The Highlander's Stolen Touch
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The words her stepfather had repeated to her when her confidence waned echoed in her thoughts, but this time, did not bolster her courage, especially not as Tavis’s steps approached her from the other side of the door. She sucked in a breath and tried to calm her racing heart. When he pulled open the door and whispered her name, she lost any hope of it.
He was so beautiful that it took her breath away.
Beautiful was not the correct word, but it seemed to describe his appearance—wholly male, but incredibly beautiful at the same time. Small braids of his dark brown hair hung from his temples and the rest of it hung loose to his shoulders. His tall, muscular form blocked out any light in the hearth behind him as he filled the doorway. Tavis stepped closer to her, glancing behind her and then out on to the path, so close she could feel the heat of his body. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself a moment to enjoy the scent of him, before realising that she must look daft standing before him so.
‘Is something wrong, Ciara?’ he asked quietly. ‘It is late.’ She took a deep breath and plunged forwards with her plan.
‘I would speak to you, Tavis,’ she said, entwining her fingers together to make their shaking less apparent.
‘We should speak in the morning … in the keep,’ he said, stepping back and depriving her of his scent and his heat. Then a suspicious glint entered his eyes. ‘Do your parents know you are walking alone through the village in the dark?’
‘I am no bairn, Tavis, and have lived here long enough to know every turn of every path and every soul who abides in Lairig Dubh.’
‘So your parents have no idea that you run free.’
Ciara worried her teeth along her bottom lip, not giving him an answer. She did not believe he would turn her away without listening to her first, but the way his face hardened gave her pause that he might do exactly that!
‘Best come in out of the chill air,’ he said, relenting. He stepped back, opening the door up and waiting for her to enter. Tavis closed the door and walked across the cottage to the hearth. Pointing to a stool nearby, he offered her a seat.
Ciara decided to stand and walked closer to the low fire burning in the hearth. She’d thought about the words she wanted to say for days, but now, standing in his house, the one he’d shared with his wife Saraid, all of them scattered, leaving her silent.
‘Ciara?’ His voice, low and deep, sent waves of pleasure and anticipation through her, forcing her to gather her thoughts and speak of the matter between them. Rather than mincing words, she sought the candour they always shared and got right to the heart of it.
‘I have come to speak to you about the matter of marriage, Tavis,’ she blurted out. Then she sat down on the offered stool, since now her legs trembled as much as her hands did. Quite proud of how she’d been so very forthright with him, the frown that furrowed his brow surprised her.
‘Marriage? Does someone seek your hand, then?’ he asked. ‘Does Duncan favour the suit?’
‘Nay, no one has offered,’ she said. Not as yet, not a serious offer, though with her age and her dowry, ’twas only a matter of time. She wanted to get this settled before they would begin in earnest.
‘Do you fear marriage, then?’ he asked, concern lacing his tone in spite of his own terrible experience in the marital state. ‘Marian would speak candidly to you about that, lass.’
Ciara closed her eyes for a moment, prayed for courage and then said the words that would damn her or give her her heart’s desire.
‘I would marry you, Tavis.’
The air in the cottage stilled and not a sound could be heard, though Ciara was certain her heart pounding against her chest must be loud. Tavis did not move. His gaze remained on her face, but he gave no sign that he had heard her or, indeed, that he even yet breathed. Moments passed—mayhap hours did, too—while she waited for him to say something to her. Heat flushed in her cheeks and her stomach began to grip. She brushed some loosened hair back away from her face and then repeated her words, for by some chance, he must not have understood them the first time.
‘I said I would marry you.’
‘Ciara,’ he said—her name on his lips was almost a plea. ‘Do not—’
‘I have much to offer,’ she rushed out the words. ‘I can read and write in five languages and know how to cipher. I bring a good dowry to the marriage and I …’ She stopped then, watching all the colour drain from his face. This was not going well. So she delivered the last bit she was certain would convince him of the rightness of this. ‘And I love you, Tavis.’
Whatever reaction she expected of him—surprise, understanding, acceptance—she received something completely different. He startled as though slapped and began to shake his head. ‘Do not say such things, lass.’
‘’tis the truth, Tavis. I have loved you for years, even before you married Saraid …’ She gasped and clamped her hands over her mouth, though too late to avoid mentioning the one name about whom he would never speak.
‘You do not know what you are saying, Ciara. Marriage is not possible between us for many reasons,’ he said without meeting her gaze now. He turned and faced the hearth, his body tense and his voice hollow. ‘I have told you. I will not marry again.’
‘But I will be a good wife to you, Tavis,’ she pleaded, unable to stop the words now that she’d begun. ‘My parents like you and know you and I would not have to leave Lairig Dubh.’
Silence stood between them as she waited for him to see the wisdom in her plan, even if he could not see the love in her heart. Then he faced her and the expression in his eyes was bleaker than she’d ever seen. She shuddered at the profound sadness and knew her cause was lost.
‘You have been raised to make some man a wonderful wife, Ciara, but that man is not me. I have nothing to offer you that you do not already have more or better of—I cannot read or write, I have no fortune or blood ties to match yours. Your parents may know me and like me, but the laird intends a marriage for you that will bind clans together. Your fortune is meant to add to your husband’s wealth. I am simply a soldier in service to his laird and not high enough in standing to ever gain a bride such as you.’
He shook his head once more at her and her tears rained down. The final blow was about to fall and she could see it coming her way.
‘And I cannot love you, lass. My heart was given once and I have nothing to offer you now.’
‘But, Tavis …’ she began to argue. She had enough love for him that it would be enough. ‘I have loved—’
‘Stop!’ he shouted. ‘Do not say such things.’ He paced around the cottage, making it feel so much smaller than just moments before. ‘You were a child when you decided you loved me and you must grow up now, Ciara. I simply paid heed to a little girl on a journey, befriending her as she grew up. That is all that is between us. You must put aside such childish notions now, for there can be nothing more.’
The pain could not have hurt more if he’d used a real blade instead of his words to strike at her. But that pain made her realise how foolish her words and her actions had been this night. He did not want her. He did not love her.
He would not marry her.
She’d waited for him, waited for his pain over losing Saraid to ease, and waited for him to accept her as an adult, but it was clear he never would. Though foolish, she was not daft, so Ciara used the edge of her cloak to dry her eyes and wipe away the worst of the tears. Humiliated for having so misjudged his feelings and her plan, she stood then and walked to his door. She had to get away from here as quickly as possible. Lifting the latch, she stumbled out into the cooler air, trying to catch her breath, as the tears streamed freely down her face now.
He spoke her name, but she would not, could not, look back at him. Sympathy or pity, she cared not for either right now. Her feet took her down one path and up the hill towards Elizabeth’s cottage. She thought he might have followed her, but she never paused and never looked back. When Elizabeth stepped from the shadows to meet her, Ciara felt him stop.
Elizabeth took but one look at her and opened her arms, allowing Ciara to step into them. Though younger by a year, her friend always seemed to be the older one and, for now, Ciara accepted her comfort. When she could breathe again, Ciara stepped back and took Elizabeth’s arm, walking beside her the rest of the way. They sneaked back in and soon they were lying in the bed in the loft, though sleep would not come that night.
Only then did Elizabeth dare to ask for details of her talk with Tavis. Though there were many words she wanted to say, none of them mattered any longer. Only one thing did.
‘He does not want to marry me.’
Worse, she realised in that moment that the very things her parents had done for her—providing her with a dowry, an exceptional education and making certain her links to two powerful lairds were known—were exactly what now placed her out of reach for Tavis. Had they done that a-purpose? Did they make her so appealing and valuable that only those outside the MacLeries or Robertsons would be eligible for such a bride? Did they wish her gone?
She turned those thoughts over and over in her mind that night and on many others as she tried to recover from this crushing emotional loss.
The next days and months were difficult, but whether by plan or by providence, Tavis seemed to travel on the laird’s business more than before and they did not meet face to face for some weeks. By that time, her embarrassment had faded and she could almost believe she’d dreamt the whole encounter. Only a fleeting expression in Tavis’s gaze when they spoke the next time convinced her it was all real—far too real.
She spent the time facing the possibility that Tavis had been correct about the nature of her feelings towards him. As eligible men were presented to her, she realised she might have to put aside the dreams of her childhood and face the realities of adulthood.
And when her father announced a possible match one night at supper while Tavis was present and he did not even flinch, she forced herself to accept the facts. She would have to marry a man she could never love.
For in spite of any growing up and regardless of the foolishness of her feelings, she, too, had given her heart away.
Chapter Two
Late summer, AD 1371
The sun broke through the cloud-filled sky, piercing the greyness and brightening the village around him. It should have lightened his spirits, since he liked not the usual autumn storms, but it did not. Tavis MacLerie crossed his arms over his chest, set his teeth edge to edge and shook his head once more to add to his refusal.
As the laird’s man, his job was to assign warriors to whatever purpose or task that the laird required, but this time he would not relent. Many times he accepted the assignment, doing Connor MacLerie’s bidding outside the village of Lairig Dubh. But not this time. Others would have to see to this … task.
‘Explain yourself,’ Connor said in a low voice that worried him more than if the laird had shouted his words. Something within Tavis sparked and his muscles gathered as though he’d been threatened and his body was ready to fight.
‘I have other responsibilities,’ he replied, meeting the stern gaze of his laird without flinching. ‘Young Dougal and Iain can see to this journey.’
Connor had recently arranged a tentative marriage contract between Duncan’s stepdaughter and the heir of an ally clan—the third in a series of never-completed contracts—and all it needed to go forwards was for Ciara to visit the other clan and accept the offer. Her parents were about to leave on the laird’s business, so they could not travel with her. Ciara seemed to favour this offer from the Murray clan in the east of Scotland and this trip would be crucial in finalising the arrangements. He’d heard all of this from others, for he’d not spoken directly to her since that night in his cottage.
He could see her face, ashen at his refusal that night, in his mind. It plagued him even now, but he’d spoken the truth to her that night. He would not, could not, remarry. He had not shared the whole of his reasoning, for it would damn him in her eyes and in the opinion of anyone who knew of it. The fear of someone discovering the full and terrible story of Saraid’s death held him apart from the clan and kept him from believing that there could be a happy wedded life in his future. He shook himself free from the memories and the regrets and waited for Connor’s answer.
At his refusal, Connor and Duncan exchanged glances that spoke of some kind of message between them. Then Connor nodded his acceptance.
‘Tell them to be ready two days’ hence,’ Connor ordered.
Tavis nodded and turned to leave, relief flowing through him now that he did not face the task of taking Ciara Robertson to meet her betrothed. Startled at that emotion within him when he had denied caring about her in that way, Tavis took no time to dwell on it. As he left the laird’s chambers and walked down the stairs to the hall below, he found Marian Robertson, Ciara’s mother, waiting for him.
‘Tavis, I would speak to you about the journey to Perthshire,’ Marian began.
‘Marian …’ Did she know her daughter had come to his cottage and proposed marriage to him? And that he’d refused her? What could he say?
‘Marian!’ Duncan’s voice called from above them on the stairs. Sharp, but not angry in its tone, the interruption stopped her from saying whatever else she’d planned to say to him. Duncan soon joined them, placing his arm around Marian’s shoulders and drawing her near to him. ‘Tavis has assigned others to escort Ciara. She will be safely delivered to meet her betrothed.’
Tavis did not like the way those words sounded. He’d known Ciara since she was five and he’d entertained her on the journey back from Marian’s family in Dunalastair. Though he tried to think of her as she was now, it blurred with his memories of those days when she’d laughed and played with the wooden animals he’d carved along the way. Now, she would marry and move away and he’d rarely, if ever, see her. His gut tightened at such a thought, though he still did not wish to examine the reasons for that feeling too closely.
He had no right to expect anything more when it came to Ciara. The night he had rejected her he’d relinquished any possible claim to her, if there was one. And he’d humiliated both himself and her in order to force her to accept that they could not be together.
‘Duncan, since we cannot go with her, I would feel better knowing that Tavis himself …’
‘Do you question his ability to carry out his responsibilities to his laird, Marian?’ Duncan released her and took a step away, tilting his head to see her face. ‘Surely you do not?’
The hairs on the back of Tavis’s neck bristled. Something strange was afoot. He’d never heard Duncan or any of the other MacLerie men ever warn off their wives in such a way. They all accepted the strong, opinionated women they’d married and allowed them much freedom to express their preferences.
This was different, and he was somehow in the middle of it. Without a doubt, he knew he was involved and this was about more than simply assigning men to protect their daughter. He waited for Marian to answer this challenge thrown down by her husband and instead was shocked by her reaction.
‘You are correct, husband,’ she said. Nodding to him, she continued, ‘I did not mean to question your abilities or your authority, Tavis. Forgive my words, they were spoken in haste.’
He knew his mouth dropped open, but before he could say a word, Duncan took her hand and they excused themselves. He heard them whispering to each other as they walked out the door to the yard and left him standing there, gaping like a fool. Tavis reached up and ran his hands through his hair, trying to sift through the conversation and figure out why it all felt so strange to him. Never a man to leave things unsettled, he followed the couple out, intent on getting an explanation. And he would have done had the very subject of the discussion not been standing there with her parents.
When had she grown up so much? Had he fooled himself into only seeing the girl he’d first met in Dunalastair and, refusing to realise that she’d left that child behind years ago, failed to notice that she had become a stunning young woman? Regardless of his arguments to her that night, he lost his breath as he truly took note of her, and saw, for the first time, the woman she now was.
Taller than her mother and lithe, Ciara wore her long blonde curls loosely gathered into a braid. Unruly it must be, for wisps surrounded her heart-shaped face like a gentle golden cloud. Her gown flowed over curves that spoke of womanly softness in spite of her slender figure. His body reacted in a most unexpected way …
Well, unexpected when he had never thought of her in such a manner before. And unexpected since he’d told her that he had sworn off ever caring for a woman again.
Tavis shook away the memories that were never far from his thoughts and stepped back into the shadows to watch the exchange between Marian, Duncan and Ciara. A myriad of emotions passed over Ciara’s face—first interest, then surprise and then bitter disappointment. But when sadness dimmed the brightness of her brown eyes and the smile he usually noticed on her face had slipped away completely, he discovered he’d walked forwards from the shadows, wanting to make that sadness go away. Her stark expression when she noticed him coming towards her forced him to stop before he took another step.
His confusion over his own reaction to her grew as she turned and walked away without another look or word. Tavis continued on and reached Duncan and Marian just as they began to walk away in different directions.
‘What is this about?’ he asked. Tavis stood blocking their path. He meant to get answers. ‘As I told Connor, I have other tasks to see to, Duncan.’ Even now his words, the objection, began to ring hollow to him. Did they hear it? His resolve to avoid Ciara began to crack.
‘There is nothing to worry over, Tavis,’ Duncan said. ‘We just told Ciara who you’ve chosen to take her to Perthshire and she’s gone to see to her packing for the journey.’
Ripples traced an icy path down his spine. Duncan did not reveal the truth of what was going on, but surely …
‘Marian? Are you at peace with the arrangements then?’ She opened her mouth and then shut it, repeating this action several times, each time watching her husband out of the corner of her eyes. ‘Have I offended you in some way by assigning the others?’
The flash in her eyes was the only warning either man got before she stamped her foot and shouted. A sound of pure frustration echoed through the yard. Then she closed her eyes, took in a deep breath and released it; all the while Duncan watched her with what Tavis thought might be amusement in his gaze. This was amusing?
‘Only that I am disappointed that you will not accompany her,’ she began until Duncan cleared his throat, gaining her attention for a moment before she glanced back to Tavis. ‘But I understand you have other duties, Tavis. I do understand.’
She touched his arm as she spoke, a gesture he found telling. Her words did not ease the sense that there was more involved than either she or Duncan would reveal, but she did sound earnest in her acceptance.
Ciara was the first of her children to marry and mayhap the emotions of having to part from her daughter was causing this upset? His own mother had reacted strangely when he or one of his siblings married, so it was not unexpected for a woman to behave this way. He nodded his head and she smiled.
‘’tis well, Marian,’ he said softly.
Duncan nodded, too, and then Marian turned as they all heard her name being called. One of the women who served the laird’s wife waved to her and Marian excused herself to go back into the keep and see to Jocelyn’s call.
Tavis waited until she entered the stone building and turned back to Duncan, believing that he would explain everything now that his wife was gone. Instead, the man who he counted as his mentor and his friend shrugged and left him standing there.
This day grew stranger with every passing moment, so Tavis decided to carry out his duties and not worry over this strange behaviour from those not old enough yet to be daft, but old enough not to act so foolishly. In two days, Ciara would leave to meet her potential husband and his family and she would not be his concern at all.
In reality, and although the choice was in her grasp, there was little chance of her not marrying young James Murray. She’d turned down three other proposals, but this time the laird and her parents supported the match. The Murrays supported the match. So, the next time he saw her, she would be marrying someone else.
Though he could not admit it, nor could he explain it, that fact did not sit well with him.
Not at all.
Marian made her way to Jocelyn’s solar where her friends had gathered to discuss their plans. Though forbidden from trying to make a better match for her daughter than the one suggested by the laird, due to this stupid agreement with their husbands, she could at least know what her friends were doing. Duncan was not happy with her, for he knew she was about to interfere, and she would have blurted out the truth of it to Tavis if not for her husband’s interruptions.
More than a year ago, the laird had discovered his wife’s matchmaking scheme and his surprise had turned into a challenge about whether he and his advisers—the men—could choose a better spouse for their children than his wife and her confidantes—the women—could. Neither side worried that the other would not choose carefully, they simply believed they could choose better. Unfortunately for Marian, her precious daughter was the first to come of age and be ready to marry.
Now, as Jocelyn gathered them together to discuss their plan, Marian had to listen and not offer any suggestions or help.
‘He did not express any objections to her marrying young Jamie Murray,’ she finally blurted out when she could stand it no longer. ‘Not a word.’
The silence that met her statement was followed by tsking and sighing, but no one offered any advice on how to make Tavis see the truth that each of the women gathered there had seen for years—he was the best man for Ciara. He’d shunned any attempt to get him to consider marriage again after his young wife died in childbirth four years before. Though men could be stoic and never admit to the softer feelings, they suspected that it had played a part in his resistance to finding another wife since that time.
And through those difficult years since Saraid had passed, the only woman he did keep company with was Ciara. Their friendship had never waned since they’d met on her journey here from her home and clan. Nearing manhood, Tavis never shunned Ciara’s attentions or company, even though most young men that age would have. At least not until this last year, when something had clearly happened between them—something that had widened the gap.
‘I had such hopes of him acknowledging his feelings for her and saying so by now,’ Margriet, Rurik’s wife, said.
‘He watches her even when he does not realise it,’ Jocelyn offered. ‘But ’tis time for him to step forward and claim her.’
‘Before it is too late,’ Marian whispered, knowing that once Ciara left on her journey there would be little or no opportunity to stop the coming marriage.
Or mayhap it was? Or they were wrong in their belief that he was the right match for Ciara? Her heart worried so much for her beloved daughter and for the things Ciara did not, and hopefully would never, know about her true parentage.