Page 83 of Highland Fire

“Have at her, laddie. We can celebrate this victory without you.”

“Have at me?” Moira grumbled, lifting her head enough to glare at Mungan as Tavig toted her up the stairs. “Put me down, ye great oaf,” she ordered Tavig, but he ignored her.

He finally paused in front of a thick wooden door that was slightly ajar. She gasped softly when he kicked it open wider, marched into the room, and kicked it shut behind him. Moira got only a brief look at a huge room before Tavig tossed her down onto a wide bed. Breathless, she could only lie there as he latched the door, strode back to the bed, and sprawled on top of her.

As he stared at her, she was torn between annoyance and a strange sense of excited anticipation. He was acting oddly, yet she felt a rich sense of promise in his actions. Only a man seized with strong emotion would act so, and strong emotion was just what she wanted from Tavig. When minutes crept by and he still said nothing, she grew nervous.

“Weel? Ye said ye wanted to talk to me, yet ye just gawk,” she grumbled.

“Actually, I was looking for the fear, and it isnae there.”

“What do ye mean?”

“Lass, I grabbed ye, tossed ye over my shoulder, and carried ye away. I ken I wasnae hiding my anger weel, either. Howbeit, that fear that so often enters your eyes isnae there. Ye werenae frightened by my actions. ’Tis clear it never occurred to ye that I would not do anything to truly harm you.”

Moira stared at him as his words sank into her mind. He was right. She could easily recall the number of times she angered or insulted him with her fears. Yet, despite the slightly rough way he had treated her and despite the anger he had revealed, she had not felt the familiar thrill of fear. She had not cringed or thought of ways to make herself less visible to him. For one brief moment she was so pleased with herself, so elated with her freedom from the fear that had haunted her for so many years, she forgot about the tense discussion she was having with Tavig. She was equally torn between an urge to weep and an urge to laugh with the sheer joy of it.

“Oh, Tavig, this is wonderful. I am sure a few scraps of it still linger, but I am finally free. Those fears no longer rise up simply because a word, a look, or a movement stir memories of Sir Bearnard. And I have you to thank for this.”

“And ye thank me by walking away.”

“Ah, we are back to that again.” She grimaced under the sharp, cross look he gave her.

“Aye, we are back to that again, and we will remain with that until I am convinced ye couldnae be happy here with me or I convince ye that ye can be. Happy and safe. Why dinnae we start with why ye ne’er told me ye had a healing touch. I should have guessed it. Ye used it when I was knocked on the head in Craigmoordun.”

“Aye, I did.”

“I noticed that my head didnae pain me as it should, considering the blow I took. And mayhap I would have guessed the truth then, except that I simply couldnae consider the possibility that ye would lie to me.”

The accusation in his voice stirred her guilt, and she blushed. “I didnae really lie to you.”

“Ye didnae tell me about your gift.”

“That isnae lying. ’Tis just keeping a secret.” She gave him a weak smile in response to his look of disgust.

“But to keep such a secret from me? I am probably one of the few people ye did not need to fear.”

“Weel, aye and nay. Ye had the same problem as I so ye should have been the most understanding, but ye were also the last person I wished to see turn away from me.”

“And ye were the last person I wished to have turn away from me, but I still told ye about my gift.”

“Ye are obviously braver than I am.” She sighed, wriggled her hand free of his relaxed hold, and brushed her hair off her face. “Mayhap habit played a hand, too. I think I have needed to keep my gift a deeper secret than ye have had to keep yours. A lot of people in Scotland accept the sight, but my gift isnae so widely revered.”

“Nay, true enough. Lass, have ye ever thought that our gifts are the reason fate thrust us together?” He idly smoothed his hand over her hair, which had come undone from its loose binding and was splayed out over his pillow. “Who can better understand us? Mayhap destiny felt we would be happier if we could share our burdens.”

Moira studied him, wondering what to do or say. Just before he had carried her out of the stables, he had spoken with strong emotion and said things that held a great deal of promise. She could still feel that emotion in him, but it was no longer coming out in a flood of words. When she had bluntly asked him how he felt about her, questioned the meaning of the things he had said, he had answered with a bellow. She needed a clearer response. If she was to face a future that could be troubled by superstition and the danger it brought, she needed to hear more. There was a chance Tavig thought his one outburst was declaration enough, but she could not let it rest at that.

“Ye must see that my people willnae fault ye for your gift,” he continued. “In truth, this is probably the safest place in Scotland for you. Drumdearg has a long history of people with gifts or, weel, odd manners or looks. Ye have to admit that Mungan is no ordinary sort of fellow.”

“Not ordinary at all.”

“His size and the whimsical way he acts causes as much fear as my sight ever has.”

“Ye have convinced me, Tavig. Here at Drumdearg I can set aside my concerns about superstitious fear and the havoc it can wreak.”

“Then ye will stay,” he murmured in a husky voice, brushing a kiss over her mouth.

“Tavig, we cannae hide here every day of our lives. Ye are a knight. At some time—aye, and more than once—we shall have to leave this place. The dangers will be waiting out there for us.”