He shook his head. What had his mother been thinking? Had she agreed to the marriage because it would grow the Clan MacShane holdings? Or had she accepted the first offer, his father having made known she had been gone from him long enough and she was to return home.
A smile surfaced thinking about his parents. He did not know anyone as much in love as his parents or anyone whose love had lasted and had even grown stronger through the years. They had had six bairns together, three lads and three lasses, he the oldest. He enjoyed coming to maturity with so many siblings and hoped to have a wife who would give him at least six bairns.
His smile faded. He could not see such a petite woman giving him even one bairn. Would Tavia be like her mother, too weak to survive childbirth? He shook his head. This was not a dilemma he expected to face. He had hoped to claim his wife this night and plant his seed deep inside her. He no longer saw that happening, at least not tonight.
Their marriage had not been consummated yet which meant he could negate the marriage agreement if he wanted to. But he could not believe that his mother had chosen Tavia in a rush to see a marriage arranged for him. She had chosen Tavia for a reason and he knew it had to benefit him in some way or his mother would have never entered into the agreement. He would disappoint her if he chose otherwise.
So, did he trust his mother and accept the woman she had chosen to be his wife, or did he refuse her choice and search for a wife himself?
He had no answer right now and there was more he needed to know about the Clan Strathearn before he made any decision.
“Newlin,” Bhric called out when he entered the Great Hall. “Time to talk.”
* * *
Tavia woke snuggled in the warmth of the wool blankets. She had not expected to fall asleep, though she should have since the valerian brew Auda had given her always made her sleepy as well as easing the cramping pain in her leg.
She glanced at the fire that had dwindled which meant she had slept for at least a couple of hours, perhaps more. She cuddled deeper in the warmth of the blankets or was she hiding, afraid to face what awaited her?
“You are a coward, Tavia,” she whispered.
She recalled something Lady Dawn had explained through gestures, having been mute since birth, that she should grab courage and keep it close. She supposed Lady Dawn was right. People might encourage, but no one gave you courage. It was something you had to find and grab for yourself. But how?
She shook her head at the answer that came to her. Fear.
Did fear birth courage?
Tavia struggled to understand the strange thought when another thought interrupted. She knew someone whose steady companion was fear… or was it courage?
She eased herself out of bed, placing a light pressure on her leg as she sat on the edge of the bed. The pain had subsided leaving in its wake a dull ache. A bit more rest and she would do well, but first she needed to pay someone a visit.
She took cautious steps to the hearth and sat on the small bench that she kept close yet a safe distance from the fire. She rested a moment, after slipping on her shoes. Then remaining cautious and slow in her movements, she added more logs to the dwindling fire one by one. The room would be toasty warm by the time she returned.
After grabbing her warm wool shawl off the chest by the door and wrapping it around her, she grabbed the door latch and made her way slowly to the stairs. She stopped, a sadness creeping over her recalling how she used to rush down the curving stone stairs. She missed those days of feeling whole, free of worry, free of pain.
She shook her head. “Keep yourself in the present. It is now that matters.”
Loud voices mixed with laughter and shouts reached her ears before she reached the bottom of the staircase. She was not accustomed to such raucous behavior. Meals in the Great Hall, even when celebrating, had never been as boisterous as her husband’s warriors.
The rich scent of meat pies and ale drifted her way letting her know that the evening meal was underway. She had no desire to join the rowdy group and quietly made her way to the kitchen, realizing she was in need of a hot brew and food.
The kitchen was busy, all there working at a frenzied pace.
“My lady,” Cora, one of the cooks, said with a bob of her head.
Tavia stepped close to Cora to whisper, “Was Fia fed?”
Cora’s eyes went wide. “Lord Bhric and his men have kept us busy. I did not know men could eat and drink so much.”
Tavia scooped up a basket and filled it with food, then grabbed a small jug of warm apple cider. And before anyone could offer her any help, she left the kitchen and headed for the dungeon.
The ache in Tavia’s leg warned her to take the curving stairs down to the dungeon slowly. They were damp and often slippery.
“Fia,” she called out as she neared the bottom and grew worried when she saw no candle glowing in the one occupied cell out of the three the dungeon contained.
The torch in the bracer on the wall wasn’t sufficient to light the inside of the cells but it gave Tavia enough light to see where she stepped.
“I am here, Tavia,” a woman’s voice responded.