warmed her heart. ‘I should have spoken to you before.’ He released her and her hand and heart felt the chill at once. ‘I should have explained about … things, but I always thought of you as that little lass from Dunalastair and didn’t realise you were growing up so quickly.’ He glanced at her and then away at those caught up in the dance. She recognised several of his own siblings there. ‘As I have refused to see my own sisters and brothers growing up,’ he confessed. He met her gaze again and squeezed her hand. ‘And I would not have you leave angry at me.’
The great hall silenced around them and, for a scant second, all she could see or feel or hear was Tavis. Memories of their first meeting, their journey here to Lairig Dubh, the years since and that night a year ago rushed through her mind in that moment. All of it was over and now she would move on, leave this village to marry and live elsewhere. At least they’d had this time to settle things between them.
Time spun out between them, but then the silence receded and the frivolity of the feast seeped back. Tavis startled, tearing his gaze from hers and dropping her hand. Standing then and taking a step away, he forever placed a distance between them. A space that would be filled by another man. A new family in a new place. Even children, if God granted them. But never him and never his. Ciara felt that separation grow inch by inch until the threads that connected them seemed to stretch and eventually snap. She exhaled the breath she didn’t realise she held and smiled.
‘I would never be angry with you, Tavis. You tried to convince me to see what I did not want to on that night. I was not ready for the truth then.’
Someone called out her name and she turned to see her parents arrive. One of the laird’s most trusted men, the man she called father, travelled frequently on clan business. His height meant he towered over others, save for their cousin Rurik, and meant that he could always find her in a crowd. That skill was useful when she was a mischievous child and right now, talking to Tavis in so candid a manner in spite of being promised to another man, it made the same chills run down her spine as any misdeed had. With their hands entwined, her parents moved closer to her and Tavis began to inch away from her.
The occasional scolding aside, Ciara knew their love for her was unconditional—they’d supported her through two previous broken betrothals and she knew they’d do it again if she asked them. Taking in a deep breath and releasing it, she knew then that this betrothal would proceed on to a marriage. She owed them and the MacLerie clan nothing less.
‘Ciara! Tavis!’ her mother said as they reached the place where she and Tavis stood. ‘Are you discussing the final arrangements for the journey?’
Duncan watched him with an unseemly interest as he answered Marian’s question. He had made the arrangements, selected the men to lead and guard Ciara and her friend on their journey. In spite of that, he had not discussed any of it with Ciara. Until just a short time ago, he’d not planned on even seeing her before the journey, but something had driven his feet to bring him here. Now, their peace made, Tavis discovered he was more bothered by her ability to move on, and her feelings for him, than he thought. She seemed to be able to move ahead through mistakes and find happiness, while he remained locked in his past with no way to leave it behind him.
He watched as her brown eyes shone with love as she spoke to her parents. ’Twas difficult at times to remember that Duncan was her stepfather, for their bond was as strong as any he’d seen between father and child. Then when she pushed the loose hairs from her braid back over her shoulders, he realised she was nervous. She entangled her fingers together as she spoke, another sign that she was uncomfortable.
Hell!
When had he begun to notice such things about her?
Tavis needed to get away from this, from her, before he did or said something that would make this strained situation even more tense. And he felt the need to prove she was not the only one ready to move on with life.
‘The arrangements are made. Young Dougal and Iain are ready,’ he reported. ‘And Ciara—’ he dared a glance at her ‘—is ready?’
‘Aye, I am well packed,’ she said, smiling at her mother. The slight twitching at the corners of her mouth meant that it must have been a battle to get packed.
‘And your journey, Duncan? When do you and Marian leave?’ he asked. Ciara’s parents travelled on the laird’s business as well. They would all meet back here in a month and the wedding would be held.
Tavis walked aside with Duncan, discussing the true reasons behind the negotiator’s trip to Glasgow, but he never took his attention off Ciara. Their last encounter seemed like a distant dream as he watched her speaking to her mother. At ease, graceful, confident, beautiful—clearly she’d accepted the betrothal and was content in her coming life. So, why did his gut burn at that realisation? And why was he angered at the thought that she now accepted it? He must be going mad.
Duncan explained many things about his trip and the tasks he would carry out on behalf of the clan and the Earl of Douran, but Tavis heard none of it. As the sounds swirled around him and the memories of things past flowed, he saw only her. As a child travelling with her mother from Dunalastair. As a girl of ten years, telling him stories about all he’d missed while away from Lairig Dubh. As a girl of thirteen who offered her sympathies when Saraid passed. As the young woman who showed up at his door in the dark of night to propose marriage to him.
And now, now as a woman betrothed to another man.
‘Tavis? Are you listening?’ Duncan’s low voice broke into his thoughts and his grasp on his arm shook him from his memories.
‘I am, Duncan.’ He spoke the words, though not certain they were correct.
He stepped back out of the way now as some of Ciara’s friends approached. Gathering around her, they laughed about some matter before tugging her away, but she pulled free and walked to where he stood. She leaned in close and he smelled the scent of heather in her hair.
‘No matter what happens, Tavis, I will never forget how much you’ve done for me. I am and shall always be your friend.’
The kiss on his cheek surprised him. Words were hard to come by just then and harder to say. He forced them out at a whisper so they remained between them.
‘And I am yours, Ciara.’
Tears filled her dark-brown eyes as he spoke and he watched as she tried to blink them away. He would never know what pushed him nearer or what made him wrap her in his arms and hold her close. ‘Be well. Be happy,’ he whispered as he hugged her for a few moments and then let her go.
He’d barely released her when her friends grabbed her and led her to the open space between the tables. The music began and they formed a circle with Ciara at its centre. Laughing and cheering, they danced—celebrating Ciara’s betrothal and, whether they realised it or not, the end of their own childhoods.
Others joined in—wee ones, mothers, fathers, kin of all ages—for they all shared the joy of this betrothal. Tavis threw off his dark feelings and smiled, clapping to the tune as more and more joined in. Then, when one of the clan held out her hand to him, he let some of his past go for a moment and joined in.
They circled and moved back and forth, each of the couples passing the others in a pattern that continued as long as the music played. The players stopped for a brief pause before beginning anew and, to his surprise, another of the women stepped forwards to claim him for the next dance. He laughed as he had not in a long time and, when the dance finished, he danced another and another until the feast was done and everyone began leaving
