Chapter Twenty-Three #2
He finally paused in front of a thick wooden door that was slightly ajar.
She gasped softly when he kicked it open wider, marched into the room, and kicked it shut behind him.
Moira got only a brief look at a huge room before Tavig tossed her down onto a wide bed.
Breathless, she could only lie there as he latched the door, strode back to the bed, and sprawled on top of her.
As he stared at her, she was torn between annoyance and a strange sense of excited anticipation.
He was acting oddly, yet she felt a rich sense of promise in his actions.
Only a man seized with strong emotion would act so, and strong emotion was just what she wanted from Tavig.
When minutes crept by and he still said nothing, she grew nervous.
“Weel? Ye said ye wanted to talk to me, yet ye just gawk,” she grumbled.
“Actually, I was looking for the fear, and it isnae there.”
“What do ye mean?”
“Lass, I grabbed ye, tossed ye over my shoulder, and carried ye away. I ken I wasnae hiding my anger weel, either. Howbeit, that fear that so often enters your eyes isnae there. Ye werenae frightened by my actions. ’Tis clear it never occurred to ye that I would not do anything to truly harm you.”
Moira stared at him as his words sank into her mind.
He was right. She could easily recall the number of times she angered or insulted him with her fears.
Yet, despite the slightly rough way he had treated her and despite the anger he had revealed, she had not felt the familiar thrill of fear.
She had not cringed or thought of ways to make herself less visible to him.
For one brief moment she was so pleased with herself, so elated with her freedom from the fear that had haunted her for so many years, she forgot about the tense discussion she was having with Tavig.
She was equally torn between an urge to weep and an urge to laugh with the sheer joy of it.
“Oh, Tavig, this is wonderful. I am sure a few scraps of it still linger, but I am finally free. Those fears no longer rise up simply because a word, a look, or a movement stir memories of Sir Bearnard. And I have you to thank for this.”
“And ye thank me by walking away.”
“Ah, we are back to that again.” She grimaced under the sharp, cross look he gave her.
“Aye, we are back to that again, and we will remain with that until I am convinced ye couldnae be happy here with me or I convince ye that ye can be. Happy and safe. Why dinnae we start with why ye ne’er told me ye had a healing touch.
I should have guessed it. Ye used it when I was knocked on the head in Craigmoordun. ”
“Aye, I did.”
“I noticed that my head didnae pain me as it should, considering the blow I took. And mayhap I would have guessed the truth then, except that I simply couldnae consider the possibility that ye would lie to me.”
The accusation in his voice stirred her guilt, and she blushed. “I didnae really lie to you.”
“Ye didnae tell me about your gift.”
“That isnae lying. ’Tis just keeping a secret.” She gave him a weak smile in response to his look of disgust.
“But to keep such a secret from me? I am probably one of the few people ye did not need to fear.”
“Weel, aye and nay. Ye had the same problem as I so ye should have been the most understanding, but ye were also the last person I wished to see turn away from me.”
“And ye were the last person I wished to have turn away from me, but I still told ye about my gift.”
“Ye are obviously braver than I am.” She sighed, wriggled her hand free of his relaxed hold, and brushed her hair off her face.
“Mayhap habit played a hand, too. I think I have needed to keep my gift a deeper secret than ye have had to keep yours. A lot of people in Scotland accept the sight, but my gift isnae so widely revered.”
“Nay, true enough. Lass, have ye ever thought that our gifts are the reason fate thrust us together?” He idly smoothed his hand over her hair, which had come undone from its loose binding and was splayed out over his pillow.
“Who can better understand us? Mayhap destiny felt we would be happier if we could share our burdens.”
Moira studied him, wondering what to do or say.
Just before he had carried her out of the stables, he had spoken with strong emotion and said things that held a great deal of promise.
She could still feel that emotion in him, but it was no longer coming out in a flood of words.
When she had bluntly asked him how he felt about her, questioned the meaning of the things he had said, he had answered with a bellow.
She needed a clearer response. If she was to face a future that could be troubled by superstition and the danger it brought, she needed to hear more.
There was a chance Tavig thought his one outburst was declaration enough, but she could not let it rest at that.
“Ye must see that my people willnae fault ye for your gift,” he continued. “In truth, this is probably the safest place in Scotland for you. Drumdearg has a long history of people with gifts or, weel, odd manners or looks. Ye have to admit that Mungan is no ordinary sort of fellow.”
“Not ordinary at all.”
“His size and the whimsical way he acts causes as much fear as my sight ever has.”
“Ye have convinced me, Tavig. Here at Drumdearg I can set aside my concerns about superstitious fear and the havoc it can wreak.”
“Then ye will stay,” he murmured in a husky voice, brushing a kiss over her mouth.
“Tavig, we cannae hide here every day of our lives. Ye are a knight. At some time—aye, and more than once—we shall have to leave this place. The dangers will be waiting out there for us.”
He cursed, dragging his fingers through his hair.
“Lass, I ken ye are no coward. Ye must ken that yourself by now. Why do ye let this fear stand between us? What can I do to make ye see that ’tis better if we face whatever danger there is together?
We will have more strength, more power.” He sighed, shaking his head. “I wish I kenned what ye needed.”
“I need more than talk of thrice-cursed fate and destiny,” she said in a soft voice.
Now that she had said the words, spoken her needs aloud, she no longer felt nervous and shy.
He asked a lot from her. She had every right to ask a few things of him as well.
Although she would not demand words of love, did not want them unless they were truly heartfelt, she wanted some of that strong emotion he had revealed in the stable.
Moira knew she needed such feelings for him to justify facing the dangers.
She needed to know that he held her in his heart, if only in a small way.
That was the bond they needed if they were to face whatever the future held without it causing constant, bitter strife between them.
“I have—” Tavig frowned when she shook her head. “Curse it, lass. Ye cannae be that unsure.”
“Your tongue loses a great deal of its sweet cleverness when ye get annoyed or agitated.”
He gently held her face between his hands, giving her a slow, deep yet tender kiss. “Doesnae that tell ye anything?” he asked, his voice low and husky.
“Aye. It tells me that ye want me. It tells me that ye desire me.”
“Nay, wee Moira.” He gave her another kiss, deep, demanding, and fierce. “That tells ye that I want you. That speaks of my passion for you. Ah, lass, mayhap I havenae said what lies in my heart, but I have shown it in many ways. Did I not marry you?”
“Ye have always spoken of that as fate and destiny. And ye wed me so that Mungan would leave me alone.”
“If I didnae care for you, I would have let that large oaf have you. Aye, aye, I mutter about the hand of fate a lot, but ye had to see that there was so much more to it.” He traced the shape of her face with his fingertips.
“I always felt that I could understand women, but ye leave me confused. ’Tisnae easy for a mon who has always kenned what to say or do to find himself uncertain.
Now ye ask me to say how I feel and, although I have always found the truth an easy thing to speak, I hesitate.
“Mayhap,” he murmured as he lightly traced her lips with one finger, “I would find the courage if ye spoke first. After all, what have ye said to me but nay, nay, and nay again?”
“That is verra unfair of you, Tavig MacAlpin.” Although he had said nothing specific, he had said enough to give her hope.
It was a little unfair, but if it prodded him to be more forthright, Moira knew she could speak first. “I thought a mon was the one to do the wooing,” she said as she slipped her arms about his neck.
“Ye cannae say that I havenae wooed you.”
“Aye, ye have wooed me. And won me. ’Tis probably verra unwise of me, but I dearly love you, Tavig.”
“Ah, my bonnie, sweet wife, in this matter I thank God Himself for your lack of good judgment.”