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 stepped out of the room, found a spare blanket amongst items people had left the night before. Carefully, he draped it over Orabilis and breathed a sigh of relief when Wulver lifted his head and looked at him. He sent a silent prayer up to God before leaving the barn.

  Smoke from their destroyed cottage still lingered in the crisp morning air. Morning dew immediately formed on his skin making him shiver. For now, the fire pit Moirra used to do laundry would have to suffice as a makeshift kitchen. Soon, Alysander had a nice fire going and water heating.

  He was able to find a few cooking pots inside the rubble of the burned out cottage. After scouring them thoroughly, they were as good as new. Going through some of the foodstuffs neighbors had thoughtfully brought to them last night, he set about making breakfast for his women. The smell of eggs and sausage frying made its way to the barn and he soon heard the women within shuffling around and readying themselves for the day ahead.

  Moirra appeared in the doorway of the barn, looking every bit as beautiful as Aphrodite herself. Her hair was mussed and fell down her back in loose waves, still looking quite sleepy as she yawned and pulled her shawl around her shoulders. Her eyes searched the yard, and when they fell upon Alysander, a most brilliant smile came to her face. His heart slammed against his chest, his manhood twitched and his mouth went dry. God’s teeth the woman is magnificent.

  “Good morn to ye, husband,” she said as she crossed the yard, the smile growing with each step she took.

  Alysander swallowed hard as he fought the urge to take her back inside and make love to her again and again.

  “Good morn—” his voice caught in his throat. He cleared it and tried again. “Good morn to ye, wife,” he said with a smile.

  Moirra came to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. “I didna like wakin’ up alone,” she said against his chest. He placed a gentle kiss on the top of her head and returned her hug.

  “But I did like wakin’ up to the smell of eggs and sausage,” she said as she pulled away. Looking into his eyes, she continued to smile. God above, he would never tire of looking at that smile.

  “I do believe I told ye once that I know how to cook,” he reminded her.

  “Aye, and ye do yer own laundry as well,” she said playfully. “A man who cooks and cleans without complaint makes me heart go all aflutter. And it makes me want to take ye back up to the loft and have my way with ye.”

  He swallowed again and was about to tell her she could do that anytime she wished when the sound of approaching horses drew his attention away.

  Instinct warned that ’twasn’t a social call that brought the five mounted men into Moirra’s yard. The two whoresons who had tried to attack Mariote, along with three men Alysander had never seen before, came bounding down the small incline and pulled their horses to a stop.

  Alysander heard Moirra’s gasp as she stood behind him. It was quickly followed by a flurry of activity inside the barn. Alysander could only assume the girls were either taking up arms or were planning to hide. Knowing him as they did, he imagined it was the former.

  A thin man, very much resembling a weasel with unusually large ears, brought his horse to within a few feet of Moirra’s door. His gray brown beard hung to the middle of his chest, while his hair was cut very close to his scalp. A hawkish nose sat between a pair of beady eyes. The hair on Alysander’s nape stood up. Instantly, he did not like the man who stared down at him as if Alysander were some disgusting creature.

  “I see ye hidin’, Moirra Wilgart,” the man said, looking and sounding perturbed.

  Moirra huffed and came to stand beside Alysander. “Me name is Moirra McCallum.”

  The man huffed derisively and shook his head. “Be this yer latest victim?” he asked, referring to Alysander.

  Moirra started to give the man a piece of her mind, but Alysander stopped her by placing a hand on her shoulder. “Who are ye?”

  “I be Moirra’s brother-in-law, Almer Wilgart.”

  “Ye are no’ me brother-in-law,” Moirra ground out.

  “Ye were married to me brother,” Almer said through gritted teeth.

  “Nay! I was no’. ’Twas a handfastin’ and ye ken it as well as anyone else.” She looked then to Alysander. “This is the Sheriff of Glenkirby, and aye, he is Delmar Wilgart’s brother.”

  Alysander never took an eye from any of the men. He gave a slight nod as if he understood completely — which he did not — before asking why they were here.

  “I’ve come to arrest Moirra for the murder of me brother, Delmar Wilgart.”

  One

  Pushing Moirra behind him, Alysander stood to his full height. With his jaw clenched, anger boiled. “What the bloody hell do ye mean ye’ve come to arrest her?” Questions abounded, blended with his anger that anyone would so unjustly accuse his wife of such an atrocity as murder. ’Twas enough to make his head spin.

  The sheriff was unmoved by Alysander’s display of protection. He gave a nod to his men who immediately dismounted. “Me brother’s body, or what was left of it, was found last eve.”

  “What evidence do ye have that me wife killed him?” Alysander challenged, as he kept a close watch on the men who were slowly approaching.

  The sheriff grunted his displeasure at having anyone question his authority. “I dunna need any bloody evidence. I ken she killed him.”

  Alysander knew he was sorely outnumbered and being unarmed did not help his situation. Still, that knowledge did nothing to quell the instinct to protect his wife. When the first man reached out to grab Moirra, Alysander’s fury erupted. He swung out, his fist landing hard on the man’s jaw. The man stumbled backward, his eyes wide with stunned surprise.

  In the blink of an eye, Alysander was fighting with such ferocity and fury, that he was able to land several punches into the faces and stomachs of the other men. But soon, they had overpowered him and wrestled him to the ground. The girls stood frozen in fear just inside the barn, looks of horror on their faces. Moirra and the girls screamed when the sheriff’s men began beating Alysander to a bloody mess.

  “Stop!” Moirra called out, momentarily frozen in place so gripped with fear she could not move. “Stop! Yer killin’ him!”

  The girls raced from the barn, anger alight in their eyes and sgian dubhs drawn and at the ready. “Nay!” Moirra screamed at her daughters. “Nay!”

  Mariote and her sisters came to an abrupt halt, just steps away from the pile of men. Orabilis apparently hadn’t heard the order to yield for she stepped forward and kicked one of the men, her boot landing against the man’s ear. Esa wrapped both arms around her littlest sister and pulled her away.

  “Almer!” Moirra shouted as she lunged toward the men, pounding against their backs with her fists. “Make them stop!”

  One of the men rolled Moirra off his back with a shrug of his shoulders. She lay on her back, covered in sweat and out of breath. Her daughters rushed to her aid, kneeling beside her. Moirra continued to beg for mercy on Alysander’s behalf, tears streaming down her face.

  When her words went unheeded, she looked up to Almer. “I’ll go with ye, Almer!” she screamed. “Just tell them to stop!”

  A triumphant and arrogant smile formed on Almer’s face before he called his men to stop. “That be enough,” he shouted.

  The men stood, faces and tunics covered in blood, much of it belonging to Alysander but some of it their own. Moirra knelt down to look at Alysander. His lips were cut and bleeding, both eyes were beginning to swell shut, and bruises covered his face. “Alysander!” she whispered.

  He tried to sit, but couldn’t. His ribs hurt with each breath he took. “Moirra,” he said as he reached for her hand.

  Two men grabbed Moirra by her arms and pulled her to her feet.

  “Moirra,” Alysander called out to her. “Moirra!”

  The last thing he saw before blackness enveloped him, were the tears streaming down Moirra’s face as the sheriff and his men hauled her away.

 
; * * *

  Moirra’s daughters begged and pleaded for her not to go. They pulled at her skirts, chasing the sheriff and his men down the road. Orabilis let loose with a slew of curses that would have made Alysander quite proud were he not currently unconscious. Without horses or weapons there was very little they could do for their mum.

  Grief-stricken they returned to Alysander, falling to their knees beside him. Mariote gave a quick assessment and immediately took charge of the situation.

  “Esa, fetch water and bandages,” Mariote told her as she lifted Alysander’s head into her lap. “Muriale and Orabilis, bring blankets and a pillow.”

  Alysander groaned as he struggled to sit. “Wheest, Da,” Mariote whispered. “Do no’ try to move yet.”

  Had Alysander not felt as though he’d been kicked repeatedly in the chest by an angry stallion, he may have taken some delight in hearing Mariote call him Da. He was in far too much pain at that moment for much of anything to make sense.

  He floated in and out of awareness as he had the vague sense that he was being drug into the barn, of being rolled into the bed he shared with Moirra.

  Moirra.

  He had to help her, had to get her away from the sheriff. Why on earth had they accused Moirra of murder? Was this Almer Wilgart fellow so filled with hatred and deceit that he’d accuse an innocent woman? There was no time to figure it all out now. He had to get to Moirra.

  * * *

  Soon, Mariote was washing away blood from his face and hands. Muriale carefully covered him with a blanket and sat down on the ground beside him.

  “What do we do now?” Esa asked to no one in particular.

  Mariote had few answers at the moment. Her first priority was to tend to Alysander’s wounds. After that task was completed, then she could focus on how to get her mother back.

  “How did they find his body?” Muriale asked, looking to her oldest sister for answers.

  Mariote went pale before she shushed her sister. Muriale rolled her eyes in frustration. “We need to tell Alysander the truth, Mariote. There be no hidin’ it now.”

  Alysander mumbled incoherently as he struggled to sit. “Alysander,” Mariote whispered soothingly. “Please, I beg ye to no’ move yet.”

  He cursed under his breath right before his head fell back against the pillow.

  “I say we get swords and kill the sheriff,” Orabilis said. “If we had swords, we could get mum back.”

  Her sisters sighed and shook their heads at their naive six-year-old sister. “Orabilis,” Esa said as she patted the child on her head, “The four of us can no’ go up against the sheriff and all his men.”

  Orabilis drew her brows inward, looking quite disappointed in her sisters. “I hate the sheriff and his men.”

  Her statement drew no argument from her sisters.

  Mariote finished washing Alysander’s cuts and scrapes as best she could. “We need Deirdre,” she said as she looked up at Muriale. “I do no’ ken how badly he’s hurt.”

  Muriale gave a nod of her head and pushed herself to her feet. “Esa, come with me,” she said as she headed toward the barn.

  “Where are ye goin’?” Orabilis asked.

  “To saddle Alysander’s horse. ’Twill be faster to ride to Deirdre’s than to walk.”

  * * *

  It took some effort, but eventually, Muriale and Esa had the Highland pony saddled and were on their way.

  “What do we do now?” Orabilis asked as she and Mariote sat on little stools and stared at the large man before them.

  Mariote wanted to scream that she didn’t know. Just because she was the oldest did not mean she had all the answers to all the world’s problems. She felt quite lost at the moment. Though she was quite certain Alysander would survive the beating he’d suffered at the hands of Almer Wilgart’s men, she was not certain her mother would survive whatever hell the sheriff and his men were sure to put her through. Her heart ached with the realization that this was all her own fault.

  Tears stung at her eyes. Turning away to hide her shame, she swiped at her cheeks. Orabilis was soon beside her, wrapping her little arms around Mariote’s shoulders. “Mum will be well,” the little girl said softly. “Ye’ll see, Mariote.”

  Mariote knew that her sister meant well. Deep down however, Mariote knew that when it was all said and done, none of them would ever be well again.

  Two

  Not more than an hour passed before Alysander finally began to regain his senses. He woke with a start, bolted upright in the bed and instantly regretted doing so. His head swam, his face ached, and his tongue felt as though it were made of wool.

  Mariote offered him a tankard of cool cider which he drank greedily.

  “What the bloody hell happened?” Alysander asked as he tried to shake the cobwebs from his head.

  Mariote quickly recounted the events of the morning. Tears fell away from her chin as she explained to him what had happened.

  Alysander’s memory began to return as Mariote spoke. Along with the memories came anger.

  “Why on earth does the sheriff think yer mum killed Delmar?” Alysander asked, his head spinning.

  Mariote chewed at her bottom lip as she glanced at her little sister who was sitting on the floor next to her dog.

  Alysander immediately picked up on Mariote’s reluctance. He took a deep breath, placed his palms on his knees and forced himself to stand. Mariote was beside him almost instantly, wrapping an arm around his waist to keep him from falling. “Ye need to rest,” she chastised him.

  “Nay,” Alysander ground out. “I need answers.”

  Mariote let loose a frustrated breath.

  “Orabilis,” Alysander said. “Stay with yer pup. I need yer sister’s help.” Without waiting for an answer or comment from either girl, Alysander made his way out of the barn and toward the cottage, with Mariote’s assistance.

  Standing near the remnants of their burned out cottage, Alysander let go of Mariote and leaned against one of the remaining stone walls. “I will ask ye again why the sheriff thinks yer mum killed Delmar.” Alysander spoke with a calmness that belied how he truly felt. “And I’ll have nothin’ but the truth, Mariote.”

  Mariote chewed on her lip again as she twisted her fingers together nervously. “Mum didna kill him,” she said.

  Alysander believed she told the truth, but his gut warned that there was much more Mariote needed to tell him. The pounding in his head increased, but he pushed the pain aside and waited patiently for Mariote to continue. When she was silent for too long, he sighed frustratingly. “Mariote,” he said impatiently. “Do no’ tarry! I need the truth, lass, and I need it now, or else I’ll no’ be able to help yer mum.”

  ’Twas a secret that had plagued her for months now, a secret that ate her from the inside out. She could no longer hold it in, keep it all inside. Tears streamed down her cheeks and trailed their way down her neck. “Mum didna kill Delmar,” she repeated. The words were lodged in her throat, so much so that she felt if she didn’t get them out, they’d strangle her.

  Sobbing and feeling quite sick to her stomach she choked the words free. “Muriale did.”

  * * *

  Muriale? Muriale killed Delmar? Alysander could not believe what he had just heard.

  It all came pouring out of Mariote then, in a flood of tears and torment. “’Twas last winter. Orabilis was ill and mum was takin’ care of her. She was so verra sick and we didna think she would survive much longer. Her fevers were ragin’ somethin’ fierce. I went to the barn, to feed the cow, and to pray.” Mariote wiped her tears on the sleeve of her dress and took a deep breath before speaking again.

  “I did no’ like Delmar. I couldna quite say why I did no’ like him, but there was somethin’ about the man I did no’ like and I did no’ trust him. He was always lookin’ at me oddly.” Mariote cleared her throat and took another deep breath. “I did no’ hear him come up behind me. One moment I’m feedin’ the cow, the next thing I ken, he’s
got his hand over me mouth and he’s pullin’ me into the stall. I tried to fight him, I did! I kicked and scratched and bit, but it only angered him. He slapped me so hard across me face that I lost a tooth!”

  Mariote shuddered at the memory. The overwhelming sense of helplessness she felt that night came washing over her again and ’twas all she could do not to fall to the ground in a crying heap. “He was goin’ to rape me. I could no’ move, could no’ scream, he had me pinned. The next thing I know, Muriale was there, plungin’ her sgian dubh into his back, again and again and again! There was blood everywhere.”

  Mariote’s shoulders wracked as she sobbed. “He was dead. Muriale killed him because he was tryin’ to rape me.”

  * * *

  Alysander stood momentarily dumbfounded by the news. The agony etched in Mariote’s face, the tears that fell like the harshest Highland rains, made his heart feel tight in his chest. He went to her, as best as he could, and wrapped an arm around her. She fell against his chest, sobbing uncontrollably.

  “Wheesht, lass, wheesht,” he whispered.

  His mind was a whirlwind, racing from one thought to the next. How could sweet, tiny Muriale kill a man? Alysander reckoned that even the smallest of individuals could find the strength necessary to complete acts of untold bravery when necessary. He was torn between feeling both shocked and proud of the eleven-year-old girl.

  “I must get to Glenkirby,” Alysander told Mariote. “But I do no’ want to leave ye and yer sisters alone.”