Terri Brisbin Highlander Bundle

by TERRI BRISBIN

  Tavis checked his horse and grabbed his water skins, intent on putting some space between him and her. He would fill them in the nearby stream. Walking would feel good after sitting so long at the table. It was a task that could be left to the servants, but he preferred to see to his own preparations and needs and not rely on others to provide and perform them. Halfway down the path that led to the water, the crackling of branches behind him warned of someone following him. He let out a deep breath. Turning around was not necessary, for he could identify his pursuer without looking.

  ‘You should be settling yourself for the night, Ciara.’

  He said it aloud, not waiting on a response. The footsteps behind him paused for a few seconds, but then moved rapidly, approaching him before he reached the stream’s edge.

  ‘I would speak to you,’ she said, out of breath from his quick pace.

  ‘Nay,’ he said, waving her off. ‘Seek your tent. We can speak in the morn.’

  It had not worked before and was not successful this time, either; the sound of her steps, crunching the leaves beneath her feet came closer and closer until he could feel the heat of her at his back. So he sidestepped and watched her stumble by him, too close to stop herself. Before she could fall, he reached out and grabbed her arm, righting her on her feet, then releasing his hold.

  ‘Go back now,’ he said. Crossing his arms over his chest, he nodded with his head back towards the camp. The torches outlining the small gathering of wagons and tents could be seen clearly in the crisp night air. He wondered how she’d got past the guards he’d posted earlier?

  ‘I would speak—’

  ‘Go back.’

  When she crossed her arms the same as he did, Tavis knew the battle was lost. Still, he had to try.

  ‘I pray you, return now,’ he said quietly, his voice sounding as breathless as hers did.

  ‘You lost on purpose,’ she accused, not moving one bit back along the path. ‘This night and when you fought.’

  ‘’Tis of no importance, Ciara. Go back now.’

  Even repeating the words, whether plea or order, did no good at all, for she remained as though frozen in place. He rubbed his hands over his face and stared up at the moon above, trying to work out how to make her obey. Would speaking plainly send her back to her tent and away from tormenting him with her every word, every smile, every frown? Facing her, he nodded once more in the direction he prayed she would go.

  ‘To what good purpose would humiliating the young lord before his people be?’ he asked. ‘Other than my own needs, what good would come from defeating him now?’

  She startled at his words and stared at him. ‘Your own needs, Tavis?’

  His body reacted as it was wont to do, his flesh rising and hardening just at the very words she spoke. And, damn, but she did not even realise the effect she could have on him! Reminding himself that she belonged to another did not help at all. So, he tamped down his wayward desires and shook his head.

  ‘I could pummel him into the ground without much effort.’ He nodded back towards the camp again. ‘I could have taken his queen after five moves.’

  ‘Five? I thought at least seven.’ She smiled at his boast.

  ‘It would have taken you seven, lass. I had him in five,’ he answered her back. ‘No matter,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘To do either of those would jeopardise what we travelled to Perth to do—confirm your betrothal.’

  The intelligence and acceptance in her gaze took his breath away once more. Regardless of who had fathered her, regardless of what truths she might learn on her arrival home, she was the peacemaker’s daughter at heart. She understood completely the importance and the dangers of their situation. Ciara might tease or poke, but she knew her duty and knew how this would go.

  The only sign of weakness or surrender to the inevitable came as she smoothed her palms over her gown and touched something in the small pouch at her waist. He’d seen her do it dozens of times during their journey; the pouch never left her belt as much as he could remember.

  ‘What keepsake do you carry there?’ he asked. As the words escaped, Tavis thought it was a question he should not have asked. A shiver moved along his spine, warning him that the answer was not one he wanted to hear or know. But, if his misgivings showed on his face, they did not stop her from reaching in the leather sack and removing the item kept there.

  A wooden horse. She cupped it in her hands, her fingers gripping and stroking it at the same time. Small and worn though it was, he recognised it immediately as the one he’d carved all those years ago before a journey much different from this one.

  A lifetime ago when his future still lay spread out before him, filled with possibilities and potential. Before he was truly a man. Before he met Saraid. Before... There was so much to regret.

  ‘I have kept it close since you made it for me, Tavis. Whenever I feel lost or unsure, it comforts me. When I wonder about my place in the MacLeries, it reminds me,’ she whispered.

  Her vulnerability, the lost expression in her eyes, nearly drove him to his knees. When she let her guard down, when she let the confidence she exuded with every breath she took drop, she was dangerous to him and his resolve about his part in the life.

  Tavis looked at the horse, lowering his gaze from Ciara, and remembered the exact moment when he saw her play with the small toy for the first time. Duncan had asked him to make it for her, knowing of his skill in woodworking. And knowing he had siblings almost her age, he’d asked Tavis to look after her on the journey from Dunalastair to Lairig Dubh. Neither of them, he suspected, knew the lifelong connection that was being forged because of it. As he held the horse carefully, knowing he could break it if he even tightened his fist around it, Tavis realised that he had not carved in a long time.

  Since Saraid’s death.

  Holy Christ! He would not survive if Ciara continued to remind him of every weakness in his character and the lack in his life! He turned the carving over in his hand and realised that she’d worn it smooth over the years until the head had no ears and the legs had become little stubs. A sad laugh bubbled up inside of him as he saw the proof of her devotion to his creation.

  ‘Hell, Ciara, ’tis worn to nearly nothing,’ he said, offering it back to her. She lifted her chin for a moment and he noticed the way her lips trembled. Then she took a deep breath and let it out, an exasperated sound escaping that echoed across the few steps that separated them. With that, she regained control and the woman who stared back at him was the decisive, confident Ciara.

  ‘I expect it will survive this journey, but not another,’ she said with a hint of sadness in her voice.

  Did she speak of the wooden toy or of something else? A reference to the feelings between the two of them, mayhap? His chest ached as he understood the reality of the loss between them that was coming and he closed his fingers carefully around the toy. Anger mixed with the frustration that lived beneath his skin now and before he could think to stop the words, they escaped his mouth with no way to return them.

  ‘I will carve another.’

  The sparkle in her eyes at his offer hit him like an axe. But he knew he would do whatever she needed to keep her strong, especially since he would not, he would never be at her side again to protect her or guide her as he had so very often. A call from the camp stopped any other words or promises.

  ‘Tavis? Is the lass with you there?’ young Dougal yelled to him. They were just beginning to discover she was gone.

  ‘Aye,’ he replied. ‘She is on her way back there now.’

  Tavis watched as she nodded and turned back away from him. He stopped her before she took a step.

  ‘This is still yours,’ he said, handing her the first carving. Ciara opened the pouch and placed it inside, positioning the sack on her belt where she’d worn it throughout their journey.

  She left without another word, but the damage was already done. He’d been trapped by a wooden animal, skewered by his own memories and desires to prot
ect her and finished off with his own promises. Tavis walked a few paces behind her, making certain she reached the camp, then turned back towards the stream.

  He ran his hands through his hair as he walked to the edge of the rushing water. Did he even remember how to carve? Did he still have the small knife he used to work on wood? How had he got himself in deeper when it was the worst thing he could do now? Tavis did not realise he was searching for a good piece to work on until he’d picked up several and tossed them aside.

  Giving up on finding any measure of rest this night, he strode back to the camp, then searched his leather satchel until he found the knife. It took him some time to find the right branch of the right age, dryness and size, but he found it. Carving always eased his tension and he hoped it would again...now. But as dawn’s first light crept into the skies above him, he understood it no longer worked that way.

  And when he saw the rough shape of the wooden carving, Tavis grasped that he was in more trouble now than he had been when he had let Ciara see him throw the chess game to James. A horse, it was not. Held up against the brightening morn, all he could see was a heart—ragged, uneven and much like his felt this day.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Their journey continued and though she thought she saw Tavis working on a small piece of wood, he never showed her his work or mentioned it. With no idea of what had made her reveal the worn-down toy, she was glad she had so he understood that he did matter to her—and would continue to matter even when the toy was the only reminder of him she would have. Chess remained their evening entertainment, but she never witnessed Tavis allowing James to win again, though it was possible he’d become more skilled at hiding it.

  All four of them, for Elizabeth joined in once more, partnering with James or Ciara, but never another, traded victories after that night. Ciara noticed that her friend was coming to like James, no matter her concerns over his comments about her past. They argued during their travels and during their shared meals like friends did, so Ciara was pleased. Pleased that her friend would be happy staying with her and pleased that James was taking the time to learn more about her and taking the quest for a match for Elizabeth so seriously. From the amount of time and attention he gave, Ciara was certain that he would be able to suggest possible matches when the time came.

  * * *

  When they reached the furthest west they would travel, it was decided they would take a day of rest before heading north into the more mountainous roads. Though they were anxious to proceed, the next part of their journey would require them to be well rested and ready to cover an arduous path. So, they set up a camp and raised tents for the women. Some of the men hunted for fresh meat for dinner while the servants prepared for it. Once a safe perimeter had been established, James invited her to walk with him. Tavis’s gaze followed them; she could feel it on her, as they circled the tents and wagons.

  She waited and waited for him to lure her aside, but he did not. He spoke of her skills at chess and riding and asked about her parents, all the while holding her hand. Ciara wondered at his lack of interest now in plying her with kisses when he had seemed to enjoy it when he had. Why she worried, she knew not, but it bothered her in some way. When she had tried to lean in close and give him the opportunity, he’d neatly stepped away.

  Always polite, always attentive he was, but always maintaining a distance between them, whether alone or with others. If she was as candid with herself as she tried to be with others, she would have considered what she thought the real reasons were. But she had held her doubts and hopeless yearnings at bay each day and waited for him to show some sign of passion for her.

  The meal that night reminded her of the ones in Broch Dubh with the laird and his wife. Lord and Lady Murray seemed to accept her more and more with each passing day as though she had overcome some objections they might have had. Ciara began to believe that she might be able to marry and be content after all. She spent some time each day riding with James’s mother and learning about his family, their history and plans for the improvement of their lands. Regardless of their strained conversations at first meeting, Lady Murray had begun to share titbits of interesting gossip and information about their various relatives and relations.

  But this evening, after the meal was finished, James asked Tavis to partner with Ciara in another game of chess while he played with Elizabeth on his side. The two men seemed to tolerate each other now that they were on the road, with Tavis instructing James in fighting techniques whenever they stopped to rest. And James took his occasional defeats at Tavis’s hand in training or in play in his stride.

  So, by the light of the fire and a few torches, the game began. She’d watched Tavis play many times now, both as her father’s favourite opponent and several times during this journey, so she understood how he approached this game. Their styles complemented each other’s—his more conservative and hers bolder—and they could read the moves to come, too. The rules set out before the game allowed each team to alternate their moves, so that Elizabeth followed Tavis while Ciara followed James. A small crowd gathered to cheer on the players, and

  wagers, as the men seemed wont to do, were called out also.

  James and Elizabeth played well, but they were no match for Ciara and Tavis once they decided they would win. And it was a near thing, that, for at one point she would swear he was giving the game away. As their final few moves became apparent, he held back no longer and worked with Ciara to claim their opponents’ queen.

  Once the game was finished, Tavis returned to his men and James escorted her and Elizabeth back to their tent. Elizabeth left them alone, making her way inside while they stood outside. James stepped closer and Ciara waited for his kiss, anxious to notice any changes now that she was becoming accustomed to him and surprised yet again when he did not. With a glance at the closed flap of the tent, he bid her a good night’s rest and turned to leave. Unwilling to allow the chance to pass, Ciara took his hand and pulled him closer, leaning up and touching her mouth to his. He did not step away, but this kiss was the same as the rest had been.

  Nice.

  Giving up on her quest to change how she reacted to him, she whispered her farewells and entered the tent she shared with Elizabeth.

  She tossed and turned that night, wondering if James had had a change of heart about accepting her as his wife. Or mayhap he was just trying to respect her before their wedding?

  * * *

  Confused, Ciara had lost most of last night’s sleep and found that day’s travel more difficult. She dozed off in the saddle and nearly fell, saved only when Tavis noticed.

  ‘Here now, Ciara,’ he said, startling her awake, ‘let me adjust the strap on your saddle. It looks loose.’

  Tavis guided Ciara and her mount out of the line and off into a clearing. Calling out orders for everyone to continue, he jumped down and walked to her side.

  ‘Are you well, lass?’ he asked as he checked the strap, though he could see nothing was wrong with it. ‘You looked to be falling asleep and off the horse.’

  She rubbed her eyes and face and shook her head. ‘I did not sleep well and I am tired of travelling.’

  Tavis walked around to check the other strap and to get a better look at her. She’d seemed happy on the journey, anxious even to get back to Lairig Dubh as they got closer, though he suspected it was more about speaking to her parents than anything else. The urge to comfort her was as strong as it had ever been so he stepped back.

  ‘We should reach home by nightfall tomorrow, if we push through on the morrow,’ he said. ‘I plan to send a man ahead once we are on the road in the morning.’ Her eyes did brighten for a moment, then they lost their shine.

  He climbed back on his horse and turned to her. ‘Do you worry over what they will tell you?’

  ‘Aye,’ she said quietly. ‘I have never felt so unsettled in my life. I wake on the morrow as one person, but once we reach home, I may be someone else.’

  He leaned over and p
laced his hand on hers. It was as much as he would allow himself and did it only because she wore an expression of complete devastation in her eyes as they spoke on this. ‘You will never be anyone but Ciara. No one, no one’s words or story, can change the person you are inside.’

  ‘Oh, Tavis, if only I could believe it,’ she whispered to him. ‘Or if I could convince myself it matters not.’

  ‘Do you believe that your parents did this out of malice?’ he asked, trying to help her focus on the important things.

  ‘Nay, I know they did not.’

  ‘Do you believe that any MacLerie hopes for your humiliation?’

  She met his gaze then and shook her head. ‘Other than my parents, I do not think anyone in Lairig Dubh really cares about what happens to me. Once I am gone, no one will even notice.’

  ‘I care, Ciara. God forgive me, but I will know you are gone,’ he admitted.

  The silence spun out between them, but he would not look away from her.

  ‘Why? Just tell me why?’

  She had no idea that her words mirrored those of James when he had asked about Tavis’s role in Ciara’s life.

  ‘Because I am your friend,’ he said.

  He purposely misunderstood and could not give her the answer she wanted, no matter how much the words pushed to be released from within him. Anger, mostly at himself, bubbled up inside him, daring him, shoving him, driving him to do the one thing he could not.

  Fighting the urges roiling barely under his control, Tavis wondered if he could make the larger admission and damn himself and maybe even damn both of them. Then he realised that to speak the words he wanted to say to her would give hope where none could be. He bit his tongue rather than speak the oath that formed in his heart—I do love you, lass. A single tear trickled down her cheek as she waited for words that would not come.

  Could not come.

  ‘Say it, Tavis,’ she begged, ‘before it is too late.’