Moirra's Heart Series: The Complete Collection ( Moirra's Heart Series: The Complete Collection (The Moirra's Heart Series Book 3))

by Suzan Tisdale

  “Have ye ever lost someone, Pillory John? Someone ye loved dearly?”

  His heart felt heavy. Did he lie or tell the truth? What did it matter? He’d be gone from here in two months time. “Aye, I have.” Even he could hear his voice crack.

  Moirra stopped and looked up at him, looking straight into his eyes. He felt his face burn with shame causing him to turn away. Moirra took a step closer and took his hand in hers. “Why must men try to hide that they have hearts?” she asked softly, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “’Tis all right to grieve for the person ye lost, John. It doesna make ye less a man to feel — whether it be a great loss or a great love.”

  For a moment, he wanted to purge all the grief and guilt from his mind, but found he could not. With his voice quite thoroughly lodged in his throat, he continued to look away.

  Moirra tugged on his hand as if to say it was time to continue their journey. With heavy feet, he followed. “Do no’ fash yerself, John. I’ll no’ tell a soul what ye told me this day.”

  Cocking his head to one side and quirking a brow, he said, “What, pray tell, have I told ye?”

  Moirra gave a slight laugh. “That ye have a heart and are capable of mournin’ a loss.”

  The more time he spent with this woman, the more perplexing and likable he found her to be.

  They continued their journey on foot, walking through the small glen in grass nearly as tall as Moirra. A gentle breeze tickled across skin, grass, and glen. There was a peacefulness to the place that, for some strange reason, made him feel at ease for the first time in many months.

  “Why did ye truly pay fer my freedom?” he asked after a time. “Certainly there were other suitable men?”

  Moirra laughed. “Nay, Pillory John, there were no’ more suitable men.”

  “Do ye often take such risks?” he asked as he led her around a large rock.

  “Risks?” she smiled. “So ’tis a risk I be takin’ in handfastin’ with ye? Ye should have warned me sooner.”

  John let loose a short sigh. “I be serious, Moirra. Ye do no’ ken the first thing about me. I be a complete stranger. What on earth possessed ye to ask fer me hand?”

  Moirra didn’t hesitate in her answer. “I looked into yer eyes, Pillory John, and what I saw there told me ye were no danger to me, at least no’ the murderin’, rapin’, plunderin’ or thievin’ kind of danger.”

  He raised a brow. “Ye want me to believe that ye could tell I was no’ a great physical danger to ye just by lookin’ in me eyes?” he asked incredulously.

  “Aye, ’tis the truth I speak. I saw a confused man, a man who didna belong in the pillory. I saw a kindness lurkin’ just under the surface of feigned madness. Ye wanted every one in the village to think ye were mad, but I could tell ’twas just a ruse. Ye be no more mad than I.”

  He laughed heartily at her. “Ye could tell these things, just by lookin’ in me eyes?”

  She continued to smile. “Aye, I could. Ye can learn much about a person from lookin’ in their eyes.”

  Shaking his head, he sighed with more than a hint of disbelief. “Mayhap we’re both mad,” he murmured.

  “That be a distinct possibility.”

  “Still, I canna believe ye couldna find another man, a man ye knew far better than the one who stands beside ye now.” That question had been gnawing at him for the past few hours and he wondered if he’d ever get a truthful answer from her on the matter.

  “I do no’ see where it matters, Pillory John. Ye wanted out of the pillory and I needed a husband.”

  “Why do ye need a husband so badly that ye’d pay fer me?” He tried to think of reasons why a woman would need a husband as desperately as this woman appeared to need one. The answer came to him with such a jolt that he stopped dead in his tracks.

  Moirra turned to look at him. Slipping her arm from his elbow she rolled her eyes. “I be no’ with child, ye big lout!”

  He wondered how she had known what he was thinking.

  “I truly need a husband to help me tend my fields.”

  Certainly there had to be more to it than that. She could have hired someone to help her and he told her just that.

  “Aye, I could have hired someone to help, if I were thusly inclined. But that would not have solved all me problems.”

  Now we’re getting to the heart of the matter, he thought.

  “Ye see, there be a crofter to the north of me. He has asked fer me hand on more than one occasion, and I truly do no’ wish to marry him.”

  He quirked a brow. “Ye’d rather marry a complete stranger than this man?” John asked. “Why? Be he an old, smelly, toothless man?”

  Moirra laughed at his description. “Nay, actually, he’s a quite handsome man.”

  John crossed his arms over his chest. “Why, pray tell, would a bonny woman such as ye no’ wish to marry a quite handsome man?”

  Moirra’s smile faded. “Because he be an arrogant fool’ and tisn’t me he wants, but me land.”

  * * *

  Moirra was being completely honest with John.

  Thomas McGregor was as arrogant as he was handsome. Had he possessed a love for anyone but himself, Moirra might have been tempted to marry him.

  “So aye,” she said. “I’d rather marry a complete stranger than an arrogant man who loves only himself.”

  Pillory John was studying her closely and she could see he was trying hard to understand her. “If it be love ye hope to find from me,” he began. Moirra cut him off with a raised hand.

  “Nay, John,” she said, doing her best to hide the anger she was beginning to feel. “I did no’ ask fer yer hand with the hope ye’d willingly give me yer heart. I ken verra well that love be real, Pillory John. But I also ken it be as rare as dragon’s breath. I be no fool.”

  His face fell and he looked as though he felt guilty. “Ye loved yer husband,” he said in a low voice. “I didna mean to make light of that, Moirra.”

  “Aye, I loved me husband, but in truth, he was no’ the great love of me life.” Why she chose to share that with him, she did not know. She had cared for and loved her first two husbands, but not in the sense that she thought John spoke of.

  John looked verily confused.

  Moirra let out a long, heavy breath. Not wanting to even remember her third husband, let alone discuss him, Moirra spoke of her first. “Kenneth MacPherson was a good man and aye, I did love him, but he couldna love me back, at least no’ the way I needed and no’ the way I had seen me parents love one another.”

  John looked even more confused and she realized she wasn’t making much sense. “Let us walk and I’ll try to explain to ye what I speak of.”

  * * *

  “Me mother was French. A French courtesan.” Moirra cast a sideways glance at John. Though he did make an attempt to hide his surprise, he had not been completely successful. “Marie LeCroix was her name. She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever known. She was very well educated, spoke five languages fluently, and graceful and elegant. The kind of woman men lusted after and women hated.” A smile warmed her face when she thought of her mother. “When she was two and twenty, she met a handsome Scot who stole her heart.”

  “Yer da,” John said as if he understood the end to the story.

  “Nay,” Moirra corrected him. “No’ me da.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him raise a brow.

  “Mamma loved this man dearly. He was kind and generous and quite handsome. For months, they were inseparable. He told her he loved her and wanted to make her his wife someday. Well, one day he just disappeared. She couldna find him anywhere. Days went by before she learned that he had returned to Edinburgh. Angry, but willing to forgive him anything, she left France and travelled to Edinburgh to find him.

  She found him all right. At his home, with his wife and four children. She was heartbroken. Mamma had also discovered that she was carryin’ his child.”

  John gave a nod of his head and jumped to furthe
r conclusions. “Then she met yer da, he fell in love with her and offered for her hand.”

  “Nay,” Moirra said with a shake of her head. “She decided that she could not live without Edward. Heartbroken and believing her life was no’ worth livin’ without him in it, she decided to take her own life by jumpin’ off a bridge. And no,” Moirra said before he could interrupt again, “that is no’ when she met me da.”

  John clamped his lips together and remained quiet.

  “She met me uncle. He saw her on the bridge, her face streaked with tears, and ready to jump. Uncle Phillip talked her out of jumpin’. Once he found out why she wanted to jump, well, he convinced her that her life wasna over and that she owed it to her babe to live, to be a good example of how ye can overcome.”

  John was hanging on every word. Moirra didn’t often share the story of how her parents met because many people would not be able to understand. “So Uncle Phillip offered mamma a home with him and his wife and children. Weeks later me da came to visit his brother — me Uncle Phillip — and that is how me parents met. Were me da alive, he’d tell ye that he fell in love with mamma the first time he laid eyes on her, even though she was clearly with child.” Moirra laughed and smiled at the memory of her father telling her that part of the story. “Mamma would tell ye that she was still too heartbroken over Edward to pay me da any attention. But as the weeks went by, they became friends.”

  The story of how her parents met, how they had fallen in love, was permanently etched into Moirra’s memory and heart. There were times when their love-story gave her comfort and solace. Then there were times when it left her with a great sense of longing and sadness.

  “After a time, mum began to realize that there be more to a man than a charmin’ smile and flowery words. A good man is filled with honor, he protects those that canna protect themselves, and he provides for his family the best he can. She found all those things in me da and aye, she did fall in love with him. Just hours after he proposed, her birthin’ pains began. They were married that day, just a few hours before bringin’ me brother into this world.” She smiled fondly at the memories. “Da loved me brother from the moment he heard his first cries. Mum named the boy after him. Together, they bought the wee farm where I was raised and still live and began their life together. They were married many weeks before they could consummate the marriage but da always said ’twas well worth the waitin’. He didna care that she’d been a courtesan, didna care that me brother was no’ of his own blood. He loved me mum and that was that.”

  * * *

  John mulled the story over in his mind. Moirra’s father loved her mother regardless of her past. He found himself wishing he could have had the opportunity to meet the man. Mayhap, had John been raised by someone as kind as William McKenzie, his life would have taken a far different path.

  “Me parents raised me to not judge a person too harshly for things they may have done in their past, Pillory John. None of us be perfect, ye ken,” she was looking at the horizon as she spoke. “I be a flawed woman, Pillory John. I’ve made bad decisions in me life believin’ I’d made them for the right reasons.”

  John watched her out of the corner of his eye. He had the sense that there was something that weighed heavily on her heart. ’Twas then that he realized they might have far more in common that he had previously thought.

  There was something they both wanted and both believed it was unattainable.

  Three

  Moirra’s tiny cottage lay at the base of a small hill, not far from a meandering stream. Blue smoke billowed from the chimney while chickens pecked at the ground in front of the home. Two pink pigs were housed in a small area a good distance, thankfully, to the east.

  To the west were Moirra’s crops. He had been mistaken to assume she possessed acres and acres of crops, hence her desperate need of a husband. As near as he could tell, there weren’t more than three acres of barley here.

  “Are these all yer crops?” he asked with his jaw firmly set.

  “Aye,” she answered proudly. “I’ve a wee bit over three acres of barley.”

  Though he was unable to see her clearly as she was sitting in front of him, he could hear the excitement in her voice. “Me sheep are just on the other side of the berm,” she said, pointing toward the west. “Have ye ever sheared sheep before?”

  “Aye,” he told her. ’Twas a lie, but he had seen it done a few times. How difficult could it truly be?

  “Good!” she said as she turned half way around to look at him.

  Her smile nearly knocked him from the horse. Her eyes lit, and ’twas then he noticed just how green they were — a bright green, somewhere between spring grass and emeralds. Vivid. Sparkling. Alive with excitement. Her full pink lips, curved upward to show straight white teeth. Her nose was just as perfectly straight as her teeth and set in the center of her perfectly oval face. Taken separately, her features were sweet. Taken as a whole, she was more than bonny. She was beautiful.

  He reckoned he hadn’t noticed before because he’d yet to see her smile as she was now, with such pride and happiness. She positively beamed.

  “I ken it no’ be much, Pillory John, but it is me home and I be verra proud of it,” she said. He had one arm wrapped around her waist and she gave it a gentle squeeze.

  He ignored the warm and tingling sensation that flittered around in his stomach. Giving a gentle tap to the flanks of his horse, he guided them toward the little yard in front of the cottage. Moirra started to slide down but he stopped her. “I’ll help ye down, Moirra,” he said as he dismounted.

  Once his feet were on the ground, he stretched his back a bit before reaching up and helping Moirra down. Her waist felt small against his large hands, and belied the fact that she was the mother of four children.

  “Thank ye, kindly,” she said as she looked into his eyes.

  Reluctantly, he let her go and she headed toward the cottage. Before she reached the door, it opened and three little girls stood huddled together, staring out into the yard at their mother.

  “Little ones,” Moirra said happily. “’Tis all right. Come here. I want ye to meet someone.”

  Rather unenthusiastically, the three girls stepped out of the cottage and toward their mum. Their eyes, however, were firmly planted on the tall man standing next to the horse.

  Moirra shook her head and encouraged them to come closer. “Do no’ worry, daughters. He’ll no’ bite ye.”

  They eyed their mother suspiciously and John even more so.

  As they came to stand beside their mum, another girl, the oldest John had to assume, came running out of the cottage. She cast an angry glare at John before pulling each of the younger girls away from their mum and stood in front of them. “Who is he,” the angry young lass asked with a nod in John’s direction.

  Moirra put her hands on her hips. “Mariote McPherson,” she said sharply. “That be no way to greet a guest.”

  The girl cast a glance at John that made him want to mount his horse and flee.

  “A guest, is he?” she challenged her mother. “Then he’ll no’ be stayin’?”

  Moirra took the girl by the arm and pulled her away. “Mariote, ye ken why I left this morn.”

  The girl gave a curt nod. “But that does no’ mean I have to like it. Who is he? What do ye ken of him? Where does he hail from? Is he kind?”

  John had taken a few tentative steps toward them, wanting to make as good a first impression as he could, even if he was only going to be here two months. Those two months could either fly by in a harmonious fashion, or they could trudge on like an ox through waist high mud. He’d prefer the former.

  “He is a man I met in the village, a man in need of a home as much as we are in need of his protection,” Moirra explained. “He’ll only be here two months, Mariote. Long enough to help with the harvest and shearin’ the sheep. And aye, he be a kind man.”

  Mariote finally quit shooting daggers John’s way and turned to look at her mum. “
Yer certain?” she whispered.

  Moirra gave her a reassuring hug. “Aye, I be certain, Mariote.”

  From the expression on the girl’s face, John could tell she did not believe her mother. “What be his name?”

  “John Pilori,” Moirra said.

  Mariote quirked a brow. “That be an odd name,” she said.

  John stepped forward and gave the girl a graceful bow.”

  Moirra turned around to look at him, her smile still there, but it did not hold the same excitement as it had moments ago. “John Pilori, I’d like ye to meet me daughters. This be Mariote, me oldest.”

  John gave another bow and flashed her one of his most brilliant smiles. It did nothing to soften the hard, angry glare the girl was giving him.

  The other three girls came to stand beside their mum. “This be Esa, me second. Muriale, me third,” Moirra said as she patted each of them on the shoulder.

  John bowed and smiled as each girl was introduced. The youngest of the girls, a brown-haired, brown-eyed little thing who looked nothing at all like her mother or sisters, was standing in front of the trio.

  John bent at the waist, smiled and held out his hand. “And who might this beautiful young lassie be?”

  It had been a simple gesture on his part. Apparently, the oldest daughter took his greeting to as something akin to an act of war. Before he could extend his hand toward the little girl, Mariote was standing in front of him. Before he realized what was happening, she had a sgian dubh in one hand whilst kicking him in the shin with the other. He wasn’t sure which was more dangerous; the dirk or her feet.

  Caught off guard by her swift movements, John stumbled back and cursed.

  “Mariote!” Moirra cried out as she pulled the girl away from John.

  He bent over and rubbed his wounded shin. “What the bloody hell did ye do that for?” he demanded.

  “Mariote, ye canna go around kickin’ people!” Moirra chastised her. “Put the sgian dubh away now!”