Elizabeth and Cora to her uncle before speaking or offering greetings. Reaching inside his leather jacket, he removed the folded parchment he carried to the Robertson laird.
Watching the two speak in hushed tones, he thought they looked more like father and daughter than uncle and niece. He shook his head, pushing all the conjecture away, for if there was an unknown truth between them, Tavis was not and never would be privy to such matters.
And it mattered naught.
His duty was to see Ciara safely to her betrothed and bring them back to Lairig Dubh for a wedding. And he would do that. Then, he would return to his life and continue to serve the Clan MacLerie and the earl. He did not fool himself that he counted as family or stood higher than others who served. As he’d told Ciara that night, she was too high for the likes of him. Now, seeing her being greeted as family by this powerful laird, that fact was pushed in his face and unavoidable. Lord Iain released her, though he kept Ciara at his side, and waved Tavis forwards. He bowed, offering the letter from Duncan.
‘My lord,’ he said, as he stepped back.
‘Tavis,’ the Robertson said, reaching out his hand in greeting. ‘Welcome back to Dunalastair. My thanks for seeing Ciara safely on her journey.’
The laird invited them all to supper and directed his servants to see to their comfort. The men divided up, he and young Dougal and Iain would share a chamber off the hall while the others would sleep with the laird’s men below. Although he was offered a bath several times by several obviously accommodating maidservants, Tavis decided to use the stream not far from the keep in the woods instead.
It was as he was leaving the keep that the laird called to him for a word. He waved the others to go on and followed the laird to the private chamber off the hall. Offered first a cup of ale and then a seat, Tavis waited to discover the purpose of this meeting.
‘So, Tavis, what does she know? What does she remember?’
He was so surprised by the questions he swallowed a mouthful of ale too quickly and choked on it. It took several deep coughs to clear his throat to breathe. And a few more minutes to consider how to answer such questions. Tavis decided on candour.
‘She was too young to know or remember any of it. Though the rumours and gossip spread, Ciara would never have heard of it.’
‘And the MacLeries?’ Lord Iain probed while watching him closely over the rim of his goblet.
‘She is as our own. If her mother is still called by anything other than Marian Robertson, it is not done by the clan MacLerie.’
Tavis remembered the night they arrived in Lairig Dubh and how Connor and Duncan had proclaimed her one of them. And they’d made it clear that insulting her was insulting all of them. No one had ever spoken that name again.
If Ciara ever wondered about her father, she had never voiced such a thing to him. But then their talks had focused on horses, animals, horses, his siblings, horses and … horses. Even as she grew, she remained fascinated with them. It was the reason why he’d carved several of them for her over the years since she’d become part of their clan.
Strange—he’d not noticed her lack of interest in her father’s identity through all the years he’d known her. By the time she might have been old enough to be curious about a father before Duncan, his own interests and life lay elsewhere.
‘And she’s never asked you for the truth?’ The laird’s voice was quiet, but threatening in some way at the same time, as though he suspected more between them than existed.
‘Why would she do that, my lord?’ he asked.
‘Your friendship is known by many.’ Ciara’s uncle met his gaze and let the words imply what they would.
It took him no time at all to answer the insult. Tavis lifted his fist and swung at the man. The laird side-stepped it easily, giving time for Tavis to realise the importance and foolishness of his action. He dropped his hands to his sides and waited for the laird’s response.
When the Robertson turned away and refilled his cup, Tavis shook his head. He had not done something so stupid in a long time. The laird was within his rights to demand punishment for such an offence. Worse, by swinging his fists at him, Tavis had almost confirmed his suspicion that something more existed between him and Ciara than did.
‘My lord, I …’ He really couldn’t finish because he wasn’t certain for the first time what to say.
‘She told me of her plans to marry you.’
Of all the things the laird could have said, that was not any of the possibilities he’d thought of. Ordering his imprisonment for one; calling his men to beat him senseless for another; gelding him to prevent any more untoward actions towards his niece—but this? Tavis let out his breath before replying.
‘The words of a child, no more, my lord.’
‘That is what I have always believed, Tavis. I want to protect her just as you do.’ He emptied his goblet and left it on the table where the pitcher of ale sat. ‘It is important that no questions be raised about Ciara’s virtue during these negotiations.’
‘You insult my honour and hers once more, my lord.’ Tavis crossed his arms over his chest.
‘Nay, I but bring to your attention that others have noticed the closeness between you and my niece. Within your lands, the MacLerie might control what is said, but you left those lands days ago and now expose Ciara to gossip. Gossip that could tie her to a past best forgotten.’
Tavis finished his ale. The laird was correct. Friendship between a man and woman who were not related by blood or marriage was not the customary thing. So, it was natural that others would question it.
‘I will see that there is no more gossip, my lord.’
‘And I will keep you no longer from your duties,’ the laird said, dismissing him. ‘Supper is in two hours. It will be ready for you in your chamber.’ Tavis turned to leave, but the laird was not quite finished. ‘I’ve decided that two of my men will join you for the rest of the journey south.’
‘That will defeat the entire purpose of sending her with only a small escort of MacLeries, my lord,’ he began through gritted teeth. ‘If the Robertsons join in, then this will look like more than it should be—a cousin visiting a cousin.’
The Robertson stared at him through narrowed eyes and then nodded. ‘A wise observation, Tavis. I will leave you to it then.’
Tavis followed him out and continued on his way to the stream. The words and the warning given him weighed heavily in his thoughts. And he considered the other questions asked of him. Had others raised questions about Ciara’s father? As far as he knew, no one had been named such and no one had claimed to be him. But, with Marian’s reputation and the stories that were yet remembered by many, how would she know?
He took a narrow path next to the keep’s gate and followed it for almost a mile to the stream. Young Dougal and Iain already swam in the cool water and he joined them, leaving his clothing in a small clearing by its side. Though they’d ridden through storms and rain, nothing felt so good as this. He dived under and came up on the other bank.
Tavis spoke to the others about the plans for the rest of the journey. They should make good time because the
