by Alisa Adams
“Mistress Donald,” she said, frowning. “Is onythin’ amiss wi’ Tavia? She seems...different.”
“I dinnae knaw, hen.” Maureen’s voice was troubled as she poured out the ale. “She is no’ hersel, an’ hasnae been since she met that laird. I am worried that he will turn her heid, or worse.”
“Have ye asked her aboot it?” Bridget asked, concerned.
“Aye, but she willnae tell me onythin’,” Maureen replied. “An’ she canceled his lesson. I dinnae like it, Bridget.”
“I will see whit I can find oot, Mistress Donald,” Bridget said grimly. “Something isnae right here.”
When Blair got Tavia’s message, he was immediately suspicious. The note could have meant what it said, that she was doing extra work for her mother, or it could mean that she was scared of him. He sighed. He had completely mishandled the situation and now he was not even sure if she would want to see him again. The trouble was that she was so desirable!
He touched his lips with his fingertips and closed his eyes, remembering the kiss. She was innocent and inexperienced, and had not even known what to do at first, but it had been a delight teaching her.
His arm was healing now, and he hoped that as soon as he could use it properly again he could take her riding, and they could lie in the grass overlooking the sea and get to know each other better. Hopefully, that would involve much kissing and touching, but not if she was unwilling; he must go slowly. He groaned. Thinking about Tavia was almost unbearable without having her in his arms. But if he did manage to win her heart, what then? She was a commoner and he was a nobleman, and the rigid laws of society would not allow them to be together. He growled in frustration. So many ridiculous rules!
7
An Argument
When Blair received yet another message from Tavia stating that she would not be coming to give him his lesson, he was furious. He was determined to go and have it out with her, and since he had finished his supply of willow bark tea he would have a good excuse to go and see her.
It was the first time he had been out riding since his accident, and he was nervous, since riding with one hand was not easy, but he took his groom with him and they ambled along at a walking pace. It took them over an hour to get to the village, but they finally made it.
Blair’s heart quickened as he saw the little thatched cottage with a sign above the door. There was no writing, since the majority of the villagers could not read, just a wooden carving of a mortar and pestle which was enough for most people.
Maureen was in the shop, and her dark brown eyes met his with frank curiosity and a little hostility. “M’Laird,” she greeted him with a curtsey. “I am surprised tae see ye here. Whit can I dae for ye?” She gave him a slight smile.
“I need some willow bark tea, please,” he replied. “A pound should be enough.”
“Is yer arm still painin’ ye, M’Laird?” Her tone was concerned.
“Not as much as it was a few days ago, Mistress Donald,” he replied. “Nature is taking its course.” He smiled at her, and just then Tavia came in. She had been picking thyme in the garden and her dress was muddy at the hem. Her hands were filthy almost up to her elbows and there was a smudge of dirt across her forehead, but her cheeks were pink and she smiled at her mother as she came in.
Then she saw him. At once she flushed an even deeper color. “M’Laird,” she said politely. “I see you are buying willow bark. Is your arm worse?”
“No, not at all,” he replied. “Thank you for asking. It aches a little when I am tired but it is much better than it was.”
“Good!” She smiled brightly and made to turn away but he forestalled her.
“I also came to ask about my French lessons.” His voice sounded a little puzzled.
Maureen had gone outside to the garden, leaving them alone.
“Are you abandoning our lessons?” he asked. “You have made excuses for two weeks in a row, and I have the impression you are not interested in teaching me anymore.”
Suddenly she felt very helpless. “I would prefer not to,” Tavia replied, dropping her gaze to her hands, which were clasped in front of her.
“Why not?” He was genuinely puzzled.
“M’Laird, you know what exists between us,” she said softly. “We are attracted to each other and it is...difficult.”
“I will not try to kiss you again,” he told her. “I am very sorry to have hurt you last time. I will never do it again.”
His eyes were so sincere—how could she not believe him? She thought for a moment. “Can we do the lessons in a more public room?” she asked.
“Will the library do?” Blair’s voice was eager. He wanted the lessons, but more than anything else he wanted Tavia, and if he could do nothing else he could look at her, for that alone gave him pleasure.
“Is it in a public part of the castle?” she asked doubtfully
“Of course!” he replied. “I can even leave the door open; we will still be warm, because there are two fireplaces in there.”
“Fine, then,” Tavia smiled, relieved, for she liked looking at him too. “Thursday?”
“I will send a carriage for you,” he offered.
Her eyes widened in astonishment. “No, M’Laird! I do not aspire to anything so fine! I will walk, as I usually do.”
“And if it rains?” he asked.
“I will run,” she replied sharply.
“Since you will obviously not be seen dead in a carriage,” he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm, “Would you ride in the cart? We always send it into the village on Thursdays.”
“You are a very stubborn man!” Tavia laughed. “Yes, I will ride in the cart if it pleases you!”
He loved to see her laugh, throwing her head back and abandoning herself to joy. He kissed her hand and managed to scramble onto his horse with one hand in a style that was effective but not elegant.
She waved as he rode away, wondering if she had done the right thing.
It felt very strange to be tossed up and down and side to side with the motion of the cart when she was so used to walking and occasionally running. She felt a little out of control and when she got to the castle she was slightly dizzy.
He was waiting for her, standing inside the main gate, smiling a welcome as he helped her down. He looked down at her as if memorizing every one of her features. He gazed into her hazel eyes, her small, slightly freckled nose, and her full luscious lips. Tavia’s corn-blonde hair shone as it tumbled to her slender waist, and he longed to run his hands over it and through it.
She thought he looked more handsome than she had ever seen him, even though the clothes he was wearing were ordinary—a linen shirt over a pair of felt hose with a loose woolen jacket on top—a working man’s clothes. He seemed a little embarrassed to be seen in them.
“Will you allow me to change?” he asked, running his hand backward through his golden-brown hair. It was a gesture of slight agitation but it succeeded in making him look even more desirable than usual. “I look like a peasant.” He grinned ruefully.
“Pfft!” She flapped a hand at him. “You look fine!”
He led her into the library, a huge room lined from floor to ceiling with shelves on which rested hundreds of books, their jewel-colored spines lending the big room a festive air. He ordered them both a glass of mulled wine and they sat down at a small mahogany table to work. As promised, he had left the doors at each end of the room wide open.
Blair knew he should have been concentrating on learning, but Tavia was demonstrating the method of producing the sound of different verbs and consonants, so he was free to look at her lips moving—in fact, she was ordering him to. Then she asked him to vocalize the words himself, and suddenly he found that he had lost the power of speech. He got up hastily to put more wood on the fire to cover his confusion, but when he turned back he looked slightly dazed, then his expression changed and darkened. She had never seen him look like this before and it scared her, so she stood up.
Why is he looking at me like that? she wanted to ask him, but before she could do so, he stretched out his uninjured arm and ran his thumb along her lower lip, effectively stopping her from speaking. Then he put his forefinger under her chin and tilted her face to his, and this time, without a second thought, she took a step towards him and offered him her lips.
He let out a long sigh of satisfaction, as if to say “At last!” and gathered her into his arms with infinite gentleness. As soon as she felt his embrace, she skimmed her hands over his chest and shoulders, and looped them around his neck. She could feel his solidity and strength as she did so, and she knew somehow that she was safe with him, and always would be.
He was gentle at first, but his desire was such that he took the kiss from a caress to a passionate assault on her willing mouth. She moaned aloud, not from pain, but from the delight that was coursing through her, heating her blood and heightening her senses. She was aware of him as a man now, a man with rough bristles on his face, with hard, muscular flesh and rough hands, and whose arousal was obvious even to her inexperienced body. He towered over her and could make her submit to his will at any moment he wanted.
At last he tore his lips away from hers and looked down at her, breathless and frowning. “I’m sorry,” he whispered hoarsely. “I did not mean for that to happen.”
“You said that last time too,” she replied, “but it did. However, it must not happen again, M’Laird.”
“But it will,” he murmured, looking at her lips hungrily again. “Don’t resist me, Tavia. Accept me as your husband and I will cherish you forever. Refuse me and you will never see me again. That is a solemn oath, but I love you, and I have never said that to any other woman but you. Marry me—we can be so happy!”
The expression in his eyes was one of desperation, and for a moment she felt sorry for him. “But M’Laird—” she began, but got no further, for he put a finger on her lips.
“Tavia, you are the woman I love. Please call me by my Christian name—Blair. It is not such a bad name, after all.”
His attempt at levity was misplaced, and she went on speaking as if he had never interrupted her. “What about your social position? I am an apothecary’s daughter, and a foundling too. My real parents may be fishermen or butchers or tanners. I may be a bastard. What then?” She spoke forcefully, her face flushed, gesticulating with her arms and hands. There were tears in her eyes, and he had never seen her look more beautiful.
He thumped his fist on the table and she jumped. His anger had risen suddenly, but it was not directed at Tavia. “Damn society and its rules of class and wealth!” he growled. “You are a woman and I am a man. I love you. If you were a kitchen maid I would still love you! Who can forbid me that? ” He paused, breathing heavily, then shook his head in exasperation and dug his hands into his hair as if he were going to pull it out. He let out a deep breath and when he spoke again, his voice was gentle. He looked directly into her eyes. “Tavia, sweetheart, do you not want to be with me?”
Blair was standing over her, overpowering her with his presence, and she felt oppressed and suffocated, unable to think. She put her hands over his face for a few moments then looked up into his strange gray-violet eyes. They were soft with love and she wavered for a heartbeat before speaking, then hardened her resolve. “I would not ruin you,” she answered. “How I feel is unimportant. I will not marry you, M’Laird, but thank you for the honor you have bestowed on me.”
“But I care nothing for society’s rules!” Blair’s voice was soft but scathing. “Marry me Tavia. I will never give you cause to regret it.”
She stood up and shook her head, not trusting herself to speak, then gathered up her teaching materials while he looked on in mute disbelief. At last, when she had picked up all her books, he spoke.
“There will be no more lessons, I suppose?” he asked bitterly.
“No,” she replied sadly. “I will try to find you another teacher.”
“I don’t want another teacher, my love,” he answered. He was gripping the back of his chair tightly to restrain himself from reaching out to her. “I want you, in every way possible. But if you do not want me I will be true to my word. You will never see me again.”
She gave a slight nod. “Goodbye, M’Laird,” she whispered, then turned and strode away as fast as she could.
Blair followed her to the gate and watched her climb up on the cart. She was driven away, and did not look back as the cart moved into the distance. He could see her straight back as she sat bolt upright, her posture perfect as always, but when he saw the breeze freshen and tease the golden strands of her hair so that she looked like an angel, that was when he felt his heart break.
8
Another Kiss
The ride home was unbearable, and later Tavia would block it out of her mind, but for the moment she absorbed the pain. She managed to exchange a few words with the cart driver, trying and mostly failing to wipe out the memory of the last hour. Blair’s words came back to haunt her again and again, and she knew they would plague her in her dreams too, if she ever slept again.
Accept me as your husband and I will cherish you forever. Refuse me and you will never see me again. She believed he meant what he said. She finally had to face the truth: she did love him, desperately, and with all her heart. How did this happen so quickly? she thought.
When the cart dropped her off at home, she was afraid to go inside. She had not shed any tears on the journey, but her mother could read her mind. She would take one look at her face, frown deeply, put her arms akimbo, and demand to know what was wrong.
Tavia decided to brazen it out. She went into the shop wearing a pretend smile, and gave Maureen a smacking kiss on the cheek. “Mammy, I have just tasted the most delicious drink!” She laughed. “Mulled wine! Have you ever tasted it?”
“No’for a long time, lovie,” Maureen replied, looking at Tavia suspiciously. “It’s lovely. How many glasses did ye have?”
“Only one, Mammy!” she replied, pouring herself a glass of milk. “Even if he had offered, I would not have accepted a second.”
Maureen gazed at her with narrowed eyes for a moment but Tavia held her gaze. “Be carefu’ o’ young Patterson,” she warned. “Naeb’dy can be that handsome withoot breakin’ some herts!”
“Mammy, it is not his fault if God gave him good looks!” Now she was laughing genuinely, for Mammy was suspicious of all attractive people, ascribing ulterior motives to every one of them.
Maureen grunted and frowned but said nothing.
Tavia yawned and stretched. “I am so tired tonight,” she complained. “Bed beckons. Goodnight Mammy.” She dropped a kiss on her mother’s head then went to see her father. She kissed his cheek. “’Night, Paw,” she said lightly.
“Sweet dreams, Tavvy,” he replied. He smiled as he watched his daughter skipping upstairs to bed, then went back to his book.
A moment later Maureen came in with a face like thunder. “Something is wrong,” she said ominously.
Blair rarely drank to excess, but he felt as though his whole world did not matter anymore, and he sought oblivion in the only way he knew how. He ordered a bottle of his best whisky from the wine cellar and drank himself into a stupor. He wanted to be insensible; he wanted not to be able to think about the agonizing pain that was spearing his heart.
His marriage proposal, like his declaration of love, had not been planned, but had been as much of a surprise to him as it had been to Tavia. He cursed himself; he should have planned it and led up to it slowly, not sprung it on her without giving her a chance to think. He recalled that the look on her face had been one of naked fear, and he cursed himself for being a fool.
However, it was too late now. The damage had been done and he would have to move on, marry a likeable but probably dull noble maiden, with whom he would speak words that had no meaning, no purpose. Turn out a few children and die never knowing the joy that could have been.
After that thought,
oblivion claimed him, and he knew no more until morning.
Tavia did not want to think, and she had no way of getting drunk even if she had wanted to, so she lay going over and over the events of the evening till her head was aching. She endured it rather than face her mother and father’s scrutiny should she go downstairs for willow bark tea.
After an hour, suddenly, unable to hold back the dam of misery inside her, she burst into tears. She put a pillow over her face to stifle the noise and cried until she had no tears left. Then finally she was able to fall into a troubled sleep.
“What’s wrong, darlin’?” Maureen asked anxiously as she saw Tavia’s blotchy and tear-stained face the next morning.
Tavia smiled wanly. “Oh, just bad dreams, Mammy. I cannot remember them now but they were terrifying.”
Maureen took Tavia’s face in her hands and looked deeply into her eyes. “Ye’re lyin’ tae yer mither, Tavvy,” she said firmly, “an’ I knaw my lassie is no’ a liar. Whit’s amiss my lovie?”
Tavia sat down wearily on a hard chair at the kitchen table. She had no words to explain how much pain she was feeling, so she simply shook her head.
“It’s yon Laird, is it no’?” Maureen asked, her tone deadly and menacing. “Yon Patterson. Tell me the truth, Tavvy, for I will no’ have ye brokenhearted ower Laird Muck.”
“Don’t talk about him like that!” Tavia cried, furious. She stood up and looked down at tiny Maureen, her voice rising to a scream. “You know nothing about him! You think that because he is nice to look at he has a black heart—that he only wants me for my body. Is that all you think of me? That I would give in to him for such a reason? He is one of the kindest, sweetest men I have ever met, and he loves me! And I love him!”
