Ciara to step into them. Though younger by a year, her friend always seemed to be the older one and, for now, Ciara accepted her comfort. When she could breathe again, Ciara stepped back and took Elizabeth’s arm, walking beside her the rest of the way. They sneaked back in and soon they were lying in the bed in the loft, though sleep would not come that night.
Only then did Elizabeth dare to ask for details of her talk with Tavis. Though there were many words she wanted to say, none of them mattered any longer. Only one thing did.
‘He does not want to marry me.’
Worse, she realised in that moment that the very things her parents had done for her—providing her with a dowry, an exceptional education and making certain her links to two powerful lairds were known—were exactly what now placed her out of reach for Tavis. Had they done that a-purpose? Did they make her so appealing and valuable that only those outside the MacLeries or Robertsons would be eligible for such a bride? Did they wish her gone?
She turned those thoughts over and over in her mind that night and on many others as she tried to recover from this crushing emotional loss.
The next days and months were difficult, but whether by plan or by providence, Tavis seemed to travel on the laird’s business more than before and they did not meet face to face for some weeks. By that time, her embarrassment had faded and she could almost believe she’d dreamt the whole encounter. Only a fleeting expression in Tavis’s gaze when they spoke the next time convinced her it was all real—far too real.
She spent the time facing the possibility that Tavis had been correct about the nature of her feelings towards him. As eligible men were presented to her, she realised she might have to put aside the dreams of her childhood and face the realities of adulthood.
And when her father announced a possible match one night at supper while Tavis was present and he did not even flinch, she forced herself to accept the facts. She would have to marry a man she could never love.
For in spite of any growing up and regardless of the foolishness of her feelings, she, too, had given her heart away.
Chapter Two
Late summer, AD 1371
The sun broke through the cloud-filled sky, piercing the greyness and brightening the village around him. It should have lightened his spirits, since he liked not the usual autumn storms, but it did not. Tavis MacLerie crossed his arms over his chest, set his teeth edge to edge and shook his head once more to add to his refusal.
As the laird’s man, his job was to assign warriors to whatever purpose or task that the laird required, but this time he would not relent. Many times he accepted the assignment, doing Connor MacLerie’s bidding outside the village of Lairig Dubh. But not this time. Others would have to see to this … task.
‘Explain yourself,’ Connor said in a low voice that worried him more than if the laird had shouted his words. Something within Tavis sparked and his muscles gathered as though he’d been threatened and his body was ready to fight.
‘I have other responsibilities,’ he replied, meeting the stern gaze of his laird without flinching. ‘Young Dougal and Iain can see to this journey.’
Connor had recently arranged a tentative marriage contract between Duncan’s stepdaughter and the heir of an ally clan—the third in a series of never-completed contracts—and all it needed to go forwards was for Ciara to visit the other clan and accept the offer. Her parents were about to leave on the laird’s business, so they could not travel with her. Ciara seemed to favour this offer from the Murray clan in the east of Scotland and this trip would be crucial in finalising the arrangements. He’d heard all of this from others, for he’d not spoken directly to her since that night in his cottage.
He could see her face, ashen at his refusal that night, in his mind. It plagued him even now, but he’d spoken the truth to her that night. He would not, could not, remarry. He had not shared the whole of his reasoning, for it would damn him in her eyes and in the opinion of anyone who knew of it. The fear of someone discovering the full and terrible story of Saraid’s death held him apart from the clan and kept him from believing that there could be a happy wedded life in his future. He shook himself free from the memories and the regrets and waited for Connor’s answer.
At his refusal, Connor and Duncan exchanged glances that spoke of some kind of message between them. Then Connor nodded his acceptance.
‘Tell them to be ready two days’ hence,’ Connor ordered.
Tavis nodded and turned to leave, relief flowing through him now that he did not face the task of taking Ciara Robertson to meet her betrothed. Startled at that emotion within him when he had denied caring about her in that way, Tavis took no time to dwell on it. As he left the laird’s chambers and walked down the stairs to the hall below, he found Marian Robertson, Ciara’s mother, waiting for him.
‘Tavis, I would speak to you about the journey to Perthshire,’ Marian began.
‘Marian …’ Did she know her daughter had come to his cottage and proposed marriage to him? And that he’d refused her? What could he say?
‘Marian!’ Duncan’s voice called from above them on the stairs. Sharp, but not angry in its tone, the interruption stopped her from saying whatever else she’d planned to say to him. Duncan soon joined them, placing his arm around Marian’s shoulders and drawing her near to him. ‘Tavis has assigned others to escort Ciara. She will be safely delivered to meet her betrothed.’
Tavis did not like the way those words sounded. He’d known Ciara since she was five and he’d entertained her on the journey back from Marian’s family in Dunalastair. Though he tried to think of her as she was now, it blurred with his memories of those days when she’d laughed and played with the wooden animals he’d carved along the way. Now, she would marry and move away and he’d rarely, if ever, see her. His gut tightened at such a thought, though he still did not wish to examine the reasons for that feeling too closely.
He had no right to expect anything more when it came to Ciara. The night he had rejected her he’d relinquished any possible claim to her, if there was one. And he’d humiliated both himself and her in order to force her to accept that they could not be together.
‘Duncan, since we cannot go with her, I would feel better knowing that Tavis himself …’
‘Do you question his ability to carry out his responsibilities to his laird, Marian?’ Duncan released her and took a step away, tilting his head to see her face. ‘Surely you do not?’
The hairs on the back of Tavis’s neck bristled. Something strange was afoot. He’d never heard Duncan or any of the other MacLerie men ever warn off their wives in such a way. They all accepted the strong, opinionated women they’d married and allowed them much freedom to express their preferences.
This was different, and he was somehow in the middle of it. Without a doubt, he knew he was involved and this was about more than simply assigning men to protect their daughter. He waited for Marian to answer this challenge thrown down by her husband and instead was shocked by her reaction.
‘You are correct, husband,’ she said. Nodding to him, she continued, ‘I did not mean to question your abilities or your authority, Tavis. Forgive my words, they were spoken in haste.’
He knew his mouth dropped open, but before he could say a word, Duncan took her hand and they excused themselves. He heard them whispering to each other as they walked out the door to the yard and left him standing there, gaping like a fool. Tavis reached up and ran his hands through his hair, trying to sift through the conversation and figure out why it all felt so strange to him. Never a man to leave things unsettled, he followed the couple out, intent on getting an explanation. And he would have done had the very subject of the discussion not been standing there with her parents.
When had she grown