Highlanders Collection. Ann LethbridgeЧитать онлайн книгу.
was her age and would not remember discussions or mention of such things. Cora had been the laird’s wife’s servant for many years and would not reveal something she’d been ordered not to tell.
That left only one person whom she could trust.
Tavis.
Could he know the truth of it? Would he have kept it from her all these years if he knew it?
Ciara peeked out of the shadows and searched for signs or noises of nearby servants or guests. Finding none, she went by way of the kitchens and storage rooms and out into the yard. The forgotten shawl would be helpful now as the night air chilled, but she was not going back for it. She skirted around the main barracks to a smaller building where she knew that Tavis and his men stayed. So intent on discovering the truth of her past was she that she never looked up and never saw Tavis standing in the dark right next to her path. Only when she began to lift the door’s latch did he stop her.
‘Ciara, where are you going?’ Tavis asked.
His words, his voice, scared her and she leapt back, dropping her hands to her sides. It took a few moments to find the breath she’d lost.
‘I was looking for you, Tavis. I need to … speak to you privately,’ she said; her voice trembled with every word she spoke and she could not stop it. How would she ever get the questions out? How would she speak about the terrible things she’d heard?
‘We did this once and things did not turn out well between us. Mayhap you should sleep on this matter and we can speak on the morrow?’ he said, moving a few paces away from her.
The one thing she’d never considered in all their dealings was that he had known the truth and that was why he did not accept her proposal of marriage. Now, looking at his discomfort, it seemed the most likely explanation to her.
‘You could have at least spoken the truth to me, Tavis,’ she whispered. He seemed to pale at her accusation, but it was difficult to tell in the dark. She wondered now if she wasn’t on to the truth at the heart of it all. ‘You could choose not to marry the daughter of a whore, but James is so desperate that he must and will.’
Her heart broke in that moment when he did not deny her accusations. He’d been her first and most stalwart friend and yet he had never revealed the most basic truth of her life to her—who she truly was.
She turned to leave, to flee, to find some place of peace where she could think and reason her way through the myriad of feelings racing through her heart and her soul, when he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her close to him.
‘You know that is not true, Ciara. I would have accepted, but there are too many reasons I cannot,’ he argued in a quiet voice.
She glanced up at his face, trying to search for some sign of certainty, but saw none there. He wore that face of stone, one devoid of all emotion, the very one she hated every time it lay on his face.
‘So, you do not deny that they spoke the truth of my past?’
He let out a breath and shook his head. ‘I …’
‘Why? Why did you keep such things from me?’ she asked, feeling the last vestiges of her control slipping away. She took a step back and shrugged off his hold. ‘I thought … I thought …’
At that moment she did not know what to think, so she did not. Instead, she lifted the edges of her gown and ran. She ran from him, from the hurtful words and insults she’d heard and from his betrayal of her trust. She ran from whatever the truth was. She just ran.
The gates were yet open, so she slipped through and followed the road into the village. Once there, she remembered a small stream that began nearby and grew into a river that fed into the Tay estuary. There was a small clearing and she found it a few minutes later. Ciara dropped on to a fallen log and tried to catch her breath.
As her thoughts tumbled around in her mind and as she searched her memories for any that would have warned her of such matters, she knew she would have to face Tavis and discover his reasons for joining in the deception that counted now as her whole life.
The peace and quiet of the night belied the turmoil within her. The melodic sounds of the birds of night, calling out from high in the trees, should have soothed her. But not this night. Not even the puffy clouds moving slowly over the face of the moon would do that. Not even … The sound of his steps through the bush behind her warned of his approach before she saw him near.
‘Tavis,’ she whispered his name as he walked to where she sat.
He did not try to come closer, treating her like a skittish colt that was ready to kick out and flee. Instead he spoke quietly and sat on a large rock, across the small clearing from her. He thrust a torch he carried into the ground, allowing them to see each other more clearly in the dark.
‘It is not safe for you out here alone, Ciara.’
‘Not safe for the daughter of a slut or not safe for the woman raised as something and someone she is not?’
He winced at the anger and betrayal in her voice. But then he had played his part in this and he knew she felt betrayed by him more than probably even her parents.
‘Ciara, you were raised by two parents who love you and given everything a young woman of noble blood would have—an education, opportunities to travel and use your knowledge.’ She glared at him then and he took the anger better than the betrayed expression.
‘He said that my mother was called the Robertson Harlot. He said that she was found with three or four men in her bed. He said …’ she paused then and he heard the emotion in her voice and knew she must be crying ‘… he said that no one knows who my father is.’
Understanding how deeply she felt about Duncan and how this must cut her deeply, he wondered how to answer her. Tavis knew some of it because he’d been there with Duncan when his marriage to Marian had happened. Even young, in that awkward time between youth and manhood, he understood the gossip at that time and knew Marian had a terrible reputation and that their marriage had been forced by her brother. The reasons had never been shared with him.
Then, the same brother, Laird Iain, had ordered him not to tell her anything of her past, his voice filled with fear that he might actually know something more than he should. Connor and Duncan had never spoken of it, but the matter had not been mentioned in Lairig Dubh since that first night they arrived by the MacLerie’s own orders. Now faced with the haunted look in her eyes and his part in what she counted as betrayal, he thought about what he should tell her.
‘I think he fell in love with you first, Ciara,’ Tavis said, remembering back to the days after their arrival in Dunalastair and Duncan’s request for the first of the carved animals. ‘He met you and you made him think of all he’d never had—a family, bairns, a place of his own. He did not mention your mother to me at all when he asked for the horse.’
It was the truth. Duncan spoke only of a little blonde lass with huge brown eyes who loved horses. Of how he wanted to give her something to play with, something that would make her smile, something to please her. Only later did Duncan ever mention Marian, or Mara as she was then called.
‘Duncan became your father and has never been less than that. You know that in your heart.’
‘Was my mother a wh—?’ She could not seem to finish the word.
‘There were rumours she was.’
The words damned her mother no matter how softly he spoke them or how unadorned they were.
‘But from the moment I met her, she never acted dishonourably. And from the time she spoke the joining words and handfasted with Duncan and entered our clan, the Robertson Harlot was never spoken of again.’
Ciara rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand, smearing the tears more than she wiped them away. ‘So everyone but me knows this story?’
‘I am sorry, Ciara. The rumours about your mother were widespread at the time. Come now, you know how a