he imagined she’d said those words, or some of them, to Ciara already. The same lady Murray who came striding towards them from the house. He stepped away from the fence. ‘I will make the arrangements.’
Her hand on his arm stopped him. It felt right and so wrong in the same moment, but he remained within her grasp, giving her a chance to speak.
‘Tell me, Tavis. Tell me if you think this a good match.’
The desperate undertones in both the question and in her quivering voice undid him. He was struck by the need to take her in his arms even as his Highland blood urged him to steal her away into the hills to keep her as his own. Instead, for the first of what he knew would be countless times, he carried out his duties to his laird and clan.
‘It seems a good match for you, Ciara. You seem of a mind and have many common interests.’
‘Horses.’
‘And?’
‘It matters not, Tavis. We both know it, so do not placate me. I need to know if I can do this.’
‘The MacLeries will benefit from the access to this prosperous port and the ability to trade outside of Scotland. The Murrays will get your dowry, which will help them invigorate their farms, villages and lands. James will get a wife who is skilled and educated in all manner of things. And you will get a husband who seems quite pleased to have you as a wife.’
He paused and saw the glimmer of hope in her eyes now. He took the last moment before Lady Murray arrived to finish the hardest task he’d carried out for his clan.
‘You can do this. You should do this.’
‘There you are, Ciara. James has told us the news and we wish to celebrate with a small feast this night,’ Lady Murray gave him a look that spoke of spoiled eels as she glared openly at him. Sliding her arm around
Ciara’s, she drew her away from the fence and from him. ‘Come, we will speak of the meal and of arrangements to accompany you both to your home at Larg...Larg...your home.’
‘Lairig Dubh, Lady Murray.’ Tavis turned and smiled, for even at her worst moment, Ciara managed somehow to apply humour. ‘If you curl your tongue just a bit at the beginning, it is easy enough to pronounce.’ She’d begun walking back with her soon-to-be mother-by-marriage, but stopped and glanced back at him.
‘My thanks for your wise counsel, Tavis.’
He accepted her thanks with a simple tilt of his head and then watched as the two women made their way back to the manor house to prepare for this celebration.
As the importance of their words sunk in, frustrated rage began to surge in his blood. He sought out several of the Murray warriors who had been watching him and threw down a challenge to them. Several punishing hours later, when a number of opponents had been laid out in the mud of the yard, he finally gave in to the exhaustion of his body. By then, the celebration in the manor house had begun.
Fortunately for everyone, he had not been invited.
* * *
The celebration was not the joyous, large feast she might have expected and, in a way, it fit her mood. Ciara sat at the high table between James and his parents. Cups were raised with cheers for their future happiness. Cups were raised with calls for a fruitful marriage. Cups were raised, but she heard little of the words spoken. The only words that she could think about were those Tavis had spoken to convince her of her path.
Words that said the correct thing, but lacked the sentiment that would have made them the things she needed to hear in that moment. But the same words proved he would carry out his duties and whatever they might wish to be between them was not as important as the greater good. She’d walked back inside to be greeted by a priest and Lord Murray, who’d just signed the betrothal documents from Duncan.
Once it was all done and the betrothal official, she’d begun imbibing. Now, seated next to the man who would claim her as wife in a few short weeks, Ciara emptied the last of the sweet wine in her goblet into
Her hand on his arm stopped him. It felt right and so wrong in the same moment, but he remained within her grasp, giving her a chance to speak.
‘Tell me, Tavis. Tell me if you think this a good match.’
The desperate undertones in both the question and in her quivering voice undid him. He was struck by the need to take her in his arms even as his Highland blood urged him to steal her away into the hills to keep her as his own. Instead, for the first of what he knew would be countless times, he carried out his duties to his laird and clan.
‘It seems a good match for you, Ciara. You seem of a mind and have many common interests.’
‘Horses.’
‘And?’
‘It matters not, Tavis. We both know it, so do not placate me. I need to know if I can do this.’
‘The MacLeries will benefit from the access to this prosperous port and the ability to trade outside of Scotland. The Murrays will get your dowry, which will help them invigorate their farms, villages and lands. James will get a wife who is skilled and educated in all manner of things. And you will get a husband who seems quite pleased to have you as a wife.’
He paused and saw the glimmer of hope in her eyes now. He took the last moment before Lady Murray arrived to finish the hardest task he’d carried out for his clan.
‘You can do this. You should do this.’
‘There you are, Ciara. James has told us the news and we wish to celebrate with a small feast this night,’ Lady Murray gave him a look that spoke of spoiled eels as she glared openly at him. Sliding her arm around
Ciara’s, she drew her away from the fence and from him. ‘Come, we will speak of the meal and of arrangements to accompany you both to your home at Larg...Larg...your home.’
‘Lairig Dubh, Lady Murray.’ Tavis turned and smiled, for even at her worst moment, Ciara managed somehow to apply humour. ‘If you curl your tongue just a bit at the beginning, it is easy enough to pronounce.’ She’d begun walking back with her soon-to-be mother-by-marriage, but stopped and glanced back at him.
‘My thanks for your wise counsel, Tavis.’
He accepted her thanks with a simple tilt of his head and then watched as the two women made their way back to the manor house to prepare for this celebration.
As the importance of their words sunk in, frustrated rage began to surge in his blood. He sought out several of the Murray warriors who had been watching him and threw down a challenge to them. Several punishing hours later, when a number of opponents had been laid out in the mud of the yard, he finally gave in to the exhaustion of his body. By then, the celebration in the manor house had begun.
Fortunately for everyone, he had not been invited.
* * *
The celebration was not the joyous, large feast she might have expected and, in a way, it fit her mood. Ciara sat at the high table between James and his parents. Cups were raised with cheers for their future happiness. Cups were raised with calls for a fruitful marriage. Cups were raised, but she heard little of the words spoken. The only words that she could think about were those Tavis had spoken to convince her of her path.
Words that said the correct thing, but lacked the sentiment that would have made them the things she needed to hear in that moment. But the same words proved he would carry out his duties and whatever they might wish to be between them was not as important as the greater good. She’d walked back inside to be greeted by a priest and Lord Murray, who’d just signed the betrothal documents from Duncan.
Once it was all done and the betrothal official, she’d begun imbibing. Now, seated next to the man who would claim her as wife in a few short weeks, Ciara emptied the last of the sweet wine in her goblet into
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