moira was a little surprised at how offended Mungan looked.
“Nay, I havenae laid a hand on the fool lass, save for bringing her here. The women of your family dinnae think too highly of men, do they?”
“They have good reason not to, Cousin,” said Tavig.
“What are ye doing here?” screeched a voice Moira quickly recognized as Una’s.
Moira rose to greet her cousin, but the look on the voluptuous Una’s face was not a welcoming one.
She quickly sat down again. Una did not resemble a distressed kidnap victim.
In fact, she looked healthy and was elegantly dressed.
Before Moira could answer her cousin’s sharp question, Una paled, pressing back against the gray stone wall near the door and looking around.
“Is my father here?” Una asked in a voice carrying a tremor of fear.
“Nay,” Moira replied. “I am here alone. Weel, I came with Sir Tavig MacAlpin.” Moira nodded toward Tavig.
“The accused murderer?” Una straightened, patted her thick blond hair to assure herself it was still neatly braided, and walked toward the empty seat on Mungan’s left.
“Aye,” agreed Mungan, “but I told ye that he didnae do it. The lad doesnae have that sort of meanness in him. ’Twas our other cousin, that sly bastard Sir Iver MacAlpin.”
“So ye came here with him?” Una looked at Moira and Tavig with narrowed eyes as she sat down.
Moira did not understand Una’s belligerance, and it began to annoy her. “Aye, Cousin. I am glad to see that ye are unharmed. And, aye, I, too, am hale and whole despite my recent ordeals. How kind of ye to inquire.”
“Now I am certain that Papa isnae here. Ye would ne’er be so pert if he was. Why, ye are almost as pert as ye were when ye first came to live with us. All eyes and impertinence, ye were.”
“And your bastard of a father swiftly cured her of that, didnae he?” snapped Tavig.
“He did,” replied Una. “I warned her, but she wasnae inclined to listen to me.” Una helped herself to a few large slabs of roast as the platter was passed around.
“She was a terribly coddled child. Papa soon showed her she wouldnae be treated so indulgently by him. A few nights locked in the pit soon curbed your tongue.”
“The pit?” Tavig muttered.
“Aye.” Una heaped small tender carrots on her plate.
“Papa has a pit in the swine pens. ’Tis his favored place to banish impertinent people.
It has a grate over the top so the pigs dinnae fall in, but, of course, most everything else seeps into it.
I only required one visit. I fear Moira required a great many ere she learned her lesson.
I was a wee bit sorry when she did grow silent for ’twas enjoyable to hear her speak so directly to Papa. No one else did.”
Mungan leaned forward, staring intently at Una. “Your father put ye in a hole in the ground and left ye to rot in pig muck?”
Una nodded while she chewed on a thick slice of heavily buttered bread. “I was only there once. A foul place, and he wouldnae let ye bathe for two days after ye got out.” She shuddered. “The smell fair turned your stomach.” She then shrugged. “’Twas better than most of his other punishments.”
“Aye,” Moira whispered, shaken by the memories Una was stirring up. “At least ye could see the sky.” She started in surprise when Tavig took her hand in his, his clasp almost too tight.
“I am surprised ye werenae frightened half out of your wits when we were tossed into that dark prison in Craigmoordun,” Tavig said.
“So am I,” Moira replied, sending him a faint smile. “I think I was too concerned about your injuries and, although ye werenae much company for a while, I wasnae alone.”
“Ye were put in prison?” Una asked, pausing in her eating long enough to stare at Moira in surprise.
As Moira began to reply, Tavig touched a finger to her lips. “Eat, loving. Ye havenae taken a bite of your food yet. I am near done with my meal so I will tell the tale.”
She nodded, glad to give the chore to him.
Mungan and Una would undoubtedly ask a lot of questions, and she would be left eating a very cold meal by the time the full tale was told.
Although Una listened intently, her eyes wide with interest and amazement, Moira noticed, with some amusement, that her cousin never paused in her eating.
As everyone talked, frequently interrupting Tavig’s story with exclamations and questions, Moira studied her cousin.
Una was constantly touching Mungan, sitting as close to him as she possibly could.
Mungan often patted her hand, somewhat absently at times and the pair constantly exchanged remarks on the story Tavig was telling.
By the time Moira had finished her meal, she was sure that the pair were lovers.
That explained Una’s dismay at finding her here and that strong hint of animosity.
What Moira could not understand was why Mungan wanted her?
She did not compare favorably with her cousin in beauty of face, womanly form, or richness of dowry.
Mungan’s insistence that she was his bride made no sense at all.
“Weel, Tavig, m’lad, ye have worked hard to bring me my bride,” Mungan said, then frowned when Una suddenly jerked away from him and slammed some more food onto her plate.
“She isnae your bride,” snapped Tavig. “I told ye—Moira and I are destined.”
“I will admit that I am a wee bit angry that ye have lain down with her, but ye didnae ken my plans, so I forgive ye. There will be no more of it, however, and I am firm on that.”
“Mungan, ye thick-headed oaf—”
“Wait!” Moira flinched when both men stared at her, unsettled by becoming the center of all attention. “Before the arguing and insults begin, mayhap ye can explain why ye are so determined to make me your wife, Sir Mungan.”
“It should be quite clear to any fool,” he answered.
“Weel, I fear this fool is quite confused and needs it explained.”
“An explanation would please me as weel,” Tavig said. “Why have ye set your heart on this particular lass?”
“I havenae really set my heart on her,” Mungan replied. “Truth to tell, she is a skinny wee thing and not much to my taste. Howbeit, I cannae get my hands on her lands without wedding her.”
“My land?” Moira shrugged when Tavig looked at her. “I dinnae ken what he means. I have no property.”
“Nay? Come look here,” Mungan ordered, standing and walking to a window at the far side of the great hall.
Moira scrambled to follow, Tavig and Una right behind her.
Mungan tugged her to his right side when she reached the window, pointing to a sturdy peel tower on a hill directly across the loch.
Tavig and Una pressed close, looking out and frowning with the same confusion Moira felt.
As Moira looked at Mungan, she fleetingly noticed that Una was entwined around Mungan’s left arm.
Tavig took her hand, tugging her closer to him. Matters were getting very complicated.