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

by Suzan Tisdale

  He wanted Moirra, with all that he was. It sickened him that he was so besotted with her that he had been willing to lie to the rest of the world in order to have her. Now that her daughters knew his real name and how they had met, his heart felt lighter. Still, he worried that once they brought in the crops, Moirra would not wish to keep him around any longer.

  Alysander’s feelings for Moirra went beyond simple physical desire. Nay, what he felt for her was real, deep, even if it unsettled him. The more he tried to make sense of it all, the more befuddled he felt. He also felt like seven kinds a coward for being so terrified of telling her what was in his heart. He knew not what he was most afraid of — Moirra not being able to return the feelings or Moirra saying the words he longed to hear.

  If she loved him, what then? What could he offer her? What could he offer her children? How would he be able to provide for a family? They were barely eking out an existence as it was. And now their tiny cottage lay in a pile of rubble and they were living in a barn.

  And what if she learned the truth about him, about his past? Would she still be able to love him? Would she still look upon him with admiration and pride? Or would she bid him farewell and make him leave immediately.

  ’Twas the not knowing that was the hardest part. The last words his father spoke to him echoed in his mind and made his heart ache with guilt.

  “Alysander?” ’Twas Moirra’s sweet voice whispering to him. “Are ye well?”

  He hadn’t heard her come down the ladder for he had been so lost in his own thoughts and misery. Holding tightly to her shawl, she made her way to stand beside him. She shivered as the cool night air caressed her skin and drew her shawl more tightly around her shoulders. She may have been cold, but Alysander’s blood was heated with desire and need, and not by just what her body could offer his. He wanted more.

  He closed the distance between them in one long stride and wrapped her in his arms as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Moirra,” he whispered, his voice catching. With his heart lodged firmly in his throat, there was scarce enough room for a breath, let alone to speak her name.

  “Alysander,” she whispered as she tried to pull away. He would not let her.

  “Moirra,” he said her name again, letting it hang in the air as he struggled to gather his wits. There was so much he wanted to say, to tell her and he did not know where to start.

  “Alysander?” she said softly.

  He held her tighter, inhaling deeply as he shook his head against her. “Moirra, I,” he stopped, swallowed hard and tried again. “Moirra, there is much we need to discuss this night.”

  She stiffened in his arms and he could feel the unease envelop her. Unsure why she responded in such a manner, he pulled away slightly so that he could see her and hope to gain a better understanding. She looked fearful and uncertain, her eyes growing damp.

  “Moirra, why do ye weep?”

  She raised her chin and looked angry. “I’m no’ weeping.”

  Alysander loved her fierceness and independent nature and could not stop the smile her ferocity brought to his lips. “Fine. Yer no’ weepin’. Must be the smoke left from the fire that burns yer eyes,” he said playfully before placing a kiss on her forehead.

  Moirra cast him a look that told him she did not appreciate his sense of humor.

  Gently, he took her hands in his, curling his big, calloused fingers around her slender ones, and brought them to his lips. She softened, her eyes glistening in the candlelight, her ire rapidly fading away. Alysander was glad to see her shoulders sag with relief and her eyes fill with what he hoped was adoration.

  Without saying a word, he drew her down to the bed to sit beside him. When Moirra’s fingers went to the laces of her dress, he stopped her. “Nay,” he said. “No’ yet, Moirra.”

  Even in the semi darkness he could see her frown.

  “I want to talk with ye first. ’Tis important that I do.”

  Again she stiffened, throwing her shoulders back as if she were bracing herself for something. He felt his courage begin to wane, so he took in a deep breath to still his nerves.

  “Moirra,” he said, taking her hands in his once again. “I want ye to ken what is in me heart this night. I’ve tried showin’ ye with my touch, our loving. But I need ye to hear the words.”

  She cocked her head to one side as her brow knitted. A moment passed before she gave a slight nod of her head that bade him to continue.

  He knew his hands shook but there was naught to be done for it. Had he been standing, he reckoned his knees would have knocked together as well. Moirra gave his hands a gentle squeeze as if to say all would be well. Alysander took in a deep cleansing breath and let it out in a rush.

  “Moirra, there is much of me ye dunna ken,” he began. She started to offer some protest but he placed a finger against her lips. “Nay, please. I fear if I do no’ say it all, I’ll lose me courage, and truly, I need to tell ye.” He waited for her affirmation that she understood before he continued.

  “My name is Alysander McCullum. I am the third son of Laird and chief Corwin McCullum of clan McCullum, near Inverness.” He saw no hint of recognition in her eyes and felt some measure of relief. He’d rather she hear what he had to say from his lips than from the rumors that oft ran rampant in the Highlands. “Before I met ye, I was a drunk. A very good drunk. I fear ’twas me only real talent in life. I was no’ a mean drunk,” he said with a wan smile. “Just a very lazy one” he said, as if that truly made any difference.

  “Me mum died when I was just a boy of six, in childbed birthin’ me young brother, Hugh. I barely remember me mum.” Even he could hear the sense of longing in his voice. He was not telling her these things to gain her pity, but because he felt she needed to know the whole of it in order for anything to make sense.

  “Me da, well, he was more interested in me older brothers than he was me. He also had a special fondness fer Hugh. I do no’ ken why he never cared much fer me, but he didn’t, and I suppose in the grand scheme of things, it doesna matter. I was left to me own devices, raised more by our cook than me da. ’Tis hard for a lad to grow up knowin’ full well his da doesna like him. I took that pain into me older years and tried to drink it away. It didna work.” Guilt for wasting so many years hiding in the bottle settled around his heart. “The drink, it clouded me mind and me judgment and made me do things I be no’ proud of, Moirra.” He glanced down at her. Instead of pity, he only saw confusion looking back at him.

  “Last year, right before winter set in, I took Hugh with me into Inverness. I should no’ have taken him with me, but he pleaded.” He humphed slightly and shook his head. “I fear none of us could tell him nay. He was such a good lad, Moirra. Ye would have liked him verra much.” His voice caught again in his throat.

  “Was?” Moirra asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

  Alysander nodded. “Aye. I killed him, Moirra.”

  Moirra let out a faint gasp as her eyes widened in disbelief. “Nay,” she said, unable to believe what he had just said.

  Alysander ran his hands through his hair and let out a frustrated sigh. “I was no’ the one who ran the dirk into his heart, Moirra, but his death lies in me hands just the same.”

  Moirra could not only see the pain in his face, she could feel it in every word he spoke. Her heart ached for him. Placing a palm on his cheek, she said, “Alysander, what happened?”

  He turned away from her then, too ashamed she assumed, to look her in the eye. Moments passed by slowly. She watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down several times as if he were choking on guilt.

  “As was me way, I got so into me cups I could no’ have found me arse with both hands and help. Hugh was well on his way too.” He swallowed hard again. “He was just a lad of three and twenty, Moirra. He had his whole life ahead of him. If I hadn’t been so drunk, I could have stopped him.”

  Moirra’s brow furrowed. “Stopped him from what?”

  “We were at a tave
rn. There were local men there, men I’d seen before, but never spoken to. Hugh took a liking to one of the tavern wenches. Apparently one of those men had a fondness fer her as well. I do no’ remember much, but I remember Hugh standin’ up so fast he knocked his chair over and knocked the man on his arse. The next thing I know, someone has shoved a dirk into Hugh’s heart and he lay dyin’ in me arms.”

  Moirra learned several things in the past moments. One, her husband’s age, which in and of itself was not so important. She also learned that he had at some point in the past months given up drink because she’d never seen him drink anything stronger than cider. She also learned that he was a flawed man who felt and loved deeply. So deeply that he felt it was his fault his brother was dead.

  “Alysander,” she whispered. When he did not look at her, she crawled over and sat in front of him. Placing a palm on each cheek, she forced him to look at her. His eyes were damp, filled with guilt and pain. “I do no’ understand why ye blame yerself. Hugh was no’ a mere lad. He was a man full-grown at three at twenty. Most men are married with two or three bairns by that age. He was fully capable of making his own decisions. What happened that night is not your fault.”

  He looked as though she had just slapped him. “Ye dunna understand, Moirra. I was the older brother. It was my job to look out for him. I was supposed to protect him. Instead, I was so drunk I could do nothing to stop him from dyin’. I was a coward.”

  Moirra stared at him with wide eyes and open mouth. “Ye are no’ a coward!” she seethed. “Why would ye say such a thing?”

  “Because it be the truth. Me da has cast me out of the clan. I be an outcast. I brought shame to our kin and clan. Had I not allowed Hugh to go with me that night, he’d still be alive.”

  Moirra could not believe what she was hearing. His father, his family blamed him for Hugh’s death? She could stomach no more. “Nay,” she said firmly. “Ye say ye don’t remember all of it, Alysander. From what ye tell me he threw the first punch, no’ ye and no’ the other man.” She thought for a moment before asking her next question. “Was Hugh an even tempered man? Or was he quick to anger?”

  Alysander looked at her, his expression filled with confusion. “What do ye mean? Are ye sayin’ it be his own fault?”

  Moirra shook her head. “Nay, I am not,” she said, knowing full well that if she were to say anything bad about his brother, Alysander would likely never forgive her.

  “Then what are ye sayin’?” he asked through gritted teeth.

  She sighed heavily. “I’m sayin’ that I do no’ blame ye and ye shouldn’t blame yerself. ’Twas a horrible accident, a fight that ended badly. I ken yer heart breaks, Alysander, and I would do anything to take that hurt away from ye. But if ye thought I would agree and say yer a coward or a drunk or anything else bad about ye, then ye be wrong. I find no fault in ye, Alysander. No fault at all.”

  Alysander was stunned. He had been so certain that she would turn away from him, blame him like every other person in his life had.

  Instead, she offered him solace and comfort. Warmth seemed to glow all around her. His heart felt near to exploding in his chest. He had told her all, and she still looked at him with adoration.

  “I do no’ deserve ye, Moirra. ’Tis a certainty I do no’.”

  She cast him a look that said she thought him daft.

  Carefully, almost reverently, he placed his palms on her cheeks and rested his forehead against hers. “I thought ye’d hate me when ye learned the truth.”

  “Nay, Alysander, I could never hate ye fer somethin’ that be no’ yer fault.” She stopped his protest with a gentle kiss. “Please, Alysander, do no’ blame yerself any longer. I care no’ what ye did or did no’ do before I met ye. ’Tis no’ important to me. I care for the man ye are now. And ye be a good man, Alysander McCullum.”

  The last time Alysander McCullum had cried, was when his brother lay dying in his arms. Before that, he’d been nine years old and had fallen out of a tree and broken his arm. He was not a man who gave in easily to what would be considered tender feelings. Nay, he had spent many years hiding his feelings so deep that he believed he no longer possessed any.

  But to hear this beautiful woman tell him he was a good man? It was nearly too much for his heart to bear. Throwing himself headlong into the wind, he could no longer hold back the overwhelming tide of emotions.

  “Moirra,” he whispered. “As God is my witness, I’ve never felt at home anywhere but here.” Unable to contain his feelings any longer, he pulled her into his arms as tightly as he could. His words fell from his mouth as quickly as the waterfalls in the mountains. “I love ye Moirra. God help me, I canna stop it. I want more than yer body this night, I want yer heart as well. I know I be a greedy bastard for wantin’ such a thing, but I fear I cannot help meself, I want it all the same. As much as a starvin’ man wants food, I want ye. All of ye.”

  * * *

  He loved her?

  Moirra was filled with uncertainty. Oh, how many years, how many husbands had she gone through, yearning, aching to hear such sweet words come from a man’s mouth? And now that it was here, that sweet, longed for moment, she knew not what to do or say. Words were lodged firmly in her throat. Why did she feel so afraid?

  She’d lost three husbands, two of which she was rather fond. The third, he counted not.

  But Alysander? If she lost him, she knew in her heart that she’d not survive it. If she gave in to what she truly felt and something happened … the thought made her tremble with trepidation.

  “Moirra,” Alysander whispered, his voice filled with unease. “’Tis all right if ye do no’ feel the same, lass.”

  She knew it was a lie.

  “Alysander,” she began, at a loss for words. So overcome with a variety of emotions she did not know which one to answer to first.

  “Wheest,” he said woefully. “Do no’ give me the words unless ye mean them. I could no’ bear to have ye say that which ye do no’ mean.”

  Moments passed before she was able to speak. “Alysander, I do care for ye. Far more than I ever wanted to.”

  He sensed there was more she wanted to say but was fearful of saying it. His heart began to shatter, making his chest feel as though a large boulder had fell upon it. “But ye do no’ or canna love me.” Bile rose, blending with shame and sorrow.

  “I am afraid,” she whispered, choking back tears. “I am so verra, verra afraid.”

  Did she fear him? His pride was threadbare, just enough remaining to ask “Are ye afraid of me? That I’d hurt ye like I did me brother?”

  “Nay!” she exclaimed. “Nay, I ken ye’d never hurt me, Alysander, of that, I have no doubt.”

  He felt a glimmer of hope come to his heart. “What do ye fear then?”

  “I fear losin’ ye like I did me other husbands.”

  Alysander pulled away and looked into her eyes. “Ye fear me dyin’?” He could not mask his surprise.

  Tears fell from her lids, rolling down her cheeks as she nodded an affirmation.

  “Och! But lass, I have no plans to be dyin’ any time soon,” he gave her a warm smile and a kiss on her nose.

  “I couldn’t bear it, Alysander,” she told him. “My heart would not be able to keep beating.”

  The boulder was instantaneously lifted off his chest and he felt his heart beating again. “Does that mean ye do love me, lass?”

  Moirra swallowed hard before answering. “Ye are a thief, Alysander McCullum, fer tis a certainty ye stole me heart. Aye, I love ye. But I swear to ye, Alysander McCullum, that if ye die before me, I’ll hate ye all the rest of me days!”

  For my readers. You’re the reason I keep at this exciting yet often insane job of mine.

  I thank you all.

  Hugs,

  Suzan

  (The Cheeky Wench)

  Prologue to Saving Moirra’s Heart

  Alysander woke at dawn with Moirra’s bottom snuggled into his groin. ’Twas surely heaven on eart
h to wake with her in his arms and not have to lie or pretend anymore. Tenderly, with an arm wrapped protectively around her stomach, he pulled her closer, doing his best not to disturb her slumber. Yesterday had been an exhausting one, what with the wolves that had attacked Muriale and Orabilis and the fire that destroyed their little home.

  The air in the barn was crisp and smelled of straw and lavender — his wife’s favorite scent. He inhaled deeply with the intent to calm his ardor. It was a mistake. Though they had made love twice last night, having her so close to him and knowing he no longer had to hide his feelings for her, well, that just made him want her all the more. As much as he wanted to roll her over and kiss every square inch of her body, he decided to let her sleep. Knowing that they had long days ahead, she would need her rest.

  His heart felt much lighter now that their daughters knew the truth. Aye, they were his daughters now, no matter what blood might run through their veins and he’d defy anyone to tell him different. His daughters were in the loft, undoubtedly still asleep in the makeshift quarters. Alysander looked forward to rebuilding the cottage and getting everyone out of the barn. On top of having to build a new cottage, they would also need to begin the harvest in a few days.

  For the tiniest moment, he thought of reaching out to his father for help, but quickly dismissed the idea. Nay, his father would be of no help to him, for he still blamed the death of his favorite son on his least favorite son — Alysander. He had no doubt the man would let him starve to death before he lifted a finger to help him. He also knew it wouldn’t matter one bit that he had turned his life around, had married, and was now the proud father of four beautiful girls.

  With a sigh of resignation, he pulled the blankets up around his wife’s shoulders, and quietly rolled away. He pulled on tunic and trews, laced up his boots, and stepped away from the bed. He had taken no more than two steps away when he caught sight of Orabilis. The child was curled into a ball on the pallet next to Wulver, with one hand resting on the dog’s neck. Aye, she was a stubborn child but he could not blame her for wanting to care for the dog that had saved her life, as well as her sister’s.