Highlanders Collection. Ann Lethbridge

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      This part of the journey was harder than the rest of it would be. Once they passed through Dunalastair and reached the main road used to bring cattle south to the major cities for the markets, their travel would level out and ease. He knew that, but Tavis also knew that this journey was getting harder by the step for him.

      For the first time since Saraid’s passing, he’d become aware of the women around him. Nay, not that he had not seen them, but they began now to appeal to him as women did to men. At the ceilidh at Lairig Dubh and then again at the MacCallums’ keep and village, he’d crossed some line in his life. For four years he’d looked the other way, but that had not worked for him. The invitations he’d received, the expressions of wanting and desire in the gazes of several of the women in both keeps, made it clear that he did not have to sleep alone.

      That was the usual way of things—a widow’s bed could be a welcoming place for an unmarried man in the clan. Nights of pleasures shared without the commitment of marriage vows or until the two were certain they wanted to marry. Or not.

      Not that he would ever marry again, but …

      The remorse that always filled him whenever he thought of Saraid—her life, their life, or her death—flooded him now and reminded him of the terrible failure that would always be his burden. Bile spilled into his mouth as did the bitterness of his actions when Saraid needed him most. He spat on to the ground but, real or only memory, he could still taste it.

      Guiding his horse down the steep pathway that led into Dunalastair’s village, he reconciled himself to his fate. But when Ciara raced by him, laughing and calling out a challenge, he put away the dark memories and darker possibilities of his future and followed her.

      ‘To the bridge!’ she yelled, tearing off her head covering and letting the wind catch the length of her hair.

      Damn, but she could ride! And with the mount she had, he would be hard pressed to catch her now. Tavis spurred his horse on to follow, trying to work out if there was enough distance in which he could catch her before they reached the bridge. Doubtful. Still, he bent low over his horse’s neck and urged it on faster and faster.

      The wind in his face and the feel of the horse’s strong muscles as it pushed them faster along the road forced all melancholy from him. He focused his thoughts on the woman ahead of him, though now just barely. Dirt flew under the horse’s hooves and branches whipped him. None of that slowed him down, not when victory could be his. They approached a split in the road and he took the one Ciara did not.

      Tavis laughed aloud then, knowing now that he would reach the bridge first by using this path. He’d done it many times when travelling here with Duncan. When he broke through the last of the trees, Ciara sat on the bridge, smiling at him. How had she …?

      ‘You are not the only one who knows the shorter pathways around here, Tavis,’ she scolded.

      He should have known better. He should have realised that she would be a fierce competitor even on the way to becoming a dutiful wife. James Murray would not appreciate a woman like Ciara. He was too young and in the power of his parents who, as she’d said, only wanted the match for the money she brought them.

      He tipped his head at her and jumped down from his horse. Gathering the reins, he walked to the bridge and held hers while she climbed down. Both of them were out of breath as they entered the village of Dunalastair, walking the horses to cool them down. Ciara had moved from here when she had only five years, so her memories of the place were more from her visits back. Without asking and out of habit, they walked down the lane that led to her mother’s old cottage.

      ‘Will the others be offended that I keep leaving them?’ she asked as they turned on to a smaller path and stopped before a small cottage.

      As he watched, she walked to the edge of the enclosed garden and peeked within. Her mother had a talent with growing herbs and much more and this was where her skills had developed. With Ciara at her side. The tears that glistened in her eyes were no surprise to him. Tavis allowed her some private moments before calling out to her.

      ‘Word will get to your uncle before you do, Ciara. We should go.’

      She fumbled for a small pouch tied on her belt, one he had not noticed before, and she ran her hand over its surface, feeling whatever was inside it. Almost as a bairn rubs a blanket when troubled, she repeated the action again. Then her hand dropped and she faced him. ‘Aye. Uncle Iain likes to be the first to know when he has visitors.’

      ‘Are your other uncles expected?’

      He knew that Ciara’s mother had four brothers, two older and two younger, for he’d met them all several times. Padraig, married to a MacKendimen lass, served as Iain’s second-in-command and oversaw all Robertson warriors. Caelan, recently betrothed to the MacLean’s daughter, oversaw the clan’s holdings. Only Graem, now ordained and appointed as secretary to the Bishop of Dunkeld, lived elsewhere and visited infrequently.

      ‘He did not say. This is only a short visit, so I suspect not,’ she said as they made their way to the keep on the hill.

      * * *

      By the time they arrived at the gates, the rest of their escorts and companions caught up with them and they entered together. The men laughed when she told them all she’d won and Tavis knew he would be taunted unmercifully about that when she was not there. He greeted several of the Robertsons as they were guided into the main hall. As Ciara said, this was not a formal visit by the heads of their allies, so few were there to greet them, the rest carrying on their duties.

      ‘Ciara!’ Lord Iain’s loud voice filled the hall as he called out to his niece.

      Tavis watched as she ran to him and was wrapped in his embrace. The older man had never married and had no children, but this niece was special to him. Remembering the rumours and speculation that surrounded Marian’s fall from grace when she was known as the Robertson Harlot, Tavis wondered if Lord Iain knew the truth about Ciara’s father.

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