Highlanders Collection. Ann LethbridgeЧитать онлайн книгу.
told her I did not know the whole truth of it, only that I’d heard the same rumours. ’Twas not my place, Jocelyn,’ he said.
‘Nay, ’twas not. We’d all hoped there would be no need. That no one would be foolish enough to speak of the past with her.’
‘And no one did. The lass overheard a private talk between father and son that she was not meant to hear. James apologised to her and to me, on your behalf. He understands the seriousness of raising such insults now.’
‘I do not envy Marian this night,’ Jocelyn said quietly. ‘’tis a terrible thing when sins of the past rise to meet you.’
The laird and his wife both shared the same haunted expression, clearly thinking of the same matter and one that he had not been privy to all those years ago. He’d been a boy when Connor got his reputation as the Beast of the Highlands and the rumours flew about him killing his first wife. When he was of an age to serve and began under Duncan’s supervision, no one said or believed such things. From the glance just exchanged, there must be some truth to that rumour to cause such pain to both of them.
‘Is there anything else, Tavis?’ Connor asked.
‘Oh, Jocelyn, I spoke to your brother and he sends his greetings. He hopes to visit before the weather turns.’
Jocelyn smiled and Connor frowned. Athdar’s initial visit here was the cause of her being forced to marry Connor, but things were more cordial between them now.
‘My thanks, Tavis,’ Jocelyn said, walking over to where Connor stood. ‘And my thanks for carrying out this duty.’
‘’Twas my honour,’ Tavis said. ‘Connor. Jocelyn. I will see to my duties in the morn.’ Nodding to each of them, he turned and left the chamber.
He tried to ignore the anger that simmered just below the surface now. He attempted to convince himself of how good it would feel to sleep in his own bed and wake in his own house on the morrow. He walked swiftly through the keep, checked on the horses and wagons, then made his way out through the gates and down to the village. Without clear reason or intention, he took the path that passed by Duncan’s cottage.
Though a wealthy man, Duncan and Marian and their children lived simply, preferring a cottage in the village now to chambers in the keep. As he walked by, he noticed that no light came from within. Ciara had looked ready to drop, so he hoped she was resting before facing the troublesome conversation in the morn. The rest of the village was quiet and dark, as was his cottage.
He opened the door and found fresh water in a bucket on the table, along with some food—bread and cheese—wrapped next to it. He paid a few coins to one of the women in the village to see to its keep when he travelled on the laird’s business and she had. Clean linens on the bed and wood and peat by the hearth were ready for his use. It was well-spent money, in his opinion, to come back to a clean, stocked house and not need to worry about such matters.
Tavis removed his garments, washed as best he could so he didn’t befoul the clean sheets and fell on to the bed in exhaustion. Though he expected to lie awake and think about all that had been said and done, the next thing he knew, the sun was shining through the open shutters.
And he wondered if Ciara yet slept.
Though she had expected to spend the night dreading the morn, her body, mind and heart had been too drained to do anything but collapse into the hold of sleep. She woke as she usually did when in her own bed, with her younger brother and sister pouncing on her and begging for news. This time, their questions went on endlessly until her mother entered and intervened, ordering the young ones to give Ciara a chance to wake.
The love that shone in her mother’s eyes this morn was overshadowed by fear and guilt, so Ciara knew the reckoning was close at hand. Tempted to pull the bedcovers over her head and claim illness, she understood she was long past such antics and could not avoid, did not wish to avoid, learning the truth of her and her mother’s past.
In truth, Ciara wanted answers almost as much as she dreaded getting them. She remained in bed long enough to hear her siblings being hustled out of the cottage with instructions to visit their aunt and cousins in the keep. She was debating her approach when her mother entered, carrying a steaming mug in each hand.
‘Duncan did not know if you wished to speak only to me or to both of us,’ she began.
From the way her mother’s hands shook, Ciara worried that they would both be doused with hot liquid. She pushed back the covers, climbed from the bed and took them from her, placing them on the table near her bed.
‘Should he be present? I have no idea of what to expect, so you are the better judge of it.’
‘Duncan,’ she said, raising her voice ever so much. Her stepfather must have stood at the ready, for he entered in only a moment.
‘Good morning,’ he said, walking over and kissing her on the forehead as he always did. The tears started even then. ‘Did you get any rest?’
‘Aye,’ she said, wiping the first of what she knew would be many tears from her eyes.
Her mother sat on the edge of her bed while she chose the chair. Duncan stood near the door in the stance she’d seen countless times before—the negotiator ready to listen and evaluate. Ciara had thought about what to ask first all the way home from Perthshire, but now, when faced with the situation, she could not form a single question. Duncan cleared his throat and nodded to her mother.
‘Ciara, first I need you to understand that what is said between us here today can go no further. You cannot share what we say with anyone, not James, not even Tavis or Elizabeth. And I must have your sworn word that you will keep this all secret.’
‘No one else knows?’ she asked. ‘The laird? Uncle Rurik?’
‘They may have their suspicions and Jocelyn knows some of it, but only Duncan, my brother Iain and I know the truth that I am going to share with you.’ Stunned at this disclosure, Ciara nodded.
‘Nay, Ciara. We need you to speak the words giving your sworn oath. This goes beyond a family matter, it affects a number of clans, treaties, reputations and innocent lives,’ Duncan explained. ‘Say the words.’
He always did that during negotiations on a treaty or agreement—both parties, all parties, needed to speak the words about what they were agreeing to so there was no question that they understood the arrangements. And it always ended with their sworn oath, spoken and written.
‘Aye, Father. I swear that I will not share whatever you tell me this day with anyone. I will not speak of it with anyone, even Uncle Iain, if that is your wish?’ Duncan nodded to Marian and Ciara steeled herself for what was coming.
‘You heard the old rumours, then?’ her mother asked. ‘The ones calling me the Robertson Har …’ She could not say the words, so Ciara nodded. ‘They are not true, Ciara. I came to my marriage bed with Duncan a virgin, though no one could know it.’
‘But you had me before you married him,’ she said. ‘I had five years when you …’ Her mother took her hand and held it.
‘Although you are my daughter in spirit and in heart and in every way important, I did not give birth to you, sweetling.’
If Ciara thought hearing the rumours unsettled her, this sent her reeling. Her bedchamber dimmed and began to swirl before her eyes. Sucking in a deep breath, she squeezed her eyes closed and hoped the dizziness would pass.
‘Ciara. Ciara!’ Duncan said loudly, tapping on her cheek. She forced her eyes open and found him standing with the mug of tea in front of her face. ‘Drink this.’ He held it at her mouth and tipped it, so she had no choice but to take it in. Within the tea hid a good measure of whisky and she drank it down.
‘Then who …?’ she managed to squeak out. No matter what else the rumours said, they had never questioned that she was the daughter of Marian Robertson.
‘My dearest friend and sister