Page 51 of Highland Fire

“What are ye doing slipping in here after sunset?” the big man demanded as he released Tavig.

“Fleeing from Iver and his dogs.”

“Aye, I have heard a whisper or two that there has been some trouble. Dinnae frown, Cousin. I dinnae believe ye killed those men. My first thought when I heard the news was that Iver didnae have the wit to ken that no mon who kens ye would believe ye could kill any mon in such a cruel way. Still, ’tis odd that ye would come to my gates in the dark, a time ye ken weel as an unwelcoming one.”

“I had no choice. Iver’s dogs have been nipping at my heels for the last two days. They are up in the hills just south of here.” Tavig smiled faintly when Mungan ordered one of his men to get a small troop of soldiers together and go hunt down Iver’s men. “I would like at least one live prisoner,” he told the man as he strode by.

“And have ye wed, then?” Mungan asked, a hint of disbelief in his voice.

“Nay, not yet.” Tavig lifted Adair from his sling. “A lass named Jeanne left me this as her legacy—my son Adair.”

“A fine-looking lad. Lass,” he called to one of the maids, who quickly hurried to his side. “See to the bairn’s care. His name is Adair.” The maid took Adair, smiling and cooing to him as she carried him out of the hall. “Ye should have introduced your woman first.”

“Aye, in normal circumstances.” Tavig clasped Moira’s hand in his. “This is Moira Robertson.” He grimaced as he watched the expressions on Mungan’s broad face. The surprise and delight Mungan revealed confirmed Tavig’s growing suspicions.

“Ye rogue,” Mungan bellowed, grinning as he clapped Tavig on the back. “Ye have brought me the ransom.”

Chapter Fifteen

“Me?” Moira was so shocked the word came out as a hoarse croak, and she had to clear her throat. “I am the ransom for Una?”

“I had begun to suspect it,” Tavig said, shrugging when Moira turned her horrified gaze his way. “It answered so many questions and puzzles, dearling. The biggest one was, why were ye being taken along at all?”

“Oh, aye? And is that why ye brought me here? To hand me over to him?” She was not sure she believed the look of hurt that passed over Tavig’s face.

“Dearling, when are ye going to have some faith in me? I am not like your kinsmon. I brought ye here for precisely the reasons I told ye—I need my cousin Mungan’s aid, and ye will be reunited with your kinsmen here if that is what ye still desire.”

The expression in Tavig’s dark eyes told Moira that she had disappointed him, even caused him some pain, but she found it difficult to cast aside her wariness completely. “So that my cursed kinsmen can hand me o’er to him.”

“Nay, lassie. I would ne’er allow it.”

Mungan looked from one to the other several times before walking around Tavig and Moira three times, then pausing to face them. “’Tis indeed strange that the Robertsons would send one of my own kinsmen with the ransom. Ye must tell me how ye became a part of this, Tavig.”

“I am not delivering Moira for ransom.” Tavig put his arm around Moira’s slim shoulders, pleased when she did not tense or pull away from him despite the anger still evident in her expression. “Moira is here because she travels with me.”

“With you?” Mungan grumbled and began to scowl only to roar a moment later, “Have ye been bedding my bride?”

“Mungan, just because ye decided to call Moira your bride doesnae make it so.”

“Nay,” muttered Moira. “That is a privilege only Sir Tavig MacAlpin can enjoy.”

Tavig ignored her remark. To his dismay, his cousin did not. Mungan was choosing to be clever now. There was a look of curiosity and contemplation on his dark angular features as he studied Moira. Tavig knew he was going to have to convince Moira to weigh her words more carefully.

“Cousin, she is mine,” Tavig said, drawing Mungan’s full attention back to him. “She and I are destined.”

“Ah, so that is how it stands. Ye have seen this, have ye, Cousin?”

“Aye, I ken it.”

“Weel, come to the table.” Draping his muscular arm around Tavig’s shoulders, Mungan moved toward the long linen-draped table at the head of the hall.

“We are a wee bit hungry.” Tavig pulled Moira along with him. “When I tell ye all that has happened in the last fortnight, aye, and in the last month, ye will see matters far more clearly.” Mungan sprawled in his heavy oak chair at the head of the massive table, and Tavig took a seat on the bench to his right, tugging Moira down beside him.

“Where have ye confined Una?” demanded Moira.

“Confined her? There is no confining that wench.” Mungan scowled toward the heavy doors of the great hall. “She is late for the meal again. A verra contrary woman is your cousin,” he said to Moira. “She sore tries a mon’s temper.”

“Ye havenae hurt her, have ye?” Moira was a little surprised at how offended Mungan looked.