Chapter 15
“S
o? Which one has yer fancy?”
Moira pulled her sister close as they walked the perimeter of the camp, the ruckus laughter and bawdy songs bringing a blush to her face. The clans had started to pick up their revelry and Moira expected that none of them would be bright-eyed come morning. “What do ye mean?”
“There has tae be one,” Fennella insisted. “After all, that was a prime display of burly Scots today.”
“Fennella!” Moira stated in mock horror. “Ye are wed.”
“Wed but not blind!” Fennella winked as she linked arms with Moira. “Ye will learn that it never hurts to look, Sister.”
Moira laughed, the warmth from the whiskey in her gut flushing her cheeks. She had to admit, watching the participants today had been a spectacle. There were some very brawny Scots vying for her attention and that of her clan’s.
But there had been just one that had caught her eye, one that had made her stomach rumble with flurries every time he had performed.
Which one?”
Moira sighed as she thought of Tavin’s performance today, especially when he took off his shirt to participate in the weight over the bar. Her heart had beat just a bit faster as she had eyed his body, hearing the whispers from the other women in attendance who were thinking the same thing.
Her heart screamed out to claim him as her own, but she had held back, satisfied with just seeing him in the games to begin with. When she had started out this morning, a part of her wondered if he would take her threat seriously. She needed to know that he cared.
And him showing up today was that sign. Now she knew she wanted him, and he was willing to participate in order for her to choose him.
“Moira!”
“What?” she asked, snapping out of her thoughts.
Fennella took one look at her and laughed, her eyes shining from the ale they had consumed. “There is one, isn’t there? You’ve already chosen!”
“Aye,” Moira said, gripping her sister’s hands. “I have chosen. I just hope he feels the same.”
Fennella’s expression softened. “Well if he has half a mind, he will. Oh, dear sister, ’tis so wonderful tae see ye in love!”
She was in love. Tavin was everything she wanted, and she believed that he wanted her.
After all, he had shown up today.
“Well go then!” Fennella urged, shooing her sister away. “I need tae find mah husband anyway. Go on and find yer man and we can make an announcement in the morn.”
Moira gave her sister a quick hug and slid into the camp, her eyes peeled for Tavin’s tall form. She did not know where his tent was located and in the dark, it was going to be hard to find him. There were Scots everywhere, each in their own state of cups and various forms of dress too.
But it warmed her heart to see clans mingling together, enjoying the ale and whiskey as they laughed together. That was the whole point of the gathering. It was to bring the clans together and remind them that deep down, they were all Scots, no matter their differences.
Just this one had an extra special meaning that she hoped to rectify first thing in the morn.
If she could find the willing partner.
Moira stepped around another tent and saw Tavin in the distance, walking back to the camp.
Her heart leaped into her throat as she picked up her skirts and started toward him, attempting to piece together the words that she would say to him.
Fennella would likely tell her to speak from her heart, and it was about to beat out of her chest at the feelings she had for the Scot that was walking toward her, his head down.
In fact, he was weaving a bit too much.
Moira hurried to him, stepping in front of his path. “Tavin.”
He looked up and she could see the haggard expression he wore. “Moira?”
She moved closer, concerned. “What’s wrong?”
He looked around. “What are ye doing here?”
“’Tis mah land,” she reminded him, “and mah gathering. I think I am entitled tae be here.”
His shoulders slumped. “Ye shouldn’t be here.”
“Tavin,” she said softly, placing her finger under his chin so he would meet her eyes. “I have tae tell ye something.”
He blew out a breath. “I do as well.”
She felt excited. “I choose ye,” she said in a rush before she lost her nerve. “I love ye, Tavin.” There. She had said it. She had made her intentions known for what she wanted for her future.
She wanted him at her side.
Tavin’s eyes widened at her words, his mouth dropping open. “Nay,” he finally said, shaking his head. “Ye cannae.”
Moira frowned. It wasn’t the reaction she had been hoping for. “Aye I can, and I have. Do ye not care for me?” Had she misread his intentions all along? When he had kissed her, placed his hands on her body, she had thought she had felt the same feelings in his touch.
Tavin let out a sound and Moira felt the first flare of worry in her chest. “Moira, lass, I cannae.”
“Yer married,” she said flatly. That was why he wouldn’t sleep with her. He already had a wife!
“Nay,” he said, frowning as if she was half-crazed to even suggest it. “I wouldnae hae touched ye if I was already wed.”
“Then what?” she asked, feeling her heart starting to break. There had to be a good reason that he was turning down the future that everyone at this gathering was vying for. Was she not enough for him? Had she done something wrong yesterday that had turned his affection away from her?
His expression was tortured, and he made no move to touch her. “I dinnae know how tae tell ye, lass.”
“It was yesterday wasnae it?” she said, her voice rising. “Ye are displeased by mah body?”
“Lass,” Tavin said softly, his eyes warming with heated intensity. “There is nothing about yer body that has turned me away. I am humbled that these hands were allowed tae touch ye.”
“Then what?” she asked, lowering her voice, a desperate plea escaping her. “What do I have tae do to make ye love me?” She had finally found the one where her soul lived, yet he was turning her away.
Tavin stared at her for a long minute, regret in his expression. “I cannae do this.”
All the warmth she had felt earlier fled from her body and Moira felt like planting her fist in his handsome face. He had given her false hope and she felt like a young lass in love with her first Scot.
Well, she was that young lass in love with her first Scot, yet he was doing nothing but throwing it back in her face. “Ye led me tae believe ye cared about me.”
He hung his head and the rest of her hopes shattered. “Aye. I do care.”
Unable to help it, she pushed at his massive chest and he stumbled, catching himself before he fell. “Nay! If ye cared, ye would accept mah offer!” She had given him her heart, saying those words that were only meant for him, and he hadn’t reacted to them at all.
Had she sorely misjudged him and his character?
He grabbed her wrist, pulling her against him. “Moira, love, I’m not who ye think I am.”
“No ye aren’t,” she stated, wrestling out of his touch. She didn’t want him to touch her at all. “I thought ye were a kind, noble man, the one that would want tae be at mah side. Instead, ye are nothing but a coward!”
With those parting words, Moira turned and stalked off, not caring if he followed. She was done with him, done with these games, and done with the elders. They could choose her husband for her, for she was never going to love again if it meant it hurt this badly.
She couldn’t. Her heart couldn’t take it.
Fennella found her wandering around the camp a moment later, wrapping her arm around her shaking shoulders. “What happened?” she asked lightly.
“He had no intentions of being mah husband,” Moira said, fighting back a sob. “I was just a plaything tae him.”
“Are ye certain?” Fennella asked. “Ye seemed so certain that he was the one.”
Moira nodded, feeling ill now that the initial shock was wearing off. Tavin had made it abundantly clear that he couldn’t care for her in the way she cared for him. “I dinnae care any longer,” she whispered. “I am going tae let the elders pick mah husband.”
“No, Moira, don’t,” Fennella pleaded, pulling her sister into a comforting embrace. “Ye cannae go into a loveless marriage.”
Moira let out a sob, burying her face in her sister’s shoulder.
It was a sight better than to know that she loved her husband and he didn’t return that love.
That had been what Tavin had just done to her; ripped out her heart, and not returned it.
She felt empty inside, ill to know that she had actually cared for him.
He watched in glee as his son turned away from Lady McPherson, knowing that now his son would have no reason not to help in the attack.
For years he had plotted this attack, waiting for the right moment to make his move, and since there was a woman at the helm of the clan, they would be wanting a man at her side.
He was that man.
Laird Stuart turned from the scene and toward that of the keep in the distance, his future home.
He had disguised himself and walked the camp earlier, frowning as he heard the same old rumors that still haunted him to this day.
He had walked away from a battle, let the other ally clan die at the hand of the enemy, but not because he was afraid of dying.
No, he had wanted more out of his life than to aid smaller, weaker clans. He had grown weary of carrying the sword while the others had let him down.
His own da had taught him to cut the purse strings of those that were weaker, having abandoned many clans in his day as well, spreading the lies that the clan had died valiantly while his had been victorious.
The ruse had worked for a while, until the bastard clan’s laird had survived and told the tale of clan Stuart, thereby poisoning the name from generations past to now.
But he could see the end in sight. His son Tavin had gotten him here, had told him where to attack, but he wanted more.
He wanted the clan.
Rubbing his hands together, Laird Stuart walked back to his tent, the first real smile on his face since he had arrived.
With his sons at his side and the rebel clan at his back, the clan McPherson would not stand a chance in fighting back.
He had already planned to put a sleeping draught in the ale and whiskey for tomorrow night so that the other clans in attendance could not come to their aid until it was too late and he had captured the keep.
And for those that had wronged him, he had no qualms of slitting their throats as they slept.
A bloodbath for sure, but at the end of the night, he would be laird over a clan that would prosper into the future, and his sons would have the name McPherson tied to them, not the sullied name of Stuart to drag them down. The lass, while bonnie, was not strong enough to be laird over such a clan.
They were going to take full advantage of her weakness, of the clan’s weakness, and he knew that his son had already started wearing down the lady of the keep, which had fallen quite nicely into his plans.
He just had to be patient and wait just a little while longer for his revenge.
But first, he would have some fun with the clan, to distract them for what was to come. That not even his sons knew about. By the time he was finished with the new laird of the McPherson clan, she would be crawling on her hands and knees to beg for his mercy.