Chapter Twenty #3
“Tavig, my life is verra important to me. All the time I lived with Sir Bearnard I feared dying at his hands. That fear was almost constant, nearly crippling at times. I fought it, but it never shocked me out of my sleep. Are ye certain ye have had no vision?”
“Nay, and I certainly havenae had one since ye last asked me. If my own life is in danger, the warning can be vague or not come at all. Howbeit, if the battle was going to be lost, I should have some warning of it, for Mungan and ye could also be in danger. That much my gift would tell me, and there has been nothing, not a glimpse.”
“Ye would think it would have the courtesy to tell you ye are going to win. Doesnae it ever give ye good news?”
“It told me about you.”
“Nay, it told you I would drown if ye didnae hurl yourself into a cold, storm-tossed sea. I wouldnae call that good news, and dinnae try to flatter me into forgetting what I was worried about.”
“I would ne’er be so sly,” he protested, nuzzling her ear as he combed his fingers through her lightly tangled hair.
“Hah! Ye can be a verra sly mon, Sir Tavig.”
“Ye wound me, sweeting.” He pulled her close, pressing their loins together and savoring the way she instinctively rubbed against him. “I think ye ought to make amends. Ye wouldnae wish to send me off to battle feeling pained, would ye?”
Despite how swiftly passion was clouding her thoughts, she laughed with undisguised amusement over his nonsense. “Ye are such a rogue, Tavig MacAlpin.”
“And now she cries me a rogue,” he said, his voice heavy with feigned mourning. “Ye shall have to work verra hard to soothe my battered vanity, m’lady MacAlpin.”
“Your vanity would rise hale and strong even if all of Scotland’s knights ran over it.”
He turned, gently pushing her onto her back and sprawling on top of her.
Their verbal jousting delighted him. It revealed that she felt at ease with him.
She did not see it yet, but she trusted him enough to speak freely, not afraid that he would punish her for her barbed words.
It also saddened him a little, for they rarely indulged in any talk other than repartee.
She remained elusive, her true feelings hidden from him.
It frustrated him to the point where he was tempted to shake her until she confessed what was in her mind and especially in her heart.
He always controlled the urge, however, for he knew that to push her too hard would be to push her away, and she was only barely within his grasp now.
As he teased her full mouth with light, promising kisses, he watched passion darken her eyes and soften her features.
Tavig had no doubts about her passion, and how evenly matched they were in their desires.
Moira was wild and free in his arms, despite her complete innocence.
At any other time in his life he would have laughed at a man who said such fierce desire was not enough, but now he knew he needed more.
He gave her a slow, deep kiss, enflamed by the way she returned it.
“Moira, bonnie Moira, do ye ken how ye incite a mon’s senses?” he murmured as he kissed the hollow in her throat.
“I incite a mon?” She smoothed her hands down his back, her long fingers tenderly tracing his spine.
“Aye, incite and bewilder. Ye are innocence from the top of your bonnie head to these wee pretty toes”—he grasped her foot in his hand and touched a kiss to each toe—“but when your passion sparks to life, ye are as wild and free as any creature in this forest. Ye bemoan your cowardice yet squarely face the mon who bred your fears, trudge over the rough trails at my side for a fortnight without faltering, save my life, and now insist on riding to a battle. Aye, loving, ye are verra bewildering. I think a mon would need more than a lifetime to puzzle ye out, and I am nae too sure even that would be enough.”
Moira bit back the urge to ask him if he intended to take up that challenge.
She did not want to know exactly how willing he might be to stay with her, for the knowledge would only hurt her more when she needed to leave.
It would be easier to leave a man she was unsure of than one who already promised her everything she desired.
“I dinnae think I am so verra bewildering,” she murmured, sliding her feet up and down his calves as he resettled himself in her arms. “At this moment I think ye ken me verra weel, what I want and what I feel.”
She suddenly realized what a dangerous statement that was. It begged for a response. Before he could make one, she caught his face between her hands and kissed him. As she hoped, passion proved to be the perfect diversion.
Moira cried out in alarm when Tavig suddenly pushed her onto her back, sprawled on top of her, and held his sword at the ready. Her heart pounded with alarm. The last thing she recalled was curling up in Tavig’s arms, replete from their lovemaking, and going to sleep. Now he was ready for battle.
“Relax, Cousin. ’Tis just me,” Mungan said as he stepped out of the shadows.
As Tavig moved carefully, shielding her, Moira quickly covered herself with the blanket. “’Tis time?” she asked.
“Aye, ’tis time,” answered Mungan. “I will leave ye to ready yourselves.”
As soon as Mungan left, Moira looked at Tavig and found him watching her closely. “Weel, ’tis off to the battle.”
“Aye, lass. ’Tis off to victory.”
I pray ye are right, she thought, but said nothing, smiling in agreement.