by Alisa Adams
It was longing, a deep and powerful longing. He felt her eyes on him and turned to look at her.
“Would you like one?” she whispered.
“I would,” he replied, looking back at the baby. “I would love one.”
“I will see what I can do,” she promised.
“Can I help?” he asked.
“I suppose so,” she giggled.
“I am very glad to hear it!” he replied, hugging her.
“Shall we have a betrothal ceremony?” Blair asked. After all the excitement of the day, they had come up to the highest level of the wall to look out over the sea so Tavia could relax a bit. There had been so much to take in that day, and she was exhausted. Her head was spinning with all the new revelations that had been uncovered; she had another name, another birthday, a family, a title, and a past—all in the space of a few hours.
“I do not think so, Blair.” She shook her head. “I have never aspired to one. Unless you want one, of course.”
“I want what you want,” he whispered.
She reached up and cupped his face in her hands. “Could a better man ever have been born?” she murmured. “Somehow I doubt it. I am the most fortunate woman in the world.” She looked up into his beautiful eyes. “Let us just be married, and quickly.”
“Very quickly,” he said. “Kiss me, then kiss me again, and again, and practice your new name, Tavvy, because soon you will be Lady Patterson, and you will be mine. All mine!”
She giggled, but soon found herself lost in a world where only the two of them existed; a world of pure sensation where lips, tongues, hair, rough and smooth skin glided, touched, nibbled, and sucked. The same world where sighs, moans, and whispers communicated without words, and eyes looked into each other, dazed with love. Blair had pressed her against the wall, but now she pushed him away, gently and reluctantly.
“I must go home,” she whispered. “Mammy and Paw will be expecting me, and I don’t want to keep them waiting.”
He groaned and rubbed his hips against hers.
She pushed him away again but he laid his hands flat on the wall on either side of her head. “What if I do not want to let you go?” he asked her, eyes twinkling.
“I will make you,” she replied, smiling innocently.
“And exactly how will you do that?” His tone was a little smug.
She stood on her tiptoes and whispered in his ear, then laughed at his expression.
He stepped back at once, his eyes wide with horror. “You would never do that!”
“Oh, yes, I would!” She giggled.
“Do you still want me to be the father of your children?” He rested his forehead on hers. “If you do, I suggest that you do not do that!”
“Yes, my Laird and Master!” she replied solemnly. He picked her up and whirled her around till they were both helpless with laughter, then Maureen suddenly appeared at the top of the stairs.
“Excuse me M’Laird,” she said, grinning, “have ye finished wi’ my daughter? Can I have her back noo?”
Blair sighed. “I suppose so, but only for a few more weeks, mind,” he warned. He looked lovingly at Tavia. “Then you are mine!”
Bridget was in a fever of excitement and anticipation. “When is the weddin,’ hen?” she asked eagerly.
Tavia was stirring a pot of a noxious-smelling potion over the stove. She was so used to the stink that it no longer bothered her.
“Whit is yon stench?” Bridget asked, pinching her nostrils together and screwing up her face. “It’s no’ very nice!”
Tavia laughed. “Onions, leeks, garlic, wine, and bull’s bladder,” she replied. “It is for eye infections.”
“I wid rather have the infection!” Bridget laughed. “Noo, tell me everythin’! No’ a single thing left oot, mind!”
Tavia began to speak, to tell Bridget who she was, where she had come from, her new name, and her birthday. She told her about the grandfather she had never met, and the farm she had never seen in the Orkneys.
Tavia pointed Bridget in the direction of a pitcher of ale as she continued to stir the pot, and Bridget gazed at her lovely profile. Her face was glowing; perhaps it was the heat but Bridget thought it had more to do with the fact that she was in love.
“Ye look beautiful, Tavvy,” she breathed. “As if ye were lit fae inside. Does it make ye feel different, knawin’ who ye really are?”
“It makes me feel odd,” she replied, “knowing who I used to be. I am still Tavvy Donald though. That other name is not really mine any longer. I will never use it.”
“I wish it wis me that wis gettin’ merrit.” She sighed longingly.
“Who would you marry, Bridget?” Tavia asked, smiling.
Bridget laughed. “Dinnae be angry, wi’ me, Tavvy.” Her voice was cautious. “I wid merry your Laird.”
“Yes, you and most of the young ladies in Scotland!” Tavia laughed. “I am a very lucky lady!”
Bridget thought for a moment. “Has he no’ got a brother?” she asked.
Blair could not sleep. He kept thinking of the few hours that he and Tavia had spent in his bed talking, kissing, and touching, and he knew that he would never get a moment’s peace until they were married. The sight of the little baby boy, born so recently that he was still red and wrinkled from being in his mother’s womb, had awakened in him a longing so primitive and strong that it was almost painful.
He wanted to be a father, to take an innocent baby boy and raise him to be a decent, robust, protective man. He had never desired this before; being a parent was one of those things that a laird had to do, but he had thought of it happening at some indeterminate date in the future, if at all. Tavia had changed all that.
He thought of himself carrying a little blond-haired boy about the same age as Camden. He imagined walking along the turret walls and showing him the sea, play-fighting with wooden swords, taking him for rides on his shoulders, and he laughed into the darkness.
Then he imagined Tavia, gloriously pregnant with the next baby, who of course would be a girl. She would be beautiful and radiant, and his daughter would be the most exquisite little maid ever born. He wondered how long it would take—he could not wait for it to happen!
19
Calum’s Plan
Rob Grant might have given up his campaign of intimidation against Tavia Donald, but he had by no means finished with her. Rob was a man of weak character, easily influenced and even more easily led, and his friends were cunning. They saw in the Tavia Donald situation a chance to enrich themselves and exact revenge for Rob at the same time. They cared little about Rob, but he was a convenient means to an end.
There was a great deal of speculation as to where Jamie and Cathy Grant had gone to. Rob told everyone that his mother had gone so see her brother and most people assumed he had gone with her, but when she returned without him she was as surprised as anyone else to find that he had disappeared. Rob had told her that Jamie had simply walked out one day and never come back. Cathy knew that was a very unlikely possibility, since he had to manage the fishing fleet, but Rob assured her that he could do the job. However, the handwriting was on the wall. She was very thankful that her sadistic husband had disappeared, but the maintenance of the boats, the accounts, and the fishing itself had to be done or supervised by Rob, and he was in no state to do it.
After his father’s murder, Rob spent most of his time on the fishing boats, where the crews utterly despised him, because while he managed to spend most of his days sober, he drank himself insensible at night and woke up like a bear with a sore head in the morning. The boats were not in good shape, the accounts were all overdue, and the crews had not been paid for weeks, so they were selling the catches to make a living. It was an untenable situation.
Rob desperately needed money, and Calum Rutherford thought he knew just how to get it.
Rob always took Sunday off if he was not at sea, not because he was a devout churchgoer, but because he needed one day to try to make sense of
what was left of his accounts. He rarely managed to do anything before he passed out again, though.
Calum, who worked on one of his boats, could see that a mutiny was coming, and that soon the discontent would boil over. The fishermen had promised to go and loot Rob’s house if they were not paid in the next day or so, and Calum knew it was not an idle threat.
When Calum came to see Rob to tell him this, it was Cathy who answered the door.
She pulled him inside, almost weeping with relief. “Calum! Thank God ye have come!” She hugged him tightly, and he returned her embrace.
Calum was a strange man. Although capable of great cruelty, he was also able to show a tender side to his nature. He had always liked Rob’s kind, timid little mother, and he had been generous to her when he could. “He is barely awake, an’ I cannae dae these books myself’. I’m at my wits’ end.”
“Dinnae fash yersel’, Mistress Grant,” he said gently. They sat in the kitchen and Calum put his hand over hers on the table. “Tell me what's the matter.”
“It’s ma boy,” she sighed. “He’s aye drunk, Calum, an’ the fishin’ is goin’ tae rack an’ ruin. Rob arranged a wee bit o’money for me but it a’ depends on the fishin’ an’ I cannae live on what isnae there.”
She burst into tears. Calum put his arms around her shoulders and let her weep. When she had composed herself, he asked, “Where is he, Mistress Grant?”
“Bedroom,” she replied. “I’m sorry, Calum, behavin’ like a wee lassie.”
“It’s no’ you that should be sorry, Mistress Grant,” Calum replied angrily, then he stamped into Rob’s bedroom. Rob was lying stretched out on the bed, snoring, and Calum punched him hard enough to wake him up. He sat up, then screwed up his eyes with pain from his throbbing headache.
“Nae need tae ask how ye are, my friend!” Calum observed. “Ye look like a washed oot cloot!” *
“I feel like ane,” Rob groaned. There were red circles around his eyes and he was squinting against the light. He looked as though he was about to die, but Calum felt no sympathy. However, he knew that the worse Rob felt, the better it would be for him and the plot he was hatching.
“How’s business?” Rob asked casually. “Or dae I have tae ask? Yer name is a swear word tae yer crews, an’ it willnae be lang afore they a’ come knockin yer door doon, an’ it disnae take hauf a brain tae think whit they’ll dae tae ye. Whit’s got intae ye, man?”
“Naethin’ is workin’,” Rob said irritably. “Everythin’ I touch is goin’ wrang, Calum.”
“Aye, well, I hae nae pity fur ye, Rob,” Calum remarked, his tone scathing. “Things dae that when ye dinnae look efter them an droon a’ yer troubles in whisky! Look at the state o’ ye! Yer hair looks like a rat’s nest. Ye havenae shaved for God knaws how lang, and yer claes are filthy! Ye should be ashamed o’ yersel’!”
“Dinnae shout sae loud!” Rob moaned, putting his hands over his ears. “If you are sae clever, tell me whit tae dae!”
Calum got up and closed the door so that Cathy could not hear them. “I will tell ye, Rob, but dinnae blab it aboot, d’ye swear?”
“Aye, I swear, I swear!” Rob clamped his hands on both sides of his head to try to stop the pain in his head, which felt like so many continuous hammer blows.
“Tell me afore I die,” Rob said wearily.
“Ye are listenin’ noo?” Rob asked.
“Aye, get on wi’ it!”
So Rob outlined his plan, and as he listened, Rob’s eyes grew wider and wider with astonishment. “Why did I no’ think o’ that?” he asked incredulously.
“Dae I really need tae tell ye?” Calum asked sarcastically. “Come on ya stupid bampot!”
Rob jumped out of bed, suddenly wide awake and sober.
* * *
* Washed oot cloot = wrung out cleaning cloth
Tavia went to bed early that Sunday night, feeling as tired as she ever had in her life. The shop closed on a Sunday, of course, because everyone in the village went to Mass. Archie would rather have stayed at home, but missing Mass was a serious sin against God and a shortcut to social rejection, and anyway, Maureen would have made his life a misery.
As soon as she got back, Tavia started to weed the herb garden.
“Ye’ll burn in hell for breakin’ God’s Holy Commandments,” Maureen warned. “The Third Commandment says: ‘Keep Holy the Sabbath Day.’ He will be frownin’ on ye noo, Milady!”
“I am quite sure he has worse sinners than me to worry about, Mammy!” Tavia answered impatiently. “I will confess to Father Edward next week!”
She worked all afternoon and into the evening, digging, hoeing, and weeding. She looked with satisfaction and pride at the result of all her hard work. The garden had been tidied, cleansed, and fertilized, and soon would be planted with neat rows of mint, sage, thyme, rosemary, garlic, and other herbs that no one had ever heard of. Each one had a use however, and she knew that when every caraway seed, clove, and rocket leaf had been ground or liquefied, someone in pain or discomfort would get relief. It made Tavia happy just to think about it.
A tapping at the shutter woke her in the deepest, blackest part of the night. Tavia always answered the noise since it usually meant an emergency of some sort, and since her room was at the front of the house she usually went first. She put on her thickest cloak over her nightgown, took the candle that was standing by the front door, and went outside.
There was no one there. She looked up and down the street but could see nothing.
Presently, however, she heard a hoarse voice. “Help!” It was a man’s voice, and it sounded very close. “Help me…” Then it trailed off and all was silent. Tavia followed the direction of the cry, expecting to see someone lying on the ground or leaning against the corner of the house, but before she could look, a hand was clamped firmly and painfully over her mouth, the point of a dagger was at her throat, and she heard a low, menacing laugh against her ear.
Terror filled her and she began to tremble uncontrollably, sure that her last moment had come. She could not speak or scream, and she had never felt so helpless in her life.
“Hello, Tavvy!” Rob Grant said in a soft sneering voice. “Fancy meeting you here!”
Blair was always at his best on a Monday morning. Sundays were usually a day of rest, so he always woke up refreshed, but he had been disturbed during the night and felt a little tired.
Presently the butler came in to see him. “M’Laird, there is someone to see you,” he began. “His name is James Munro. He apologizes for the unexpected nature of his visit but says the matter is urgent.”
“Does he look respectable, Dougal?” Blair asked.
“Aye, M’Laird, he does,” the butler confirmed.
“Show him in,” Blair ordered. When the door opened, Blair’s eyes widened in surprise. “Good morning, Mister Rutherford,” he said evenly. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Calum bowed and gave Blair an oily smile. “I have a wee proposition that might interest ye, M’Laird.”
Blair’s eyes narrowed. “I’m listening.” His voice was wary.
“Early this morning,” Calum began, “Rob Grant said he was ridin’ hame an’ he found Tavia staggerin’ alang the road. Someb’dy had beat her black an’ blue. Well, he couldnae leave her there so he took her somewhere safe.”
“Where?” Blair asked, frowning. “I will go and get her. Tell me where she is!”
“Sit doon. M’Laird. Dinnae fash yersel’. She is quite safe, an’I will tell ye where she is if ye pay me a wee consideration for a’ oor trouble.”
He sat back with a smug smile.
Blair glowered at him. “How much of a ‘consideration’ are we talking about?”
Calum named an outrageous sum. There was a moment’s silence, then Blair burst out laughing. He carried on for several minutes then gradually calmed down, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. “I do not believe you,” he said at last, apparently unable to control his amusement.
&n
bsp; Calum was mystified. This was not the reaction he had expected. “How no’?” he asked indignantly. “It’s a’ true.”
“No.” Blair’s face changed suddenly to a mask of anger. “Not a word of it is true! For a start, Rob Grant cannot ride, and does not own a horse. Second, even if he could ride and did own a horse, nothing on Earth would force Tavvy to get on it. Thirdly,” he made a sign indicating that the door should be opened, and in walked the last person Rob expected to see. He gasped in shock.
“Good morning, Calum,” Tavia said, smiling sweetly. She sat down on Blair’s lap and kissed him. “I have been to see Rob in the dungeons. He is delighted to know you will be joining him. Dungeons can be very lonely places, as you will soon find out.”
“How did ye dae this?” Calum asked. He was completely baffled.
“You were not there, last night, were you Calum?” Blair asked.
“Naw, I wis lookin’ efter Mistress Grant,” Calum replied resentfully. “She wis upset an’ didnae want tae be left alane, but Rob said he could manage on his ain an’ I could dae this bit.”
“Then you will not know that I have had two armed guards watching Tavvy since I went to Inverness,” he informed him. “They were in plain clothes, but had been ordered not to intervene unless absolutely necessary, and I think even you will agree that last night qualifies as that. Do not feel foolish—do not feel more foolish than you already are, that is. My men are good at what they do, and even Tavvy did not know they were there.”
They both stood up and Blair put his arm around Tavia’s waist. “Now, go and see your friend.” He smiled. “I am sure you two have a lot to talk about.”
Two guards came in and escorted a dumbfounded Calum out of the door, and they watched as he was led away.
“My dungeons are not so bad,” Blair said thoughtfully. “And Rob will recover from his addiction to whisky. It will be good for him.”