Highlanders Collection. Ann LethbridgeЧитать онлайн книгу.
than my own needs, what good would come from defeating him now?’
She startled at his words and stared at him. ‘Your own needs, Tavis?’
His body reacted as it was wont to do, his flesh rising and hardening just at the very words she spoke. And, damn, but she did not even realise the effect she could have on him! Reminding himself that she belonged to another did not help at all. So, he tamped down his wayward desires and shook his head.
‘I could pummel him into the ground without much effort.’ He nodded back towards the camp again. ‘I could have taken his queen after five moves.’
‘Five? I thought at least seven.’ She smiled at his boast.
‘It would have taken you seven, lass. I had him in five,’ he answered her back. ‘No matter,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘To do either of those would jeopardise what we travelled to Perth to do—confirm your betrothal.’
The intelligence and acceptance in her gaze took his breath away once more. Regardless of who had fathered her, regardless of what truths she might learn on her arrival home, she was the peacemaker’s daughter at heart. She understood completely the importance and the dangers of their situation. Ciara might tease or poke, but she knew her duty and knew how this would go.
The only sign of weakness or surrender to the inevitable came as she smoothed her palms over her gown and touched something in the small pouch at her waist. He’d seen her do it dozens of times during their journey; the pouch never left her belt as much as he could remember.
‘What keepsake do you carry there?’ he asked. As the words escaped, Tavis thought it was a question he should not have asked. A shiver moved along his spine, warning him that the answer was not one he wanted to hear or know. But, if his misgivings showed on his face, they did not stop her from reaching in the leather sack and removing the item kept there.
A wooden horse. She cupped it in her hands, her fingers gripping and stroking it at the same time. Small and worn though it was, he recognised it immediately as the one he’d carved all those years ago before a journey much different from this one.
A lifetime ago when his future still lay spread out before him, filled with possibilities and potential. Before he was truly a man. Before he met Saraid. Before … There was so much to regret.
‘I have kept it close since you made it for me, Tavis. Whenever I feel lost or unsure, it comforts me. When I wonder about my place in the MacLeries, it reminds me,’ she whispered.
Her vulnerability, the lost expression in her eyes, nearly drove him to his knees. When she let her guard down, when she let the confidence she exuded with every breath she took drop, she was dangerous to him and his resolve about his part in the life.
Tavis looked at the horse, lowering his gaze from Ciara, and remembered the exact moment when he saw her play with the small toy for the first time. Duncan had asked him to make it for her, knowing of his skill in woodworking. And knowing he had siblings almost her age, he’d asked Tavis to look after her on the journey from Dunalastair to Lairig Dubh. Neither of them, he suspected, knew the lifelong connection that was being forged because of it. As he held the horse carefully, knowing he could break it if he even tightened his fist around it, Tavis realised that he had not carved in a long time.
Since Saraid’s death.
Holy Christ! He would not survive if Ciara continued to remind him of every weakness in his character and the lack in his life! He turned the carving over in his hand and realised that she’d worn it smooth over the years until the head had no ears and the legs had become little stubs. A sad laugh bubbled up inside of him as he saw the proof of her devotion to his creation.
‘Hell, Ciara, ’tis worn to nearly nothing,’ he said, offering it back to her. She lifted her chin for a moment and he noticed the way her lips trembled. Then she took a deep breath and let it out, an exasperated sound escaping that echoed across the few steps that separated them. With that, she regained control and the woman who stared back at him was the decisive, confident Ciara.
‘I expect it will survive this journey, but not another,’ she said with a hint of sadness in her voice.
Did she speak of the wooden toy or of something else? A reference to the feelings between the two of them, mayhap? His chest ached as he understood the reality of the loss between them that was coming and he closed his fingers carefully around the toy. Anger mixed with the frustration that lived beneath his skin now and before he could think to stop the words, they escaped his mouth with no way to return them.
‘I will carve another.’
The sparkle in her eyes at his offer hit him like an axe. But he knew he would do whatever she needed to keep her strong, especially since he would not, he would never be at her side again to protect her or guide her as he had so very often. A call from the camp stopped any other words or promises.
‘Tavis? Is the lass with you there?’ young Dougal yelled to him. They were just beginning to discover she was gone.
‘Aye,’ he replied. ‘She is on her way back there now.’
Tavis watched as she nodded and turned back away from him. He stopped her before she took a step.
‘This is still yours,’ he said, handing her the first carving. Ciara opened the pouch and placed it inside, positioning the sack on her belt where she’d worn it throughout their journey.
She left without another word, but the damage was already done. He’d been trapped by a wooden animal, skewered by his own memories and desires to protect her and finished off with his own promises. Tavis walked a few paces behind her, making certain she reached the camp, then turned back towards the stream.
He ran his hands through his hair as he walked to the edge of the rushing water. Did he even remember how to carve? Did he still have the small knife he used to work on wood? How had he got himself in deeper when it was the worst thing he could do now? Tavis did not realise he was searching for a good piece to work on until he’d picked up several and tossed them aside.
Giving up on finding any measure of rest this night, he strode back to the camp, then searched his leather satchel until he found the knife. It took him some time to find the right branch of the right age, dryness and size, but he found it. Carving always eased his tension and he hoped it would again … now. But as dawn’s first light crept into the skies above him, he understood it no longer worked that way.
And when he saw the rough shape of the wooden carving, Tavis grasped that he was in more trouble now than he had been when he had let Ciara see him throw the chess game to James. A horse, it was not. Held up against the brightening morn, all he could see was a heart—ragged, uneven and much like his felt this day.
Chapter Thirteen
Their journey continued and though she thought she saw Tavis working on a small piece of wood, he never showed her his work or mentioned it. With no idea of what had made her reveal the worn-down toy, she was glad she had so he understood that he did matter to her—and would continue to matter even when the toy was the only reminder of him she would have. Chess remained their evening entertainment, but she never witnessed Tavis allowing James to win again, though it was possible he’d become more skilled at hiding it.
All four of them, for Elizabeth joined in once more, partnering with James or Ciara, but never another, traded victories after that night. Ciara noticed that her friend was coming to like James, no matter her concerns over his comments about her past. They argued during their travels and during their shared meals like friends did, so Ciara was pleased. Pleased that her friend would be happy staying with her and pleased that James was taking the time to learn more about her and taking the quest for a match for Elizabeth so seriously. From the amount of time and attention he gave, Ciara was certain that he would be able to suggest possible matches when the time came.
When