Page 59 of Highland Fire

“She loves the overgrown fool,” Tavig said, laughter still evident in his voice.

Moira sighed and sent him a half-smile. “I ken it. The question is, does he care for her? Tavig, Una has spent her whole life beneath her father’s fists. ’Tis verra odd, considering what Mungan looks like and the fact that he kidnapped Una, but she isnae afraid of him. I am worried about how she will feel or act if—” Her eyes widened when he placed a finger against her lips, stopping her words.

“I swear to you, dearling, Mungan cares for your cousin. ’Tis hard to explain Mungan to those who havenae been with him for years as I have. In his mind ’tis more important to keep that tower house from falling into the hands of an enemy. I also think he strives to eradicate all memory of his father’s harmless but obvious insanity. He probably thinks Una will understand this. Recall how directly he spoke to you. He made no secret of the fact that he would try to persuade you to wed him so that he could have that tower house. Ye cannae accuse him of playing ye false.”

“That is true enough. Aye, one cannae say he is playing Una false, either. ’Tis probably why she is so angry with me and not him. She loves Mungan, and he is being painfully honest. That leaves her with only me to blame.”

“Which is unfair. Her anger concerns me. I cannae help but remember whose daughter she is.”

“Oh, I dinnae believe Una would hurt me. For all she has been the victim of brutality and has learned all about it since she was a bairn, she has never even slapped her maids. I think, in Una’s mind, such violence is a mon’s province. The fact that Mungan doesnae act in such a way makes him nearly a saint in Una’s eyes, of course.”

“There is a solution to all of this,” Tavig began.

She held up her hand, shaking her head. “Ye need not repeat yourself I am weel aware of your solution. ’Tis only our first day here. Mungan already thinks I am a weakling. Mayhap he will decide he doesnae want me, that even that cursed tower house isnae worth taking to wife a sickly lass.”

There was such a clear look of doubt on Tavig’s face, she inwardly cursed. Even as she spoke of the possibility, she had experienced her own doubts. She had wanted Tavig to ease them. Instead he shared and intensified them. Although she had not known Mungan Coll long, she had the sinking feeling he was the type of man who would need a sign from God Himself to make him change his mind. Moira sincerely hoped they would soon be blessed with one of those.

“One more day,” she murmured, scowling into her tankard of ale.

“What did ye say?” asked Tavig.

“I said I will give it one more day. Mayhap things will change.” Moira did not find Tavig’s short bark of laughter very encouraging.

Chapter Seventeen

“Ye are being a verra stubborn lass,” Mungan said, scowling down at Moira.

Moira glanced at Tavig, who stood beside his cousin as she sat down on a little stool by the stable door. She ignored her audience, yanked off her boots, and rubbed her sore feet. Mungan had insisted on showing her more of his lands, including the nearby village. Despite his cousin’s clearly displayed annoyance, Tavig had insisted on coming along. His presence had not been much help. Mungan had plunked her on a horse, they had ridden the boundaries of his land, often dismounting to trudge over a spot Mungan felt was of particular importance, and then gone into the village. Once there they had dismounted again and walked all over it at his usual furious pace. For a knight, Mungan Coll did a lot of walking, she mused crossly.

“The lass has the right to consider things,” Tavig snapped.

“How much does she need to consider?” demanded Mungan. “I have shown her all I have to offer and told her what I want. ’Tis just a matter of her saying aye.”

“Or nay,” Moira said, but neither man paid her any heed.

“Why dinnae ye just give this up, Mungan?” Tavig shook his head. “We all ken that ye would rather be wed to Una.”

“Una would be a fine wife, but she doesnae own the tower house. And this lass,” he said and pointed one long finger at Moira, “willnae let her have it.” He stared at Moira. “Ye ken that I could just force ye to wed me.”

“Oh? And do ye expect me to stand quietly aside as ye drag her before the priest?” asked Tavig, his voice taut as he visibly fought to control his temper.

Mungan cast his cousin one quick, narrow-eyed look. “Ye could be secured until the deed is done.”

“Weel, ye cannae force her to the altar. We are handfasted.”

“What?” cried Moira, her demand echoed by a bellow from Mungan. “What are ye talking about, Tavig MacAlpin?”

“When we were in Craigmoordun I called ye wife, and ye called me husband before witnesses,” Tavig replied. “We did the same in Dalnasith. Those declarations make us handfasted. Because of them, the law says we are mon and wife.”

“Only for a year and a day,” said Mungan. “Then there had best be a child, and the lass will have to agree to the wedding before a priest.”

“Ye cannae mean ye will torment us for a full year?” Tavig demanded.

Moira barely heard the ensuing argument between Tavig and Mungan. She sat, her hands curled into tight little fists on her knees, and tried not to let the anger billowing inside of her get out of control. It would serve no purpose to yell at Tavig or at Mungan. Giving up the fight, deciding she did not care if she made a scene and that Tavig deserved every ounce of her anger, she leapt to her feet. Cursing softly, she punched Tavig on the arm.

“Moira,” he cried, staring at her in shock as he rubbed his arm.

“Ye bastard,” she spat. “Ye call Mungan sly, but ye are the cunning one. Ye kenned verra well what ye were doing, but hid your game beneath a cloak of concern, saying we needed to do it to be safe.”