Page 43 of Highland Fire

“Oh, the bairn,” she murmured, sitting up to look at the sleeping child. “Are ye sure ’tis safe to leave him sleeping on the ground like that?”

“We have no other place for him to sleep.”

“I think he is old enough to move about, Tavig. He could wake without our kenning it and crawl away.”

Tavig sat up frowning and rubbing his chin. “I suppose we could take him into the bed between us. Then we would sense if he began to move about.” He sighed, smiling crookedly at her. “Although I much prefer curling up with you in the night.”

“And I much prefer you, especially since bairns can be quite damp by the morning. I think we shall have to put him between us, howbeit. He could hurt himself badly crawling about our camp or the wood without someone to watch o’er him.”

Inwardly cursing then silently apologizing to the tiny Adair, for it was not the child’s fault, Tavig set the sleeping baby in between him and Moria. As he resettled himself beneath the blanket, Adair turned, snuggling up to Moira.

Tavig frowned at the child, a little ashamed over the pinch of jealousy that assailed him, then glanced up to meet Moira grinning at him.

“Like father, like son,” Moira said, laughing softly.

“Verra amusing.” He lightly touched the child’s thick black curls. “He doesnae enjoy all the benefits his father does,” he drawled, smiling when Moira blushed then tried to look annoyed. “This is all verra cozy, but I shall be pleased to get the child into his own bed.”

Moira closed her eyes, the need to go to sleep swiftly grabbing hold of her. “Aye, it wouldnae be good for him to become too accustomed to this.”

Tavig watched her as she fell asleep. He knew she was not referring to some normal rule of child-rearing but to the fact that she did not intend to be around much longer. If little Adair became too attached to her, he would be hurt when she left. Tavig wondered if she gave any thought to how he would feel, then hastily subdued his flash of anger at her. She had never said that she would stay, had clearly stated her reasons for refusing to marry him. He had no right to be angry with her.

Failure was a bitter taste in his mouth. Moira had become his lover, but he wanted more—much more. He cursed fate for having shown him his mate only to thrust them into situations that convinced Moira they could not marry. It was as if God and fate were forcing him through some ordeal.

Gently draping his arm around Moira and Adair, he edged as close to them as he dared without waking them. Moira had quickly accepted his son. That had to mean that she cared for him. He was almost afraid to search his heart and face what he felt for her. The terror he had experienced when she had been dragged before the priest gave him a painful glimpse of his feelings. So did the cold that seeped through his veins when he thought of her leaving him. Somehow he was going to have to break through her stubborn resistance. He just wished he could shake the feeling that he faced a long, hard fight.

Moira grunted as a weight settled on her stomach and chest. She cautiously opened one eye, exhaustion clouding her vision. Adair’s face was but inches from her own. She watched a bubble of drool leave his mouth then winced as it hit her on the nose. A sigh escaped her as she wiped it off and another quickly replaced it. The dim light surrounding them told her that it was barely dawn. She ached to go back to sleep, but the wide, bright obsidian eyes staring down at her told her she would not be allowed that luxury. A fleeting glance revealed that Tavig was still sleeping.

“I didnae suppose it occurred to ye to wake up your father,” she whispered, gently moving the child off her and slipping out of bed.

The air was cool enough to make her shiver. She dressed quickly, keeping a close eye on Adair. She had had little to do with small children. There had been a few in and around Sir Bearnard’s keep, but the mothers had done their best to keep the children out of sight and very quiet. Moira suspected Sir Bearnard’s brutal temper had a great deal to do with that.

“Ye cannae be that hungry, laddie,” she murmured, gently taking away a rock before Adair could stuff it into his mouth. “Just be patient whilst I try to get ye your milk.”

She changed his wet rags, smiling at the way he played with his feet. He had to be hungry, but he did not fret. Moira started to get the uneasy feeling that, unlike a lot of babies, he just knew that he would be fed. She quickly scolded herself for giving in to foolish superstition. He had his father’s eyes, but that did not mean he also had his father’s unique gift. Adair was simply a quiet, happy child and, if she did not hurry and get him his milk, he would probably start howling.

By the time she filled Adair’s goatskin bottle, Tavig was awake. He grinned at the way she cursed the goat, which was reluctant to give up its milk to her inexperienced hands. Moira picked up Adair, sitting by the fire as Tavig started it. She looked from Adair to Tavig and back again several times as the baby quietly drank his milk.

“He really does look like you,” she said with a smile, finding that what had been painful at first now amused her.

“Aye, Jeanne didnae leave her mark on the boy at all. At least, not that we can see now.” He began to prepare their porridge.

“Will it trouble ye if he does grow to reveal some hint of his mother?”

“Nay. I but worried that he might carry some of the traits that made her bad. Then I pushed that fear aside as foolish. Jeanne willnae have the raising of him. Iain is a good mon, but his wife oftimes complains about how poor they are. I think Jeanne took those complaints, that unhappiness with her lot, to heart and thought that being a whore would gain her something better. Aye, she did gain a few wee gifts and coin, but she failed to see that that was all she would ever get.”

“And Adair willnae suffer that need to have better?” Moira asked as she held the baby against her shoulder, rubbing his back to ease out any air he may have swallowed. She idly wondered if he was already too old for such help then decided he was enjoying the attention, so it could do no real harm.

“I hope Adair will suffer no want at all, but he willnae be taught that unhappiness. He willnae grow to a mon thinking that ’tis right to do anything to gain some coin. He likes you,” he added abruptly.

Moira shook her head, fully aware of Tavig’s ploy. “He is a bairn. Bairns havenae been taught to dislike people. They are full of trust and love. Ye dinnae really wish to try to hold me through Adair, do ye?” she asked softly. “Ye wouldnae want him caught up in the peril that our marriage could cause.”

“I dinnae believe that a marriage between us would cause any more peril than we see each and every day whilst apart from each other. I can see that ye dinnae wish to listen to reason, howbeit.”

“I could say the same thing about you, Sir Tavig MacAlpin. Ye sink your teeth into an idea and cling to it like a ferret.”

“Aye. I have been called persistent.”

“Stubborn.”