Chapter 14
Tavin woke the next morning with an aching head and a heavy heart. He dressed quickly, placing the stolen tartan across his shoulders, wishing he could wear his own.
But in order to do so, he would be giving up his own family to the fate of the McPherson clan.
He had spent a great deal of time in the tavern on the outskirts of town, drinking ale and thinking about Moira’s words to him in the wood. She wanted him at the games.
She wanted him to be the man that he could not be for her. He was a liar, the worst lot that she would throw into the dungeon if she knew the truth.
Yet here he was, dressing with care so that he could join the games today. She wanted him there and as much as Tavin knew he was playing with fire, he wasn’t about to let her down.
To let her down would mean to her that he didn’t care.
The problem was, he cared far too much.
After gathering his things and hiding them in the hay, Tavin saddled his horse and led it out of the barn, seeing that the village was already waking around him.
Everyone was excited about the festivities that would take place right outside the encampments, a brute show of force that was to impress the lady of the keep.
Tavin knew she would not be impressed. Moira was looking for someone who cared for her, someone who would rule by her side and give her precious bairns to carry on the family name.
Physical displays of force were not going to give her the answers she sought, but Tavin still slid into the saddle and pointed the horse toward the field. He had half a mind to turn around and head away from the land, but then he would let Moira down and that didn’t sit well with him.
If nothing else, she would see that he cared enough to come today.
He wasn’t sure what his brothers would say once they saw him there, but he didn’t care.
He was due to meet with them this evening and finalize the plans for the attack, but Tavin was going to tell them that he wanted no part in the attack.
He would not distract anyone, nor would he wish to raid the keep with his brothers.
He was finished with causing any evil on this clan and any others.
The battlefield was already buzzing with activity when he arrived, tethering his horse amongst the others. There were all sorts of tartans on display and Tavin cautiously moved through them, waiting for someone to call him out as an imposter.
But no one did and Tavin joined the others that were to compete in the games, waiting on the arrival of the lady of the keep.
His palms were sweating by the time she appeared, with a long line of horses following her.
Tavin watched with bated breath as Moira dismounted and strode to the platform that had been set up for her, her keen eyes sweeping the crowd.
She was beautiful in a green dress and her tartan draped about her shoulder, looking every inch the lady that they were all vying for.
His chest ached as he thought of the other Scots touching her, grounding his teeth as he swung his arms to loosen up. He would fight with that in mind today.
When her eyes found his, he saw the surprise reflected in her depths from where he was standing. She had fully expected him not to show.
Well, he had, and Tavin still wasn’t so sure why he was here.
Moira lifted her hands and the crowd quieted.
“Thank ye all for coming tae the gathering. This is a chance for the great clans of Scotland tae converse about the future of our country and that of our children’s.
Please remember ye represent yer namesake today and any blatant display of anger or cheating willnae be tolerated.
As ye all are already aware, I am looking for a husband and every quality is important tae me, not just the size of his muscles. ”
“What about the size of his cock?” someone in the crowd called out, causing those around to laugh.
Tavin watched as Moira lifted her chin, bestowing a saucy smile to the crowd. “’Tis doesnae hurt either, but there will be no baring of one’s cock today. Enjoy yerselves!”
Tavin grinned as she stepped back, wondering how bright her cheeks were. She had handled it beautifully but knowing the way she had stroked his cock yesterday, she wasn’t well versed on the size of anyone’s cock but his.
The thought made his grin widen and a spark of pride shot through him. Yesterday Moira had been his.
The games were simple enough, all designed to show off a Scot’s strength.
The first was tug o’ war, designed likely to warm up everyone’s limbs.
Tavin picked one side of the rope, near the middle, and once the flag dropped he tugged hard enough to feel the pull on his forearms, the burn on his shoulders waking up muscles he had not used in a while.
When he was able to help pull the rope over the line and send the other team toppling to the ground, the others around him clapped him on the back, congratulating each other on their win.
Tavin accepted the thanks, waiting for the moment that someone would look at him and see a Stuart in an imposter’s tartan, but none never did, and he started to enjoy the games, the comradery that they brought.
After shot put, where his ball went not as far as he would have liked, Tavin stripped his shirt to participate in height over the bar, one of his favorite games as a child.
The task was simple: pick up the weight and toss it over the bar.
With each turn, the bar would move upward, until the weight was being tossed higher than one could stand.
There was a danger of the weight coming back and hitting one in the head, but Tavin had played it well enough to know how to angle it so that he wouldn’t be knocked out by the massive weight.
One by one, the other competitors fell out of the contest as the bar rose, some struggling to pick up the weight after a few rounds.
Tavin’s left arm muscles screamed in protest as he picked up the weight for the twelfth time, the bar nearly over his head. With a grunt, he sent it flying backward, hearing the roar of the crowd as it successfully sailed over the bar without touching it.
“Good throw,” his opponent stated, slapping him on the back. “Another round and I will rightly pull mah arm out of its socket.”
“Ye won’t be the only one,” Tavin remarked as he stretched his shoulder, stepping out of the way.
The other grinned, his eyes flitting over to where Moira was seated, conversing with her sister. “Aye but the prize outweighs the pain.”
Tavin frowned, wanting to bash the Scot’s head in with the weight. Moira was no prize. Well, she was the ultimate prize, but he saw her as a fierce woman who loved her clan. No wonder she hadn’t wanted to go through with this.
Ultimately, Tavin lost the height over the bar, wiping his forehead with his balled-up shirt as he moved to the ale that was set up for the competitors.
“Did ye see that Clan Stuart was here? I dinnae think they would allow traitors tae a gathering.”
“All clans were invited,” the other Scot said as he picked up a tankard, nodding at Tavin. Tavin froze, the sound of his clan’s name on the other’s lips bringing back a host of memories when he was younger.
“Aye but traitors are the worst lot,” the other said, wiping the back of his mouth with a hand. “Stuart has raised his boys tae believe that he’s doing good, but ’tis was his own damned fault and that of his da’s that everyone has turned their backs.”
Tavin picked up the tankard, controlling his emotions. His father had only told them the truth about what Scotland had done to Clan Stuart.
“A Scot that runs from a battle and allows another clan tae be slaughtered is no clan tae be here,” the second Scot said, shaking his head. “They cannae be trusted.”
The men moved on but Tavin found himself rooted in his spot, unbelieving what he had heard. His grandda had run from a battle? What of his own da? To abandon an ally in battle was a coward’s way out, one that even Tavin knew meant death to the clan. Had that been the real reason they were ousted?
If so, then Tavin was sickened by it. He thought his da to be a brave man for facing such accusations but never had he thought that his da would be the real reason that the accusations were coming to their clan.
Tavin didn’t participate in any other events after that, drinking ale and avoiding looking at Moira. He was ashamed about what he had learned, hearing it from another clan instead of his da. The clan had no reason to lie about it, yet his da did.
By the time he was to meet his brothers, Tavin had drunk his weight in ale. “Brother!” James chuckled as Tavin weaved through the trees, stumbling against the rough bark. “Celebrating already?”
Tavin scrubbed his hand over his face. “Did our family run from a battle?”
Graeme stepped forward, his expression hard. “Where did ye hear that?”
“From the other clans,” Tavin said, leaning heavily on the tree. “Did he?”
Graeme spat at Tavin’s feet. “He dinnae run. He was going tae be killed. If he had, we would not be here.”
Even in his muddled thoughts, Tavin knew that no Scot, not even the strongest, ran from a battle. Scots died proudly on the battlefield, finishing whatever battle they had started.
His da was a coward.
The ale soured in his stomach as he glared at his brothers. “What is Da’s true plan?”
“What do ye mean?” James asked. “Same as always.”
“Nay,” Tavin stated, looking at Graeme. “What is the real plan?”
Graeme’s jaw twitched. “We take the keep and the clan.”
Tavin’s breath froze in his chest, his haze dissipating. His da was addled in the head for that plan. They did not have the warriors to fight. A thought crossed his mind and Tavin’s heart sank. “He’s bringing the clan.”
“Aye,” Graeme said slowly, his eyes on his brother. “This will become our new home.”
Tavin licked his lips. “What about the lady?”
“She will be Da’s wife,” Graeme added, a grin on his lips. “And they will rule, or she will die.”
Bloody hell! Tavin stared at his brother with an inward horror dawning, unbelieving that this was his family. They had hidden this secret from him, not involving him in this planning, and his da had lied to him about their family’s shame.
It was like he didn’t belong at all.
Graeme took a step forward, pressing his finger into Tavin’s chest. “We are so close tae getting back what is ours. Do not deny us what we are due.”
Tavin didn’t answer, too drunk to take a swing at his brother. He dearly wanted to, but instead, he pushed the finger away, carefully masking his true feelings. “Git yer finger out of mah chest. I said I would help.”
“See that you do,” Graeme stated as he walked away. “Or ye will be part of the dead.”
Tavin waited until his brothers had disappeared from sight before he brought a shaky hand up to his face. He could not let this happen. He had to warn Moira somehow and hoped like hell that she would believe him.
If not, he could lose everything.