A Weakening of Resolve #3
He stalked to the twins still snoring on their pallets.
“Up,” he ordered in a whisper, toeing them both awake. They began to groan, but he silenced them with a sharp jab of his foot and hissed, “Dinna wake the others.”
Grumbling, they stumbled after him out the door.
They detoured to the guardroom first. There, Taran nodded at the three-legged stool. “Bring that with ye, George. Be quick.”
George obliged, balancing the stool on his shoulder with a black look, but obeying all the same.
Taran led them down the tower stairs and into the cold morning air. The snow had stopped, and in the distance, the clouds had parted enough to let the sun shine through. Silently, they trudged across the courtyard to the great hall, their boots crunching loudly on the crust of the snow.
The meal was a quick, but hearty one, warm bowls of sage-seasoned barley and venison custard, then, ‘twas off to the aviary, this time Francis lugging the stool, instead.
The courtyard stood empty, ‘twas early yet for the men to arrive, and with the snow, they’d likely delay their practice even further.
“Leave the stool here.” Taran pointed at the section of wall opposite the aviary door, then pointed at the spades and buckets stacked against the wall.
“My men have readied your tools. ’Tis time ye started.
” He nodded at the aviary, and then masking his nose with his plaid to ward off the smell, settled himself on the stool and leaned comfortably back.
“’Tis foul,” Francis objected, at once.
George shot his brother a look and rolled his eyes.
“Aye, ‘tis why you’re here,” Taran chuckled, giving voice to the lad’s expression. Tipping the stool back on two legs, he added, “Dinna expect a harvest if you’re too lazy to plow, lads.”
With black looks on their faces, they grabbed the tools and vanished inside.
For the first hour, they glanced out the door a dozen times or more.
Each time, their faces fell further upon discovering him still there, lounging quite comfortably against the wall.
After a time, Doughall relieved him. Then, Sean the Iron Fist took his place.
After that, ‘twas Taran’s turn once again.
The hours passed.
Realizing there was no escape, George and Francis finally set about their task in earnest. ‘Twas then the fun for the men began. They took to wagering how fast the lads could carry the buckets of dung, slipping on the cobblestones on their way to the kitchen herb beds.
Finally, when they were done, Taran strode to the aviary for an inspection.
“Aye, ‘tis done,” he said, pleased with the result. He turned to the lads, covered in muck from head to toe. “Off with ye now, ‘tis time to wash.” He shot them both a stern look, then added. “From this day on, ye’ll rise at dawn to train with the men.”
They exchanged a look between them, a combination of resentment and Taran knew not what else, and then followed the clansmen into the gathering gloom to wash away the grime.
Taran closed his eyes and stretched. Only a dull twinge of pain shot through his shoulder to quickly fade away. ‘Twas astonishing how fast he was healing. He flexed his muscles, pleased with the results.
“Taran.”
Taran held still. The sound of his name on her lips could undo him.
What a fool he’d been to ask such a thing of her.
Slowly, he turned to see Moll hovering outside the aviary door, the wind playing with her skirts to smooth them provocatively over her curves.
She held an earthen cup close to her breast, covering the top with the palm of her hand.
“I’ve brought your brew,” she said.
Wordlessly, he invited her inside the aviary with a wave of his hand.
The perfume of her hair teased his nostrils as she stepped close and handed up the cup. She waited until he’d downed the entire thing before squinting at the aviary walls. “Are you pleased with them?”
“Aye.”
“’Tis a wonder to see them finish an honest day’s work,” she murmured, clearly surprised herself.
“They’ve been living by their wits since they could walk, but you’ll find none more stouthearted or loyal.
” She hesitated and then confessed in a lower voice, “They only wished to keep us fed, but I fear they’ll meet a dreadful end if I cannot change their ways. ”
“A year in the Highlands would set them to rights.” He doubted ‘twould even take that long. ‘Twas abundantly clear the lads were honorable and only a little misguided.
Moll gave a wistful sigh. “If only I could send them there, nay…go with them even. Mayhap, we could find work enough for us all.”
The thought of Moll cleaning chambers or scouring pots in a scullery turned his stomach. Nay, ‘twas not something he’d permit. She the kind of lass who belonged in a man’s bed—his.
If she still spoke, he didn’t hear. His gaze had locked on the swanlike curve of her neck and then down over her curves, accentuated by the shadows.
There was nothing in the world that could stop him now.
Powerless to resist her pull a moment longer, he caught her in his arms and with a groan, lowered his lips to hers.