Moirra's Heart Series: The Complete Collection ( Moirra's Heart Series: The Complete Collection (The Moirra's Heart Series Book 3))

by Suzan Tisdale

  She took a deep breath to settle her nerves. “I be sorry, children. I truly am. I be makin’ a spectacle of meself and I apologize to ye now. I am just so angry with those men that —” she stopped herself before she exploded again. “Mayhap John be right. Wait fer me out of doors, but do no’ leave the yard.”

  They didn’t wait for further instructions. They climbed off the bed and hurried toward the door.

  “Moirra,” John began. “I ken ye be angry, and ye have a right to be. Mayhap we should go to the sheriff and lodge a complaint against these men?”

  “No!” Moirra and Mariote shouted in unison.

  John took two cautious steps backward.

  The two women exchanged glances with one another, fear alight in their eyes. Mariote looked as though she wanted to retch and Moirra had turned green.

  After a long moment, Moirra cleared her throat. “The men,” she began to explain. “They be the sheriff’s men. He’ll no’ do a thing to help any of us.”

  “He’s a bastard,” Mariote whispered under her breath.

  Moirra didn’t chastise the curse, instead, she gave a solemn nod of agreement.

  He was at a loss as to what he should do and felt rather helpless at the moment. “Ye ken the man better than I,” John said. “I’ll leave what is to be done to you.”

  Moirra and Mariote looked relieved. “Thank ye, John,” Moirra said.

  “I thank ye as well, John,” Mariote said. “I hate to think —”

  John stopped her with a raised hand. “Please, Mariote, do no’ worry over it. I swear to ye, that as long as I be here, no harm will come to any of ye.”

  A flicker of something passed over Mariote’s eyes, a look of hope blended with confusion.

  Mayhap these women were so used to protecting themselves that when a man offered such they knew not how to respond or what to think of it. Believing now was not the time to ask them on it, John gave them a nod and left them alone.

  Nine

  Orabilis didn’t rightly care what John or her mum or her bossy sisters said. She knew in her heart that Wulver was a good dog. She’d been taking care of him since he was a pup and no matter what anyone else thought, she loved him.

  Though she wasn’t supposed to go beyond the hill without her mum or sisters, she went anyway. It had been days since she’d seen Wulver and she worried that he might be hungry. With bits of roast rabbit tucked into the pouch tied around her waist and hidden under her apron, she carefully made her way over the hill. Everyone was busy with their chores and she felt certain she would not be missed. Besides, she had her sgian dubh carefully hidden in her boot should the need arise to protect herself.

  Down the hill she went, to the little spot next to the stream that meandered through their land. A few scraggly trees stood on either side of the stream and that was where Orabilis had first met Wulver. As soon as she was certain she was out of earshot of her mum and bossy sisters, she whistled as best she could with her missing front tooth and scanned the horizon.

  While she waited anxiously for Wulver, she would glance over her shoulder toward the hill. If her mum found her here alone, she would be in a good deal of trouble. In her mind and her heart she knew however, that it was worth the scolding she would receive. Wulver was one of God’s creatures. Orabilis was certain he had no mum to take care of him so she felt obligated to take on that role.

  Besides, he was a very good dog, no matter what her older sisters thought. They’d never seen him so they couldn’t know what a good dog he truly was. And the problem of having to sneak away to tend to him would be easily solved if her mum would simply allow her to keep him. So if anything bad happened, she reasoned, it would be no one’s fault but her mother’s.

  She was about to whistle again, when she spied Wulver coming down from the other hill. Her heart filled with glee and she felt very relieved to see him. He trotted over to her and began sniffing her hands. Orabilis giggled and gave him a pat on his head.

  “Where is it?” she asked playfully. ’Twas a game they played in which Wulver had to choose which pouch he thought his treat was in. In truth, it didn’t matter because Orabilis always gave him the food, even if he did choose incorrectly.

  The big, black and gray dog sniffed at her apron, before nuzzling his nose against her left side. “Good boy!” Orabilis said. She reached into the pouch and fed him the pieces. She giggled when his tongue tickled her palm.

  “I canna stay long, Wulver. Mum will be mad if I’m gone too long.” She knelt down and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I love ye, Wulver. Ye be the best dog. No matter what my sisters say.”

  Wulver licked her face and whimpered. Orabilis sighed, disheartened that she couldn’t bring him home with her. “I be sorry, Wulver, but ye canna come with me today.” She hugged him tightly. “Mayhap someday when I’m all grown up ye can come live with me.”

  She had often daydreamed about being older and having her own home. In her dreams, she would have as many dogs as she wanted and no one would tell her she couldn’t.

  Giving him one last hug, Orabilis stood and wiped her hands on her apron. “Ye run along now, Wulver, and I’ll see ye soon. I promise.”

  The dog licked her hands once more before turning around and heading across the stream and up the hill, away from her home. Whenever she had to watch him leave, it made her stomach feel funny and her chest hurt.

  Someday, she promised herself. Someday I’ll be big enough to do what I want and I’ll come fer ye, I promise.

  With a heavy heart, she hurried home.

  Ten

  Moirra, Mariote and Esa had been cleaning up after the evening meal when the soft sweet sounds of the lute came floating in on the evening air. Every female in the little cottage stopped what she was doing and listened. The sisters all turned to look at their mother. She looked just as surprised as they felt.

  Moirra followed the sound out of doors with her daughters falling in line behind her. The sound led them into the barn. They stood in bittersweet silence just inside the door and listened to the lovely sound.

  Moirra cast a glance at her oldest daughters. Tears fell freely down Mariote’s cheeks as she slipped a hand inside her mother’s. Moirra’s heart felt as though it was being squeezed as she listened to the music and saw the way her daughters were looking up at the loft.

  How many years had it been since they had last heard that same melody? A flood of memories came crashing in and ’twas all she could do not to fall to her knees.

  When the song ended, little Orabilis, not understanding the significance of the moment, and being only six, began clapping. Her mother and older sisters all gasped as they whispered for her to stop. But it was too late.

  They heard a rustling from above before John’s head appeared over the edge of the loft.

  His expression turned from frustrated to confused when he caught site of his wife, Mariote, and Esa, all quietly weeping.

  “What be the matter?” he asked as he began to climb down the ladder. “Is someone ill? Injured?”

  Moirra couldn’t speak, she could only shake her head and wipe away her tears.

  John eyed each of them curiously. When he looked lastly at Orabilis, she shrugged her shoulders. “I do no’ ken why they cry, John. I thought it sounded pretty!”

  Mariote wiped her face and finally found her voice. “Me da used to play the lute. He used to play that same song for us when we were little.” Her voice cracked as she fought back tears.

  John went pale. “I — I am verra sorry lasses,” he said. “I didna mean to bring ye any pain. I swear, I’ll never play it again.”

  “No!” Moirra, Mariote, and Esa all cried out in unison.

  John took a step back, perplexed. He would never understand the opposite sex.

  “Please, John,” Mariote said, wiping away more tears. “’Twas beautiful —” she searched for the proper way to explain how she was feeling. “I miss me da, every day. To hear the lute, to hear the beautiful sound, it fills m
e heart with joy.” Her skin burned crimson as if admitting to anyone she had such tender feelings was shameful.

  John looked to his wife then. She was smiling, even though her eyes were wet with tears. “Mariote speaks the truth. Ye play verra well and ’tis somethin’ we’ve missed fer a verra long time.”

  How could a person cry and smile so brightly at once? It made very little sense to him.

  “Will ye play more?” Esa asked as she pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve. “We’d be verra happy if ye did.”

  Moirra nodded her head in agreement while Mariote and Esa both waited with eager anticipation. Muriale and Orabilis smiled up at him.

  “Verra well, then,” he agreed. “But I fear I be no’ verra good at it. ’Tis just somethin’ I do every now and again.”

  A squeal of delight and a round of clapping broke through the quiet night. “Thank ye, John!” Mariote exclaimed.

  Had he known all he needed to do to get this young lass’ approval was to play a few notes on his lute, he’d have done it days ago.

  * * *

  For the next two hours, John happily played every tune that he knew, which was not many. He ended up playing the same handful of melodies over and over again. At first, his wife and step-daughters kept back, near the door, and simply listened, with blissful smiles plastered on their faces. At some point, pitchers of cider and ale were brought to the barn, along with stools, though no one did much sitting.

  When he chose livelier tunes, these beautiful women he was coming to adore more with each passing moment, began to dance about the barn. He’d gladly play all the night long, just to see their smiles and hear their giggles and laughter. He finally found a way to connect with them and it made his heart swell with pride.

  When Muriale and Orabilis began to yawn, John slowed the pace of his melodies. After a few lullabies, Moirra finally called an end to the evening’s festivities.

  Beaming at her daughters, she drew them all in for a hug. “Daughters, the hour grows verra late,” she began.

  The girls, knowing full well what their mother was about to say began to protest. Moirra smiled down at them but remained firm. “’Tis late and we’ve much to do on the morrow. Mayhap if ye are good and help John with his chores on the morrow, ye might be able to convince him to play again.”

  They turned their attention toward John and began to plead with him.

  He held up his hand to stop them. “Aye, I’ll play again fer ye, but only if ye do as yer mum says and go to bed straight away.”

  Uncertain if he would make good on his threat, the girls hugged him tightly before hugging their mum and racing out of the barn. “Thank ye, John!” Mariote smiled from the doorway. “Thank ye verra much!”

  John’s heart had never felt lighter. ’Twas the first time Mariote had smiled at him. ’Twas the first time the children hugged him. ’Twas the first time in a very long time that he felt a part of a family. His chest felt full and his spirits light.

  When Moirra saw the door to the cottage close behind her daughters, she turned to face John.

  There was something in the way she smiled at him, adoringly, sweetly, that made his groin ache with want. It was getting excruciatingly difficult to hold back his desire for her. He wondered how she would respond if he stepped forward and kissed her, as he’d been wanting to for days.

  John was about to step forward and broach the topic when Moirra turned to face him. “We need to talk.”

  Past experience told him that no good ever came from a moment that began with the words we need to talk. Nay, he looked at that statement as a warning, a harbinger of bad things to come. The words acted like a slap in the face and they quelled any desire he may have had. He pulled his own smile in, clenched his jaw, and readied himself for what he was certain would be a blow to his ego as well as his heart.

  Giving Moirra a nod, he spread his feet apart and crossed his arms over his chest and braced himself.

  Moirra had learned long ago, that words often were not enough to convey the message one might desire another person to understand. In those moments, actions speak louder than words. This was one of those moments.

  Without permission or warning, flinging all good and common sense aside, Moirra rushed to him and wrapped her arms around his neck. Standing on her toes, she leaned up and looked into his eyes. Surprise flickered momentarily behind his green eyes before understanding finally set in.

  Slowly, John bent, wrapped her more tightly in his arms and brought his lips to hers. She thought it a sweet, tender kiss, but that was not what she needed or wanted at that particular moment. For days she had been daydreaming about the moment when he would finally realize that he wanted her just as much as she wanted him. He’d been doing his best to be an honorable gentleman, and for that, she applauded him.

  But now, pressed against him in the dimly lit barn, she did not want an honorable gentleman. She wanted a passionate and virile man. She wanted to feel his bare skin against hers. On top of her, under her, sideways, she didn’t care as long as he was inside her, slaking her want and desperation and physical desires. He smelled like hay, earth, soap and leather to the point she very nearly felt intoxicated. She could not remember ever having such a heady and exhilarating feeling before, not with any of her husbands.

  Moirra urged him on by nibbling on his lower lip. He responded by deepening the kiss before running his tongue between her lips. Her heart pounded against her breastbone; her blood ran hot through her veins; warm sensations began to swim deep in her belly. Rather zealously, she ran her fingers through his hair, pulling him closer. Soon she realized she was breathing hard, like an animal that had been chased through the woods. John’s breathing was not any steadier than her own.

  Pressed so closely to him, she could feel his arousal and that flamed her own. Leaving his hair, she started to undo his plaid, when his hands stopped her.

  She opened her eyes and looked at him. He had an odd expression on his face and she did not know what to make of it.

  “What be the matter?” she asked breathlessly.

  He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Moirra, I do no’ ken how much more of yer kisses I can take without hauling ye up to the loft and havin’ me way with ye.”

  Gently, she placed her palm on his cheek. “John, ye sweet, stupid man.” Though her tone was playful and her words meant in jest, he still raised a surprised brow. “Why do ye think I kissed ye?”

  He stammered, trying to find a good answer.

  Moirra giggled and headed toward the ladder that led to the loft. She took the first rung before turning back to him. “Ye best hurry, or I’ll have to start without ye.”

  He’d never known such a beguiling, intriguing, bold woman. Momentarily surprised by her apparent challenge, he watched as she climbed the ladder. Her skirts swished and swayed as she made her way up and disappeared into the dark loft.

  Start without me? He contemplated her statement for a long moment, his mind conjuring up all sorts of provocative images, which brought a smile to his face. Bloody hell ye’ll start without me!

  * * *

  Moirra had removed her dress by the time he made his way up to the loft. The small window was open, letting in a sliver of moonlight and a soft breeze. But it wasn’t the cool air that brought goose pimples to her skin. Nay, ’twas her own wicked mind. Trembling with anticipation, she waited for him, wearing only her chemise and a smile.

  John couldn’t stand to his full height in the tiny loft. Bent at the waist, he came to her and fell to his knees. In short order, he unclasped his brooch, removed his plaid and tunic and tossed them aside.

  He was magnificent. Toned, well-defined muscles, broad shoulders and a flat stomach. The sight of him, with the moonlight bouncing off his tanned skin, made her shiver. Suddenly, she began to worry that her body, which had birthed four daughters and was not as firm as it had been in her youth might dampen his ardor.

  John gave her no time to ponder that line of thinking. H
e slipped his hands under her chemise and caressed her calves. Slowly, he moved his hands up her legs, her thighs, and her stomach. Her skin felt hot wherever he touched, as if his hands were made of fire. Before she had time to even think to argue or warn him about her less than perfect body, he had pulled her to her knees and lifted the chemise up and over her head.

  Moirra closed her eyes and held her breath. Silently, she hoped he’d not care about the stretch marks on her breasts or her less than flat stomach.

  All fear and worry fell away with his next words. “God, yer beautiful,” he said breathlessly.

  He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. She heard him inhale deeply as he buried his face in her neck. “Ye smell so good.”

  His voice was low, deep, and smooth. She found she rather liked the sound of his voice, especially when he whispered in her ear. More shivers erupted up and down her spine as she sucked in a deep breath.

  Caressing her skin with his rough palms, he slid them up her back, across her shoulders and down her arms, before returning to her back. Moirra continued to suck in deep breaths, surprised at how wonderful his touch made her feel.

  John was not her first husband nor was he her first lover. But there was something different in how she felt and responded to his touch. Not just exciting and exhilarating, nay, there was something else, at the very edge of her mind but she could not figure out its meaning.

  He left trails of kisses from her neck to her lips. Moirra melted into him like warm butter. There was no way to hold back sighs or moans. His hands were everywhere. Exploring, caressing, leaving her breathless and wanting more.

  As his lips caressed hers, he carefully lowered her to the blanket, resting her head in the crook of his arm. His tongue sought hers again, twirling, teasing and twining together. Resting one hand on the back of his neck, she pulled him closer as she began her exploration of his body.