The Highlander's Stolen Touch (2 page)

Chapter One

Lairig Dubh, Scotland—spring, AD 1370

C
iara Robertson sat away from the table, almost in the corner of the room her stepfather had chosen for the meeting. It was a large chamber and comfortable, but did not offer too much comfort. The shuttered windows were open, allowing the cool spring breezes in. Food and drink were offered, but sparingly. This was not about hospitality—this was about business.

She met no one’s gaze and most of the men there probably thought she was a servant awaiting their orders. But she was no servant—she was the eldest daughter of the MacLerie peacemaker, Duncan, and was being trained by him even now.

As he had instructed, she listened to every word said, watched the expressions of those speaking and even the way they sat or gestured to gain an understanding of who held the true power in these discussions. ’Twas not always the oldest or wealthiest or the loudest, he’d told her many times. The true power usually sat out of the attention. The true power delegated to lessers and set their leash. The true power spoke quietly and wielded their control carefully.

Now listening and watching, she believed that the MacLaren’s younger brother was the one making the decisions in this series of negotiations for a trade agreement with the MacLeries. Though another man, older and calmer, spoke the MacLaren’s position, it was clear to her he was not in charge.

The session went on for a few hours, each side clarifying and posturing, and several times Ciara had to force the smile from her lips as she watched her stepfather work—pushing here, cajoling there, complimenting egos, urging that one or the other—to get the best terms for the MacLeries. By the time they agreed to complete the agreement in the morning and break for their evening meal, Duncan the Peacemaker had guided the
MacLarens down the paths he wanted them to follow and would close the deal on the morrow. She stood, curtsying to them as they left, and waited for her stepfather to discuss the day’s work.

She understood how he worked, for he’d not taken notes during the talks, but he would remember every word and clause agreed to by both parties. He would write down his thoughts and plans before speaking to anyone, so she did act the servant then, pouring ale into cups and giving them to the MacLeries remaining in the room now. Her uncle the laird and the laird’s steward waited for her father to collect his thoughts and speak about how to bring these negotiations to a successful conclusion.

A few minutes passed and it felt good to stretch her legs and walk after sitting quietly for such a while. Quiet and sitting were not her usual custom of behaviour. The laird’s gaze followed her, but when she met it, he smiled and looked off. Her stepfather, the only father she’d ever known, raised his head and cleared his throat, signalling that he was ready now to discuss the day’s progress, or lack of it, with them. He surprised her with his first words.

‘Ciara, give me your impressions of the talks today,’ he said. He smiled reassuringly at her and nodded for her to begin.

Words stuck in her throat as she tried to say something useful, something pertinent, now that she’d been asked. While talking in private, giving her opinion or making observations had never been a problem at all. She enjoyed a spirited debate with the man who’d raised her as his own after marrying her mother and she never felt worried over her words. Now though, with the laird and his steward watching and waiting, her palms grew sweaty and her mind went blank.

‘Do you think the laird will agree to my request to lengthen the term of this agreement?’ he asked, clearly guiding her in her reply. Ciara put the others present out of her thoughts and replied as she would if only speaking to Duncan.

‘I think the laird is willing to extend it as you’ve asked, but I suspect his brother is not. And it is his brother who will make the decision.’ What if she were wrong? What if her observations were completely backwards?

Duncan looked at her intently and then glanced at the laird. Connor MacLerie could be intimidating when he wished to be so and, right now, his expression grew dark and his face stern. Had she made an error? She reached up and wiped her hand across her forehead where small beads of perspiration were gathering now, too.

‘Did I not tell you, Connor?’ her father said to the laird. Had she made a mess of the first time she was permitted to observe? How could she tell her mother, who’d supported her in her education and encouraged her along this unorthodox course for a young woman? If she failed now...

‘Aye, Duncan, you did,’ the laird replied, now smiling. ‘The lass is a bright one and sees through their posturing.’ Connor nodded to her. ‘And it did not take her as long as it took me to see it.’

Her stepfather beamed, pride in his eyes and a smile on his lips, and Ciara realised she’d been correct.

‘What else, lass?’ the laird asked. ‘Tell me what else you noticed during the discussions.’

‘The cattle interested his brother more than it did
MacLaren. And I think he is overestimating the men he can call to arms if needed,’ she said.

A little more at ease, she explained how she came to her conclusions and answered questions from the laird, his steward and her stepfather. They discussed the concessions they’d got already and ones they still wanted.

* * *

Only a loud banging on the door had interrupted them some time later.

‘They will not serve until you are at table, Connor,’ his wife, Jocelyn, said, glaring at each of them as though they could have hurried the laird when he did not wish to be. ‘Everyone is waiting to eat and you dawdle here. Even the MacLarens sit waiting.’

Ciara tried to hold her laugh in, but the sight of this powerful man being cowed by his wife and not resisting her efforts made her chuckle. Her father flashed a warning frown, but she could see the mirth in his own eyes at seeing Jocelyn badgering Connor. Her mother did not hesitate to speak boldly to her stepfather and Ciara suspected that she might be waiting to do just that in the great hall. But, as Jocelyn had held her tongue until none but family remained to hear her, so would her mother.

Watching as the laird took his wife by the hand, entwined their fingers and walked at her side, Ciara now understood that the laird and her father did not simply allow their wives behaviours that other men might not. They accepted them completely in a manner that could be explained only one way—they loved them.

Having accompanied her father on many journeys on the laird’s business, Ciara also understood that it was not the usual custom in most other clans or marriages.

Would she find that in her marriage?

Though not meant to, she’d overheard her parents discussing her marriageable age and about the possibility of seeking a betrothal for her. The time for that was quickly approaching. The dowry bestowed on her would only increase the offers and her ties to two very powerful clans would increase her importance to others who coveted a closer connection to either or both of them. She would be the usual bride—one bartered for her perceived value and not her own worth.

No man would value a woman who was smarter than he or who could understand how legalities worked. Men wanted a woman to fill their bed, oversee their households and lessen their burdens. Whether they knew it or not, her parents had prepared her for a life and for a husband who did not exist. Fortunately or unfortunately, that dowry would plough through most objections right away.

Well, one man would be able to look past all of her accomplishments and see the true woman inside. One man always had and surely he would again.

Tavis MacLerie.

She had kept her true feelings a secret these years from all but her closest friend and confidant Elizabeth, but she’d not forgotten or given up on him and the possibility of something more between them. As a child, she had not realised what that meant other than a fanciful dream, but now she did.

And she was ready for more to happen between them.

The small group walked through the great hall, approached the raised table and she took her place at her parents’ side for the meal. The laird introduced her by name to all the MacLarens present and, other than a few raised eyebrows, none expressed surprise at her name. During the talks they most likely thought her only a maidservant to the MacLeries. Now, they understood her standing and things would change.

The glint in the MacLaren brothers’ eyes made it clear—she was something to include in the agreement, a tangible way to strengthen their position with the
MacLeries. A brief but telling glance between the brothers made this development clear to both of them and now their demands would change to include a betrothal.

* * *

The rest of the meal moved past her in a blur, for she became lost in her own thoughts. If talk of betrothals and marriage contracts would begin in earnest, then she could not lose any more time and chance losing Tavis forever. In spite of his being yet trapped within his own grief of losing his wife, this was now the time to broach their own future.

* * *

The negotiations concluded after several more days of discussions during which her name was raised—and squashed immediately by the laird on her behalf. But rather than feeling relief, she knew it had been the first in many that would follow. Soon there would be no rational or legitimate reason to refuse to consider such offers. Ciara knew the time had come and, when Tavis returned from one of the laird’s other holdings, she prepared herself to do the boldest, most terrifying thing she’d ever done.

* * *

She waited until dark, when she knew he would be alone, before sneaking out of Elizabeth’s cottage and making her way to his. Knowing it would be impossible to leave the keep once the gates were closed for the night, she’d made plans with her closest friend, who would cover for her absence, if need be. Now, standing near his door and out of the light cast by the full moon, she raised her shaking hand to knock.

Just tell him how you feel and then ask him
, she repeated to herself for the hundredth time since leaving Elizabeth behind. It did not ease her nervousness or increase her courage as she forced her hand into a fist and reached up to tap gently on his door.

You are an educated woman, one who can read and write in five languages and one who can understand contracts and negotiating. You are accomplished in skills and knowledge that most men know nothing of. You are intelligent, quick-witted and any man would be glad to have you as his wife.

The words her stepfather had repeated to her when her confidence waned echoed in her thoughts, but this time, did not bolster her courage, especially not as
Tavis’s steps approached her from the other side of the door. She sucked in a breath and tried to calm her racing heart. When he pulled open the door and whispered her name, she lost any hope of it.

He was so beautiful that it took her breath away.

Beautiful was not the correct word, but it seemed to describe his appearance—wholly male, but incredibly beautiful at the same time. Small braids of his dark brown hair hung from his temples and the rest of it hung loose to his shoulders. His tall, muscular form blocked out any light in the hearth behind him as he filled the doorway. Tavis stepped closer to her, glancing behind her and then out on to the path, so close she could feel the heat of his body. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself a moment to enjoy the scent of him, before realising that she must look daft standing before him so.

‘Is something wrong, Ciara?’ he asked quietly. ‘It is late.’ She took a deep breath and plunged forwards with her plan.

‘I would speak to you, Tavis,’ she said, entwining her fingers together to make their shaking less apparent.

‘We should speak in the morning...in the keep,’ he said, stepping back and depriving her of his scent and his heat. Then a suspicious glint entered his eyes. ‘Do your parents know you are walking alone through the village in the dark?’

‘I am no bairn, Tavis, and have lived here long enough to know every turn of every path and every soul who abides in Lairig Dubh.’

‘So your parents have no idea that you run free.’

Ciara worried her teeth along her bottom lip, not giving him an answer. She did not believe he would turn her away without listening to her first, but the way his face hardened gave her pause that he might do exactly that!

‘Best come in out of the chill air,’ he said, relenting. He stepped back, opening the door up and waiting for her to enter. Tavis closed the door and walked across the cottage to the hearth. Pointing to a stool nearby, he offered her a seat.

Ciara decided to stand and walked closer to the low fire burning in the hearth. She’d thought about the words she wanted to say for days, but now, standing in his house, the one he’d shared with his wife Saraid, all of them scattered, leaving her silent.

‘Ciara?’ His voice, low and deep, sent waves of pleasure and anticipation through her, forcing her to gather her thoughts and speak of the matter between them. Rather than mincing words, she sought the candour they always shared and got right to the heart of it.

‘I have come to speak to you about the matter of marriage, Tavis,’ she blurted out. Then she sat down on the offered stool, since now her legs trembled as much as her hands did. Quite proud of how she’d been so very forthright with him, the frown that furrowed his brow surprised her.

‘Marriage? Does someone seek your hand, then?’ he asked. ‘Does Duncan favour the suit?’

‘Nay, no one has offered,’ she said. Not as yet, not a serious offer, though with her age and her dowry, ’twas only a matter of time. She wanted to get this settled before they would begin in earnest.

‘Do you fear marriage, then?’ he asked, concern lacing his tone in spite of his own terrible experience in the marital state. ‘Marian would speak candidly to you about that, lass.’

Ciara closed her eyes for a moment, prayed for courage and then said the words that would damn her or give her her heart’s desire.

‘I would marry you, Tavis.’

The air in the cottage stilled and not a sound could be heard, though Ciara was certain her heart pounding against her chest must be loud. Tavis did not move. His gaze remained on her face, but he gave no sign that he had heard her or, indeed, that he even yet breathed. Moments passed—mayhap hours did, too—while she waited for him to say something to her. Heat flushed in her cheeks and her stomach began to grip. She brushed some loosened hair back away from her face and then repeated her words, for by some chance, he must not have understood them the first time.