Page 67 of Highland Fire

Moving toward the door, she looked at him. “Now, we had best get down to the great hall ere he arrives and ere I give in to that part of me that is cowering and scrambling to get away.”

He smiled, stepping forward to take her hand. “Ye are far braver than ye think ye are.”

As she followed him down to the great hall, Moira heartily wished he was right. She was so knotted up with fear, she was feeling ill. That did not seem very brave to her. She could not let Tavig face Sir Bearnard alone, however. There were matters that had to be settled that were between her and Sir Bearnard Robertson alone. If she intended to hold on to her tower house after leaving Tavig, she had to start by letting Sir Bearnard know she would never allow him to keep her birthright from her again. If she could not even face her brutal, deceitful guardian while surrounded by men ready to protect her from him, she would never be able to convince Mungan that she could be a strong ally.

She looked for Una as she and Tavig entered the great hall, finding the girl standing only a few feet to the right of the door. The moment she saw her cousin’s wide-eyed, pale face, Moira slipped free of Tavig and hurried to Una’s side. Seeing Una so close to collapsing restored a little of Moira’s calm. It would help no one and nothing if they both met Sir Bearnard trembling and weeping with terror. The man would thoroughly enjoy that, she mused with a spark of anger.

“Una, be easy,” she urged, signaling a page to bring her a tankard of wine.

“I thought I would be calm,” Una muttered, snatching up the wine the page brought and taking a long drink. “I have a husband now, a big, strong husband. I thought that would be enough. Instead I feel terrified.”

“Big and strong as Mungan is, Cousin, he cannae cure a fear that has been beaten into you since the day ye were born.”

“Come, lasses,” Mungan called from the head table. “Sit with us.”

“If ye dinnae mind,” Moira replied, “I think we will feel better if we can face Sir Bearnard on our feet.”

“Aye, ’tis easier to run away,” muttered Una.

“Then when the time comes, we will stand with ye,” Tavig said as he sat down next to Mungan.

Moira nodded before turning all her attention back to a still-trembling Una. “There, that should make ye feel calmer. There shall be two strong men, swords at hand, standing by our side. Aye, and ye ken that ye can count on every one of the other dozen or so men lurking in this hall.”

“I ken it. I wish it would make me as brave as ye are.”

“Brave? I am so afraid I feel ill with it. When Sir Bearnard enters this hall, I may empty my stomach all over his boots.” She smiled when Una uttered a weak, unsteady giggle.

Una sighed, pulling out of her skirt pocket a linen square to dab at her tear-filled eyes. “I feel oddly sad as weel. He is my father, Moira. I havenae seen him in weeks, months. I should want to see him. I should be eager to tell him of my marriage and present my husband. Instead I find myself praying that some disaster will befall him ere he reaches the gates. Is that not sad? I must be the most ungrateful daughter any mon has been cursed with.”

Grasping Una by the shoulders, Moira gave her cousin a little shake. “That is exactly what Sir Bearnard would want ye to think. Ye are wed to a mon ye love and a mon most fathers would welcome an alliance with. If there is naught between ye and your father but fear, ’tis he who put it there. Ye have naught to be grateful to the mon for, except mayhap that he didnae kill you.”

“Aye, a part of me kens that. ’Tis still sad, though.”

“Oh, aye, ’tis sad. There is no arguing that.” Moira tensed as she heard the sounds of men approaching the great hall and echoed Una’s shudder as a chillingly familiar voice reached their ears. “Easy, Una, stand firm,” she whispered and knew she was speaking to herself as much as to Una.

Tavig and Mungan reached their sides just as Mungan’s men ushered Sir Bearnard and Nicol into the great hall. Moira sent Tavig a look of thanks when he halted Mungan so that they stood a little apart from the women. It allowed them to be close enough to support her and Una yet not so close it would appear to everyone as if the women hid behind their men. It allowed her and Una the face-saving illusion of bravery without all the risks.

She did not feel brave at all when Sir Bearnard looked her way. He looked mildly surprised to see that she was still alive, then irritated over her survival. Nicol beamed at her, but his father stopped him from coming any closer. A familiar wrinkled face appeared from behind Nicol and Bearnard, and Moira smiled at the gaping Crooked Annie. A moment later Moira found herself tightly enfolded in the old woman’s bony arms. She grimaced, patting Annie’s thin back as the woman wept.

“I thought ye were dead, lass,” Annie wailed. “I thought ye were lying cold in a watery grave.”

“Weel, as ye can see, I am dry and hale.” She wriggled out of the woman’s hold and glanced at Tavig. “Some wine?”

“Here, I will get the poor old crone a wee sip of wine,” said Mungan grabbing Crooked Annie’s hand and dragging her over to the head table. “Ye lasses can share a few greetings with your kinsmen.”

“Old crone?” Annie muttered, but said no more after Mungan thrust a tankard of wine into her hands.

“I see that ye have already gathered your ransom, Sir Mungan,” Bearnard said, nodding at Moira. “The rest of our business should be easy to deal with.”

There was a tight anger in Bearnard’s fleshy face, and Moira noticed that even Nicol looked stern. Glancing at the way Mungan’s men slouched around the great hall, insolent, amused looks on their faces, also puzzled her. A moment later she understood what was happening. By not immediately offering hospitality to the Robertsons, Mungan was being blatantly insulting, and she was sure that Mungan knew exactly what he was doing. And he was adding to the insult by being so solicitous to Crooked Annie. By refusing to discuss the business of ransom, Mungan was also telling Bearnard that he now had the upper hand. Mungan was right. He held both the kidnap victim and the ransom. Moira could see that Bearnard hated that. He was growing dangerously red in the face. She wished she could enjoy Bearnard’s suffering as much as a grinning Tavig did.

When Bearnard fixed his glare on her, Moira could not fully restrain a shudder. Tavig ceased to grin and moved a little closer, but she subtly shooed him back. Matters were tense enough, and Una was close to crumbling. They still had the marriages to announce.

“Ye should have stayed in your cabin, lass,” Bearnard snarled at Moira. “If ye hadnae been up on deck whoring with this rogue”—he shook a finger at Tavig—“ye wouldnae have been washed away.”

Again Moira waved Tavig back, Bearnard’s insult to her causing her husband to grow visibly furious. “And ye should have told me I was to be the ransom for Una. Mayhap I would have been inspired to take better care of myself.” She could tell by the way Bearnard narrowed his eyes and clenched his fists that he ached to hit her.

“Ye have your ransom, Coll. Give me my daughter back,” Bearnard ordered, glaring at Mungan, who leaned against his huge table with a deceptive idleness, sharing a tankard of wine with Crooked Annie.