Moirra left the steaming cauldron and came to stand next to John, wiping her hands on her apron. “Good day to ye, Thomas,” she said. “What brings ye to our land this day?”
She did not sound at all happy to see the man and John took some satisfaction from that.
“Is this him?” Thomas asked, still not taking his eyes off John.
Moirra crossed her arms over her chest. “If by him ye mean is this me husband, then, aye, he is.”
Thomas’ lips were drawn into a hard line and he finally turned his attention to Moirra. “I was just in Glenkirby and was told ye bought a husband. I didna believe it when ’twas told to me, but I see the story is true. Ye bought a husband.” He shook his head in disgust.
“Nay, I did no’ buy a husband,” she answered.
Thomas waited for further explanation. Moirra wasn’t going to offer it freely.
“I was told ye found him in the pillory. Is that no’ true?”
“I do no’ see where ’tis any of yer business where or how I met me husband, Thomas McGregor,” she said as she slipped her hand around John’s waist. John was all too happy to drape his arm around Moirra’s shoulder, signifying to the fool on the horse that they were indeed married. “Are ye no’ goin’ to introduce us, wife?” John said as he smiled adoringly down at Moirra. He gave her a gentle squeeze around her waist.
When she looked up into John’s eyes, her face lit with that dazzling smile he was so fond of. He felt a jolt of excitement deep in his belly when she looked at him with such happiness and admiration in her eyes. “Fergive me, husband,” she said with a giggle.
After she tore her eyes away from John, she introduced the two men. “John, this be Thomas McGregor. He be a farmer to our north. Thomas, this is my husband, John.”
John watched as the man’s jaw clenched and his nostrils flared with barely veiled anger. “Good day to ye, Thomas,” John said.
Silence hung in the air for a time before Thomas finally spoke. “I canna believe ye’d rather marry a complete stranger than someone ye’ve known yer whole life, Moirra,” he said through gritted teeth. “Ye be a stubborn woman.”
John threw his head back and laughed heartily. Moirra giggled and slapped his arm. John looked into her eyes, smiling broadly. “Aye,” he said, agreeing with Thomas. “’Tis one of the things I love most about her.”
Moirra’s expression changed from happy to confused in the span of a heartbeat. John leaned in and kissed her forehead before turning back to Thomas. “There are many things I enjoy about me wife, Thomas. Her stubbornness be only one of the things I admire most about her. Her ability to judge a man’s character be another.”
His smile faded as he stared up at Thomas McGregor. “And even though I do agree with ye, that she is in fact a stubborn woman, I’ll kindly remind ye to hold yer tongue. Ye’ve no right to insult me wife or cast aspersions. Because ye’ve known each other fer such a long time, I’ll let it go,” he said as he let go of Moirra and took a step toward Thomas. “But just this once. This be yer only warnin’. I’ll no’ warn ye again.”
Thomas’ eyes grew wide and his mouth fell open, as if no one had ever had the audacity to speak to him in such a manner before. “Who the bloody hell do you think ye are to speak to me in such a manner?” Thomas asked angrily.
John smiled up at him, crossed his arms over his chest and spread his feet apart. “I be Moirra’s husband.”
* * *
Moirra stood behind John and watched as Thomas McGregor spat on the ground before turning his horse around and leaving in a huff. An overwhelming sense of pride and admiration for John filled her heart. None of her previous husbands had ever come to her defense before. ’Twasn’t as if men arrived on a daily basis to insult her, but there had been occasions over the years when one man or another had made reference to her stubborn attitude or blunt manner of speaking. Her previous husbands usually nodded their heads in agreement. It mattered not that the men were correct, it was the fact that they were insulting her and no one appeared to care.
John cared.
He stood there and stared Thomas McGregor down.
Moirra was certain that if it had come to blows, John would have beaten Thomas McGregor to a bloody pulp.
She would not read more into his comment about all the things he loved about her. Nay, he was simply playing a role, wasn’t he? Certain it was nothing more than that, she chose to ignore it. But his actions? His actions spoke louder than words ever could.
Any doubts she may have had about choosing this man as her husband were rapidly fading.
He was kind to her daughters, even when they were less than kind to him. He never raised his voice to any of them. He worked very hard in the fields and around their home, without complaint. He treated her and her daughters with nothing but respect and kindness.
And now, he stood up for her, letting Thomas McGregor know that he would not be allowed to just ride onto her lands and insult her. He’d done it with few words, without yelling or making any threats. But the promise was there. He’d not abide anyone insulting his wife.
While her heart pounded against her breastbone an odd sensation, something akin to butterflies taking flight, filled her stomach and spread to her fingers and toes. Pride? Admiration? Gratitude? Aye, she felt all those things … but she was feeling something else as well and for the life of her, she did not know what to make of it.
* * *
“Ye certainly did no’ exaggerate about the man’s arrogance,” John said as they watched Thomas tear across the hill.
Moirra took in a deep breath and shook her head. “Believe it or no’, he was actually well behaved this day, compared to how he oft behaves.”
John raised a brow. “In truth?”
Moirra nodded her head. “Aye, in truth,” she told him. “And in truth, he was actually a sweet boy when we were younger. At one time, I considered him a dear friend. But something happened to him and he changed.”
John studied her closely for a moment. “What happened?” He could not resist asking.
Moirra shrugged her shoulders. “Truly, I do no’ ken.”
John wondered if Moirra had any regrets over how things had turned out with Thomas. Did she ever miss the friendship she had shared with the man who had been her friend?
“It matters no’ anymore, John. I tried many a time to learn what happened, but he refused to tell me.”
He swallowed hard before asking the burning question. “Do ye miss his friendship?”
Moirra turned to look at him. “I’ll no’ lie to ye, John. Aye, I did at one time miss his friendship, but no longer. He’s changed too much. I fear he could never be the person he once was. Something ugly ate at his heart and I fear he no longer possesses one.”
John decided to leave the matter alone for now. He wondered however, what would happen to Moirra after their two-month handfast was over. Would she eventually end up with Thomas McGregor? Would the stress of being a single mother of four daughters become too much for her?
He pushed the thought aside for he knew he had no choice but to leave after the harvest. The last thing Moirra needed was to be permanently attached to a man like himself. She deserved better than Pillory John. Knowing that as fact did nothing to make him feel better.
Seven
“Mariote does no’ like to go into the woods alone,” Moirra explained to John over their morning meal. “Can ye go with her to help gather wood? I would go, but it be laundry day.”
The idea of going anywhere alone with Mariote made him uneasy. The young girl made no attempts to hide either her dislike or her distrust of him. He was trying to think of a way to get out of going when Orabilis chimed in.
“I want to go, too,” she said, her mouth filled with porridge.
“As long as ye promise no’ to wander off, I do no’ think John will mind.”
’Twas apparent that he had no say in the matter. At least with Orabilis tagging along, there would be someone to tell the tale of
how he was killed, should Mariote take a notion to slice his throat. Odd that he should find some measure of safety in the presence of a six-year-old child.
Mariote left no doubt as to her opinion. “Let him stay here and do the washing’,” she said as she glared at John, “and ye can go with us.”
Up to this point, Moirra had been as patient as she could with her oldest child. “Mariote!” Moirra said harshly. “That be enough and I’ll no’ argue it with ye further.”
Moirra’s tone of voice let anyone within earshot know that the subject was now closed for discussion.
The remainder of their meal was eaten in silence. John studied Mariote closely while she stared at her porridge. ’Twas more than anger he sensed from the girl. He also detected an underlying current of fear. He could not help but wonder if it was all men she feared or just him? There had to be a way for him to gain her trust, even if he were only here for a short time. Whether it was male pride or something else entirely, he found he did not want any of these girls, or their mother, to be frightened of him.
“Mariote?” John began, choosing his tone and words carefully. “I ken ye have a sgian dubh—”
She lifted her head so quickly he was surprised she didn’t break her own neck. “Aye, I do and ye can no’ have it!”
John held his hands up as if he meant to surrender. “Nay, I do no’ want yer sgian dubh, lass. I want to ken if ye’ve been taught how to use it properly.”
Her brow drew into a quizzical knot. “Are ye afraid I’ll gut ye when yer no’ lookin’?” she asked as she crossed her arms over her chest. Her tone and demeanor were meant to challenge him. John refused to take the bait.
“Truthfully?” he asked as he leaned back in his chair.
Mariote gave a curt nod.
“Aye, I do fear ye’d gut me if the mood struck ye. But that is no’ why I asked. If yer goin’ to stab me, or slice me throat, I’d like to make certain ye do it correctly.”
His statement piqued the curiosity of every female in the cottage. They all turned to look at him as if he’d lost his mind.
“Yer daft,” Mariote said.
John chuckled. “Aye, that be verra true lass. Still, ye’ve no’ answered me question. Do ye ken how to use yer sgian dubh correctly or no’?”
Uncomfortable silence filled the air.
“Ye see, if ye do no’ ken how to fell a man who means ye harm correctly and with great efficiency, then there be a chance that all ye’ll do is anger him further. If yer goin’ to carry a sgian dubh and use it fer yer own defense, then ye should ken how to use it properly.”
More deathly silence filled the small cottage. ’Twas as if every female in the room was holding their breath. Moirra, Mariote and Esa had gone pale.
“If ye’d like, I can teach ye — all of ye — to use it correctly. So ye can defend yerselves if necessary.”
John believed most women would be glad to learn how to defend themselves, especially someone in Moirra’s position, widowed with four young daughters. The reaction he received was astounding.
* * *
“Nay,” Moirra said, her voice nothing more than a whisper. She cleared her throat and began again. “Nay, John. I do no’ think that be a good idea.”
John stared back at her with a crinkled brow. “Mayhap if ye all could defend yerselves, Mariote wouldn’t be havin’ the bad dreams.”
His intentions had been heartfelt, Moirra knew that. Under different circumstances, she would have leapt at the opportunity. Images of that ugly night six months ago made her heart slam against her chest. Her palms turned clammy whilst her mouth had gone horribly dry. If he only kent the truth.
Mariote had the look of a girl about to faint. Moirra stood beside her and placed hands on her shoulders. “’Tis a noble intention ye have, but me daughters do ken how to defend themselves, John.”
Mariote trembled slightly, her eyes transfixed on the table. Moirra gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze while she tried to get her own trepidation under control.
“Verra well, then,” John said as he pushed away from the table.
Moirra was thankful that he had dropped the subject, though it did nothing to help her pounding heart. If he only kent the truth. Thankfully, he didn’t, for if he had, he would not be standing in her cottage at this very moment. The thought of him leaving left a heavy feeling in her stomach.
“As ye wish, Moirra,” his smile seemed forced. “Shall we go to gather wood now?”
Moments passed before Moirra nodded her head in agreement. “Mariote,” she said, trying to sound as if the conversation that had just passed had never happened. “Go now, with John and Orabilis.”
Mariote didn’t move. Moirra bent down and whispered into her ear. “All will be well, child.”
After a long moment, Mariote gave a barely perceptible nod and stood. Without saying a word, she left the cottage.
* * *
John watched as Mariote left the cottage. With sagging shoulders, she shuffled along. He thought she more resembled someone heading to the gallows than a young lass heading out to do chores.
Any lingering doubts he may have had about why this lass behaved so oddly vanished. Something had happened to Mariote, of that, he was certain. He also had a very good suspicion as to what that something was. Someone had hurt her. The details were of no import to him. Just knowing that someone had hurt any of these women made his blood boil. Even he, a renowned drunkard and ne’er-do-well had boundaries he would not cross. But the world was filled with men who thought nothing of taking what they wanted with no regard to rightness or wrongness.
There was more happening here in this tiny cottage than what Moirra was willing to share with him. Why she refused to allow him to teach either her or her daughters the proper way to use a sgian dubh in self-defense baffled him. One would think that she would have been grateful for the opportunity, especially in light of what he was certain had happened to Mariote.
The urge to demand to know the whole truth of the matter was close to overwhelming. He decided to leave things alone for now. Later, when he and Moirra were alone, he would somehow get the truth from her.
* * *
The forest from which they gathered wood was at least a half mile from the cottage, beyond a small hill to their west. Though Mariote’s eyes were open, John doubted she truly saw anything. Her mind was elsewhere. Were he a lesser man, he would have been thankful for her silence. Instead, he found himself wishing to do nothing more than to make her feel better.
Without knowing the full extent of what had exactly happened prior to his arrival, he was at a loss as to what to do. Something heavy weighed on her heart and made the otherwise blunt and acerbic girl, quiet and withdrawn.
John found himself wishing for the return of the blunt Mariote. Growing up without a mother and being the third son to a less than cheerful father, John had learned early how to deal with anger, biting words, insults and the like. Those kinds of people, the angry, harsh people, were far easier to deal with. He knew what to expect from people of that ilk.
But what to do with a wee girl of ten and four? One who had been injured, more likely than not by a whoreson of a man. He was at a loss.
He searched his mind and tried to remember what it was like to be that young. An immense sense of loneliness washed over him. Aye, he had been a very lonely child, left to his own devices, and in general, simply ignored. It was not so long ago that he could not remember wishing that his mother still lived. A mother, he had concluded, would have been someone he could have confided in, someone who would have come to his defense when his father was in one of his particularly angry moods. Mayhap Mariote missed her father and longed for the same things John had longed for in his youth.
While John mulled the situation over and thought of a way to speak to Mariote, Orabilis skipped along the path. The child was oblivious to her sister’s pain as she chattered on about a mongrel dog that oft visited their little farm. John figured it was probably best the chil
d was unaware. They certainly didn’t need two lasses keeping everyone up at night with bad dreams.
“Mariote and Esa do no’ believe me about the dog,” Orabilis said as she stopped before a rock. She hopped over the pebble as if it were the size of a boulder. “But me and Muriale have seen it.”
Mariote remained silent, chewing on her bottom lip.
“Tell me, Orabilis,” John said with a cheerful voice. “What does this mongrel dog of yers look like?”
“He’s verra big!” she exclaimed happily. “He is taller than me and Muriale. At first, we were ascared of him, but we fed him a rabbit we caught in our snares and he wasna so mean lookin’ anymore.”
John doubted the dog was as big as the child declared. He also didn’t like the sound of two little girls feeding a strange dog. What if they happened upon it again without any food? “Orabilis, do ye always feed the dog?”
She shook her head and leapt over another imaginary boulder. “Nay, but he likes us anyway.”
The revelation did nothing to quell his worry. “And where do ye see this dog? Does he come to the cottage?”
Orabilis shrugged her shoulders. “Sometimes. But usually we see him near the glen.”
“Where the sheep are?”
She nodded her head in affirmation. “Aye, but he doesna hurt the sheep. He just sits and watches them.”
The last bit of information caught Mariote’s attention. She came to an abrupt halt and asked, “Orabilis, what color is this dog?”
John had the sense that Mariote was thinking along the same lines as he.
Orabilis continued to skip a long. “Black,” she said. “And he has one white foot.”
“Does he have a long snout or a short, smushed in sort of face?” John asked.
“Long,” Orabilis said.
Mariote stood taller and cast a look at John. “Does he have long hair or short?”
Moirra's Heart Series: The Complete Collection ( Moirra's Heart Series: The Complete Collection (The Moirra's Heart Series Book 3)) Page 6
