humiliated on his wedding day to be at the church with no bride at his side? He said he did not like drama, and that would be the worst kind of it.
Still, she had promised, even knowing that she would leave behind the passion and the love she could have, she knew she could have, with Tavis. He was so scarred by what had happened with Saraid that he could not claim what could be between them.
So.
‘There is no reason, James.’
He let out his breath and looked away and in that moment she did not know if he was relieved or disappointed. Strange.
James nodded and smiled then and took her hand once more.
‘Come then, your mother and Elizabeth and the dressmaker will be waiting for you.’
Although they spoke on the way back to her home, it was of nothings: the path, the weather, the ceilidh the night before. Nothing that mattered. Ciara knew that this would most likely be the pattern of their life.
They reached her cottage and found her mother and Elizabeth waiting, drinking tea with Dolina, who was making the gown she would wear for the wedding. Ciara noticed that Elizabeth’s gaze went right to James’s.
‘Well, this is a place a man does not need to be,’ James said, smiling. ‘I will leave you all to your task, then.’
He bowed his head to them and took his leave.
Dolina had made the gown patterned on her others, so it would simply need a few tucks and stitches to make it fit well. They went into her chambers and Ciara removed the gown she wore and slid the new one over her head. It was made of a lovely rose-colored over-gown that would be worn over a linen chemise. More lowland than Highland in style, her mother had thought it suitable for the wedding.
‘So, how was your talk?’ her mother asked, winking at her. ‘Elizabeth said she came upon you in the forest on her way here and you were talking.’
She laughed, knowing it would be expected. Glancing at Elizabeth and thinking of the lie she’d told, she said, ‘It was a nice talk.’
‘Nice is good,’ Elizabeth said, reaching for another pin for Dolina.
Elizabeth liked nice. She did not like overwhelming and passionate kisses and did not seek a marriage where she would be more than content. She met her friend’s gaze, then Elizabeth turned away after a moment.
‘Yes, it is.’
They worked quietly then, gathering here, letting out there, until Dolina and her mother were pleased. Dolina would finish the dress and have it back here on the morn of her wedding.
The rest of the day went quickly, as the hours before her wedding seemed to go by. Ciara spent some of the time with James’s mother while James worked with the men in the training yard. Unwilling to see Tavis just then, she avoided it while turning another plan over in her mind. Certain it would not work, certain he would refuse, she knew she had to try it.
Passion would not be enough. When men feared something, something they could not admit or face, sometimes it was up to a woman to show it to them. And Tavis had carried fear in his heart every day since Saraid’s death. The fear had such a tight grip on him that he needed someone to help rid it from him.
She sought out the midwife who Saraid had seen during her carrying and asked questions that had plagued her since her death. If Gunna thought her questions strange or out of place, she did not say. Most likely she thought them natural ones for a young woman about to marry and her last words, trying to ease her fears of the marriage bed and bearing bairns, confirmed it.
Just as her explanation had confirmed the one thing that still held terror over Tavis—that he or something he did or did not do caused Saraid’s death.
If she did nothing else before she left Lairig Dubh as James Murray’s wife, she would free her first and dearest friend from the tyranny that held his heart prisoner.
If she did nothing else before she said the words that would make her James Murray’s wife, she would have the passion that she was forfeiting on the day of her marriage.
If she did nothing else before ending her time as Marian and Duncan’s daughter, she would be the bold, confident woman they had raised her to be.
With a plan in mind to fulfill those needs and desires, Ciara waited for her parents and siblings to seek their rest. Once the house had settled and only the sound of night birds broke the stillness of the silence around them, she considered her plans one last time.
What she planned to do was scandalous. She had told James she would come to him a virgin, but now would offer that to Tavis. If he accepted it. And now, in the quiet of the night, she did not know if he would reject her once more.
Shaking her head, she crept from her bed and gathered what she needed. She would not let doubt or fear or guilt rule her as it did Tavis. If she would live by duty for the rest of her life, this night would be about love.
And if this was the only night she would have with him, so be it.
But she had waited almost her whole life for him and she, they, would have this night.
Chapter Seventeen
Tavis worked as hard and as long and as late as he could, trying to avoid returning to his empty cottage. He took on all opponents in the training yard and faced off with an equal number of MacLeries as well as several more of the Murrays before having enough. Aching from working out the frustration that would not be tamed, he accepted an invitation to share the evening meal with Rurik and Margriet and stayed longer than he should, speaking about another assignment from Connor.
When, with another not-subtle pointed glance at both his bedchamber’s door and the door of the cottage, Rurik told him to leave, Tavis did so, walking slowly along the path back to his cottage. He was in no rush to face the empty cottage that mocked him, reminding him of promises broken and lives lost.
Strange. When he looked at the door of it, he could still see Ciara as she stood there that night, asking him to marry her. Not Saraid, whose ghost still haunted the rooms within it.
Tavis noticed that the shutters were closed. That was not how he’d left them. As he approached, he saw the flickering light of flames in the hearth through the crack between the door and the frame.
Someone had been here while he was not. Someone might yet be inside. His hand grasped the hilt of his dagger before he thought it and he positioned his body to the side of the doorway as he lifted the latch and entered carefully.
Ciara sat before the hearth, reading by the light of several candles. Her hair, loose and lovely, flowed over her shoulders. Dressed in a simple gown with a plaid shawl, she was the essence of Highland lass. His mouth watered, his hands itched and his heart ached just looking at her and knowing she could not be his.
‘Ciara?’ he asked, stepping further inside and sliding the dagger back in its scabbard. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Waiting for you,’ she said, closing the book and placing it on the wooden mantel
