Page 30 of Highland Fire

She was savoring the tingling vestiges of her release, enjoying the way Tavig lethargically stroked her body and nuzzled her neck, when she recalled what had been going on just before she fell asleep. A cry of horror escaped her, and she pushed Tavig away. Sitting up, she clutched a blanket to her chest and looked around.

“Where is everyone?” she asked, ignoring Tavig’s muttered curses as he brushed dirt and leaves off his backside.

“Did ye think I would be loving ye with a dozen men looking on?” he asked and laughed, shaking his head.

“Weel, nay, I didnae really think that.” She shrugged, smiling at him. “I dinnae ken what I was thinking. I just suddenly recalled that there had been a crowd of people here when I fell asleep. Where did they go?”

“Back to Colin’s keep. We met up with them because they had been chasing some Craigmoordun men back home. The same lot of men who nearly rode over that child.” He tossed her her clothes, then began to dress.

“I was afraid he would take ye back to your cousin Iver.” She slipped on her chemise.

“Aye, so was I for a moment. Old Colin was a wee bit tempted, but he couldnae stomach dealing with Iver. ’Tis the first time my cousin’s blackheartedness has done me some good. A shame we couldnae get a horse, though.”

“Weel, we are half the way there.”

“And we have even more food plus an extra blanket,” he said, standing and pointing to their new supplies. “I will make some porridge, lass. We dinnae want to linger here too long.”

Groaning inwardly, Moira finished dressing and packed up their bedding. She dreaded another day of walking, but consoled herself with the fact that she now had shoes. The woman in Craigmoordun had judged her size almost exactly, and the shoes were soft and comfortable. Moira hoped they would continue to suit her after she had walked a few miles.

“We will reach a village by day’s end,” Tavig said as Moira sat down to eat.

“How can ye even think of going into another village?” she asked, accepting the bowl of porridge he served her.

“We will be safe in this one.”

“Ye must have thought we would be safe in the last one or ye never would have entered it.”

“Aye, but I didnae ken any of the people there. I have a friend or two in the next village.”

Taking the waterskin he held out to her, she washed down the porridge then frowned at him. “These friends will ken who ye are. If Old Colin has heard that ye are accused of murder and your cousin Iver is offering a goodly sum of coin for your capture, then the people in this village will have heard about it, too. Old Colin said the ransom offered for you sorely tempted him. Dinnae ye think it will tempt some of the people in the village?”

“Nay. Ye need not worry about that, loving.”

“Ye cannae believe that. I wasnae suggesting that your friends would betray you, but that some of the villagers may do so. Unless—do ye plan to creep into the village to seek your friends’ aid?”

“I shall march into the village as boldly as I did into Craigmoordun.”

“Aye, and look what that gained us. Ye are mad.” Moira could not believe Tavig would act so foolishly, not when it could risk both their lives, and she began to eye him with suspicion. “Or ye are teasing me.”

Tavig laughed, leaning over to kiss her cheek. “Aye, I tease you. I do have friends in the village, but they dinnae ken me as Tavig MacAlpin.”

“Oh, ye arenae going to don that wretched disguise again. Are ye?”

“Wretched? I thought I made a verra fine George Fraser.”

“Aye, until it rained. It rains a lot in Scotland.”

“True enough. Nay, no disguises. To the friends we will meet at the end of this day’s journey in the wee village of Dalnasith, I am Tomas de Mornay, the bastard son of a fine Scottish warrior and a wee French maiden. A small reminder of his glorious battles against the English in France. For a long time I have kenned that my cousin Iver has sought to harm me. Over the last few years I made certain that there are places I might go where none would ken me as Tavig MacAlpin. At times I disguise myself, but in Dalnasith I only play a poor mon wearing ragged clothing and appearing untidy.”

“Ah, so that is why ye havenae scraped the beard growth from your face,” she murmured, reaching out to brush her hand lightly over the coarse stubble on his cheeks.

He took her hand in his, kissing her palm. “I dinnae hurt your fine soft skin this morning, did I?”

Moira blushed at his reference to their lovemaking. She had been so concerned that Old Colin and his men might be near at hand, she had not given much thought to the fact that they had been making love in the bright morning sun. Now that she had time to think about it, she was shocked. What was it about Tavig MacAlpin that made her act so brazenly?

“Nay, ye didnae hurt me,” she mumbled as she concentrated on cleaning out their bowls.

Passion, she decided, had no respect for a person’s more delicate feelings. She was going to have to be more careful. She did not want to let her passion rule her and make her weak. Moira had done enough bending to people and things more powerful than she was. Suddenly she knew she could not allow some feeling inside of her to rule her no matter how sweet it was. It was a small rebellion, one that only she would know about, but the decision gave her strength.