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

by Suzan Tisdale

  Mariote tucked the sgian dubh into the pocket of her apron and glared furiously at John. “Do no’ touch me sisters. Any of them.” Her warning was quite clear.

  “Mariote!” Moirra continued to chastise her. “Wait fer me inside. Now.”

  Mariote’s eyes turned to slits before she stepped away, ushering her sisters inside. Moirra came to stand next to John and began to apologize. “I be so sorry, John!” she said as she reached out and grabbed his arm. “So terribly sorry. I should have warned ye.”

  John gave his shin one last good rub before standing upright. “Warned me what? That yer oldest child has a murderous temper!”

  Moirra turned pale and began to stammer. Finally, she took a deep breath and did her best to explain. “Mariote is verra protective of her sisters. She does no’ trust strange men.”

  John studied Moirra closely for a moment and wondered if something had happened to Mariote or one of her sisters that would make her behave so harshly toward him. He had no idea how long Moirra had been widowed. Mayhap someone had made inappropriate advances toward her and Mariote felt compelled to protect them all. Mayhap that was another reason why Moirra had been desperate enough to take him as a husband.

  “I can assure ye and yer daughters that I mean none of ye any harm. I do no’ ken what might have happened in yer past that makes the lass think she needs to protect ye all so violently,” he took a deep breath. “But I can promise ye, that whatever happened, it will no’ be repeated by me.”

  Moirra gave him a thoughtful smile. “I believe ye, John. But it will take a wee longer fer me daughters to be able to trust.”

  He couldn’t resist asking his next question. “Would ye care to enlighten me on what happened to make her behave thusly?”

  Moirra pursed her lips together. “I do no’ like to talk about it, John. Mayhap someday I’ll tell ye all of it, but fer now…” her words trailed off.

  John took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Verra well, Moirra. I shall respect yer wishes,” he said. “Do I need to worry that she’ll slice me throat whilst I sleep?”

  The color drained from Moirra’s face a second time. “Nay,” she said, her voice sounding husky. “Ye needn’t worry over that.”

  “Good,” John said. “I shall hold ye to yer word, Moirra.”

  They looked at one another for a time before John said, “Is there a place fer me horse in yer barn?”

  “Aye,” Moirra told him. “I’ll take ye to it.”

  Her color was slowly returning and she looked rather relieved. John wasn’t sure what to make of her response to his questions. Deciding she was simply tired from her long day, he would not ask her why she looked so pale and followed her to the barn.

  * * *

  With his horse settled, fed and brushed, John left the barn and headed toward the house, carrying a bag with clean clothing. He was in desperate need of a bath and hoped there was a loch nearby.

  Moirra was standing in the yard with Orabilis and Muriale. John joined them, but took great care at keeping a safe distance.

  “Ladies,” he said with a bow, scanning the immediate vicinity for Mariote. He kept what he felt a safe distance from them in case the she-devil was hiding and ready to pounce at any moment.

  Orabilis looked up at him and wrinkled her nose. “Ye smell funny,” she said.

  John had to laugh at her bluntness. “Aye, I suppose I do.”

  Moirra shushed the little girl. “Orabilis, that be no’ polite.”

  The little girl looked up at her mum. “But he does smell funny.”

  Moirra rolled her eyes. “That may well be, child, but ye do no’ tell a man that. Or anyone else fer that matter. Ye can injure their pride and feelings.”

  The child turned her attention back to John. “I be sorry, sir, that ye smell funny. We have a bath ready fer ye.”

  John had never much cared for children. They puzzled him and he had a very difficult time understanding them. Truth be told, he had a difficult time understanding most people, child or adult.

  “Thank ye kindly, lass,” John said with a smile. “But ye shouldn’t have gone to all that trouble. I’d have bathed in a loch.”

  Muriale giggled. “’Tis a good distance to the nearest loch. Ye might make it there and back before dawn.” Orabilis giggled along with her sister before flashing a sweet smile John’s way.

  Moirra patted her youngest daughter’s head while placing a kiss atop Muriale’s. “Ye run along now and help Mariote with peeling the vegetables.”

  The two girls hurried inside. Moirra smiled up at John. “Orabilis has inherited my blunt nature. I’ll be apologizin’ to ye fer that now, and I reckon again a hundred times over the next months.”

  John couldn’t help but chuckle as he followed Moirra around the cottage. “I’d rather encounter a blunt person who is honest than one who tries to hide behind false words.”

  “That be a verra good thing, fer ye’ll be surrounded by five blunt and opinionated women fer the next two months,” she said with a smile.

  “I thank ye fer the warnin’,” John said. “And fer the bath.”

  A small tub sat behind the cottage not far from the well. A large kettle hung over an open fire. It had been a long time since he’d bathed in a tub.

  “What else should I ken about yer daughters, Moirra?” he asked as Moirra retrieved the steaming kettle from the fire.

  “Well, as ye’ve learned already, Mariote is verra protective of us. She’s opinionated, but loyal. Esa is me quiet and thoughtful child, verra givin’ and verra protective but in a way different than Mariote. Muriale has verra tender feelings and sometimes takes things the wrong way and cries. And Orabilis? Aye, she’s opinionated but verra sweet and verra smart.”

  John pulled his arms out of his filthy jacket and tossed the garment to the ground.

  “I’ll see if I can get that clean fer ye,” Moirra said as she poured a bucket of cold water into the kettle. “I may have some of me husband’s auld tunics. Though ye be much bigger than he.”

  His gut tightened. For inexplicable reasons, he had no desire to wear her dead husband’s clothing. “I have a spare tunic or two in me bag,” he said with a nod to the pack at his feet.

  Moirra hefted the kettle up to the cross bar. “Do they need washing’?” she asked as she wiped her hands on her apron.

  “Aye, though they be far cleaner than what I’m wearin’. But ye needn’t go to any trouble, Moirra. I can wash me own clothes.”

  Moirra laughed heartily. “A man who does his own washing’? Next ye’ll be tellin’ me ye like to cook.”

  John took no umbrage to her words. “Well, truth be told, I make a verra good rabbit stew.”

  Her eyes twinkled with mirth as she giggled. “Yer seducin’ me with such words!”

  I can think of other words to seduce ye with, he thought as his mind filled with images of his body covering her naked form. His groin tightened and he pushed the images aside.

  He removed his boots and rested his hands on his hips and watched as Moirra stoked the fire under the kettle.

  “I realize,” he drawled, “that we are married now. But, ye may want to go inside with yer daughters so that I can bathe. Unless ye do wish to see me as naked as the day I was born.”

  Moirra turned around slowly, a slight blush to her cheeks and he found he rather liked that color on her. Her brilliant green eyes flashed with embarrassment before she gained her senses. “Och! ’Tis no’ as though I’ve never seen a man in a state of undress before, John.”

  The air of aloofness she tried to muster made him smile. Her eyes kept flittering between his chest and his lips which pleased him all the more. He recognized the look of desire when he saw it. The thought of this beautiful woman wanting him as much as he wanted her made him feel happy and proud. He could not resist tormenting her further. He pulled his tunic over his head and tossed it on the ground next to his coat. “Be there a problem, lass?”

  “Nay,” she said bre
athlessly as she stared at his chest.

  “Then ye’d like to stay and watch me bathe?”

  A very long moment passed before she gave a shake of her head, as if clearing something from her mind.

  “I’ll be indoors if ye need me,” she said, her blush deepening.

  John bit his tongue as he watched her hurry away and around the corner of the cottage. There was naught he could do to erase the smug smile from his lips.

  * * *

  ’Twas John’s first family meal in a very long while. Moirra’s little cottage was nothing more than one large room. A kitchen, eating area and fireplace took up most of the space. Moirra’s bed sat in the corner of the room, partially hidden behind a long curtain. ’Twas a warm, cozy space that smelled of flowers, bread and stew.

  After sharing the evening meal with Moirra and her daughters, John tried to entertain them with stories. The younger girls sat in rapt attention listening to John tell the story of how the anemone got its name.

  “Aphrodite,”

  “The goddess of love,” Muriale interrupted with a proud smile. “They say she was the most beautiful woman ever to grace the earth.”

  “Aye,” John said with a smile. “The most beautiful woman to ever grace earth or sky.” He gave her a smile before continuing. “Aphrodite and Adonis loved each other verra much. One day, he was out huntin’ alone—”

  “Ye should never do that,” Orabilis said. “’Tis dangerous.”

  “Aye,” John smiled at her. “’Tis quite dangerous.”

  “Ye could get hurt and there be no one there to help ye,” the little girl said, looking worried over the thought.

  “Quiet, Orabilis,” Muriale chastised, forgetting that she, too, had interrupted him just moments ago. “Let him finish.”

  John smiled at the two of them. “Where was I?”

  “Adonis went huntin’ alone,” Muriale said.

  “Which was no’ a good idea to do,” Orabilis said.

  “Nay,” John told her. “’Twas no’ a good thing to do as he was huntin’ wild boar. Well, he happened upon one, in a wee clearin’. Quiet as he could, he snuck up behind the boar and with all his might, he threw his spear at the beast!”

  Their eyes grew wide. Orabilis tucked her hand inside Muriale’s. “Did he kill it and have it fer supper?” Orabilis asked.

  “Well, he only wounded the boar,” John said leaning in closer to the little girls. “And that made the boar verra angry. It came after Adonis and before he could move out of the way, the boar stabbed Adonis with his tusks!”

  The girls gasped and hugged one another.

  “What happened then?” Muriale asked.

  “Aphrodite heard his cries, for they could be heard across the heavens. When she arrived, Adonis lay bleeding on the ground, dyin’.”

  “No!” the girls exclaimed in unison.

  John painted a look of sadness on his face. “Aye,” he said. “Dyin’. ’Tis said that anemones sprang from the earth where Adonis bled and Aphrodite’s heart broke.”

  “Did Aphrodite kill the boar?” Orabilis asked.

  John thought it an awfully odd question. “I do no’ ken,” he answered.

  “I’d have killed the boar for killin’ me one true love,” Orabilis said with the ferocity and conviction of someone far older than six.

  “I believe that ye would,” he told her with a smile.

  Mariote was not as impressed with John’s knowledge of Greek mythology. “’Tis all nonsense,” she declared as she dried the dishes her mother washed.

  “What be nonsense?” Muriale asked.

  Mariote refused to answer. Instead, she shot daggers of hatred again at John and a look of disgust at her sisters.

  Moirra had reached the end of her patience. “Mariote,” she said in a low voice. “Yer bein’ rude and I’ve had enough of it. Off to bed with ye,” she said as she took the towel from Mariote’s hand.

  “But I’m no’ done yet,” Mariote argued.

  “Aye, ye are and so am I.” Moirra turned to the other girls who were sitting around the table. “’Tis late and we’ve much work to do in the morn. Wash up and go to bed now,” she told them.

  The girls protested. “But we want to hear more stories,” Muriale pleaded.

  “I’ll tell ye a new story on the morrow,” John promised.

  Disappointedly, the little girls grumbled as they left the table and went to the small area near the fireplace to wash their faces and hands.

  Moirra came to stand next to John. “I be sorry for Mariote,” she said. “It takes time fer her to warm to new ideas and people.”

  John watched the four girls as they fought for room around the basin. “Set in her ways,” he remarked. “That could either be a benefit or a detriment someday.”

  “Once she warms to ye, ye’ll find no truer friend, that I can promise ye. She’s as fierce as anyone I’ve ever known in me life.”

  John nodded his head as he thought on it. “She either loves ye or hates ye, there be no in betwixt, aye?”

  Moirra laughed slightly at his comment. “Aye, that be true.”

  Once the girls were sufficiently washed, they headed up the ladder to their loft. Much rustling and giggling could be heard coming from above. Moirra smiled half-heartedly as she listened to her daughters.

  He sensed that mayhap she was worried over what his impression of her daughters might be. “I’ve never had children of me own, Moirra,” he began in a soft voice. “But I do remember being one.” He reached out and took her hand. “Do no’ fash yerself, Moirra. Ye have beautiful daughters with high spirits and good character. Ye’ve done well by them, lass.”

  Moirra’s cheeks pinked at his compliment. “Ye say that now, but wait until ye get to know them better. After a week or two, ye might no’ think so highly of them.”

  He was about to say something when Mariote peeked her head through the loft railing. “Mum!” she said harshly. “I need to speak with ye. In private.”

  Moirra rolled her eyes and gave John’s hand a gentle squeeze. “That child will be the death of me yet,” she murmured as she made her way around the table. John watched as she took the ladder and disappeared overhead.

  It was difficult to make out much of the conversation that was taking place between Moirra and her oldest daughter. But John could hear enough that he was able to understand that her oldest daughter was less than pleased with her mother’s choice in a new husband.

  * * *

  “Need I remind ye, Mariote, that I be your mum and no’ the other way around?” Moirra said as she rubbed her temple with her fingers.

  Mariote mumbled something that John couldn’t quite make out, but could tell from Moirra’s reaction to it that her words stung.

  It hadn’t been his intent to listen in on their conversation like some insufferable spy. He began to grow uneasy and more than just a bit guilty, especially when he heard Mariote ask about where he would sleep this night.

  “That be none of yer business, Mariote. And I’ll thank ye kindly to stop acting as if I’m yer child.”

  John could take no more of listening in. He pushed himself away from the table and stepped out of doors while mother and daughter talked.

  The night air was cool and invigorating. The sun was finally beginning its evening descent and set the sky aflame in brilliant reds, oranges, yellows, and purples. To the east, stars were just beginning to make their appearance, and a gentle breeze came in from the east. He loved the twilight, when the earth finally began to settle and quiet.

  He crossed the yard and headed into the barn to check on his horse. Its water bucket was nearly empty, so John carried it out to the well that sat near the rear of the house. Dumping out the old water, he filled it with fresh and carried it back to the barn.

  It had been a very long and at times, confusing day. This morning when he woke, he was a mistaken and ill-charged prisoner of Glenkirby, tossed back into the pillory for his fourth day of taunting and public humiliation
. He had been dirty, tired, hungry, and very angry.

  Then he’d met a very bonny yet odd woman and by the noonin’ meal, he was free from the pillory, but a prisoner instead of a handfasting he had not foreseen. Now he stood in the twilight hours, in the middle of a barn on a bit of land, by all rights married and the stepfather to four lasses.

  Six months ago, he had been nothing more than the third born son of a clan chief. With all of his father’s attention focused on his eldest son, John was left to his own devices. As he grew older, those devices turned to vices and eventually nearly brought his clan to its knees. All because he had turned into a whoring drunkard with no direction in his life.

  God must have a tremendous sense of humor, he thought. Fer I be no’ the right man to be a husband or father.

  How had his life turned so horribly wrong? So upside-down and unrecognizable? He knew the answer, and for weeks after his brother’s death, John had fallen into a drunken stupor from which he never wanted to escape. The guilt had been unbearable.

  He knew there was nothing he could do to make up for the death of his brother. Nothing he could do to gain any respect from his father. No amount of drinking could ever dull the pain.

  “John.”

  ’Twas Moirra’s voice, soft, low and sweet that broke through his quiet reverie.

  He spun around with a start. She was smiling at him. Not that wondrous beaming smile she had shared with him earlier in the day. ’Twas more strained.

  “Are ye well, lass?”

  She sighed. “I be sorry for Mariote’s behavior. I ken I’ve apologized for her several times this day.”

  John held up his hand. “Please, Moirra, do no’ fash over it. The child loves ye, fer that, I canna fault her. She be young and worried fer yer safety, as well as her own and her sisters I’d reckon.”

  “That much is true.” Moirra agreed.

  “I fear I’d be a bit apprehensive were our roles reversed. I be as complete a stranger to her as any. She doesna ken me. Canna ken that I mean none of ye any harm. ’Twill take time. I fear though, that by the time she gets used to me, ’twill be time fer me to leave.”