The Highlander's Stolen Touch. Terri Brisbin
and the evening was clear and cool. Though the end of summer grew nigh and autumn would soon arrive, these days were some of the best for travelling with long daylight. She knew where they would walk even before they reached it—it was one of the places she most remembered from their first journey here.
Laird MacCallum’s pigs!
She began laughing as they approached, both from the memories and from the expression on Elizabeth’s face when the usual smell grew too strong to ignore. Her friend began waving her hand before her face, trying to weaken the odour, but pigs were pigs and nothing would help it.
‘I am returning to our chamber, Ciara,’ she said, as she stopped and turned away. ‘Enjoy your walk.’ A gagging sound echoed behind her as she strode away.
‘I did not think Elizabeth such a delicate wee thing,’ Tavis said to her. ‘A few pigs and she runs?’
Ciara laughed. Though not raised around them, pigs did not bother her at all. A leftover sentiment from her childhood when all animals held a place in her fascination. Especially those Tavis carved for her. ‘A frail lass to be sure.’
They walked to the fence that surrounded the pen and watched as the animals rooted for food. Stretching her legs felt good, so she strode around the large enclosure at a brisk pace for some minutes before stopping near the gate.
The recent rains muddied up the ground, which seemed to please the pigs. A few piglets did not bother looking for something to eat; they knew exactly where to find it. She stood beside Tavis and watched their antics in silence.
‘Have you met James Murray yet?’ he asked. Surprised, Ciara nodded.
‘We met at Uncle Iain’s gathering in the spring. His family was there, as were some others.’
She grimaced. Not a good topic to raise since two other men who she had since turned down were also there.
‘Will this time keep?’ he asked, turning to face her. The intensity of his gaze reminded her of many discussions between them. She heard the concern in his voice, but now accepted it for what it was—that of a friend.
‘I think so,’ she said nodding. ‘We both like horses. His parents want and need my dowry. All the things on which to base a marriage.’ She said it as she struggled to keep all emotions from her face.
He laughed aloud then; it came from the deepest part of him and rumbled all the way out, echoing across the empty yard. Tavis leaned back and let it out, and continued until he rubbed his eyes. ‘You were always a forthright lass, Ciara. I’m glad that has not changed in you.’
‘I prefer the truth of the matter rather than the sweet words or blurry image. My parents encouraged it, but I suspect that James’s parents do not see it as a good thing. If it were not for the dowry, they would never countenance such a match as ours.’
He lifted his hand up as though to touch her cheek, then stopped just before she felt his fingers on her skin. She closed her eyes for just that moment, but forced them open to watch his reaction. Part of her wished against hope that he harboured feelings for her and would speak of them to her before she gave up every last vestige of hope. But, regardless of whether he did or not, she understood her duty and understood that he was not part of her future. Knowing that she belonged to another man, more so with every mile forwards in this journey, Ciara stepped back and smiled at him, relieved to be on better terms with him.
‘Dawn will come early, Ciara. You should seek your bed.’
‘Until the morning, then,’ she said, nodding and turning away from him.
Ciara paused after only a few steps and turned back to him.
‘Do you know of James Murray?’ she asked.
‘I know very little about him. Only what your father has said of him and his family.’
Shrugging and wondering exactly what she’d hoped he’d say, she walked back to the keep where Elizabeth would be waiting for any gossip. For a moment, she wondered why Tavis did not retire, too. Remembering how a number of women, servants and clan, had approached him as he ate, she suspected whenever he did, it would not be alone.
She tried to pass off the burning in her chest as a sign of partaking in too many of the cook’s spicy dishes, but the fire of jealousy was hard to ignore.
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