Children of the Moon 04 - Dragon's Moon

she revealed her long-held secrets to Laird Talorc.
    “I do not think she would have survived the night if Ciara had not found her,” Lais was telling Abigail as the gentle woman, who could not hear but read lips, mixed some herbs in a cup before pouring hot water Ciara had brought up from the kitchens over them.
    “We will have to give thanks for my daughter’s disobedienceand reckless behavior then.” The look Abigail cast Ciara left no question the issue was far from settled, however.
    Mairi, on the other hand, met Ciara’s eyes with an expression of such gratitude it hurt to see.
    Ciara dropped her gaze, uncomfortable with the thanks in the other woman’s eyes and heartily wishing Abigail did not have to be disappointed in her again. Ciara had never been the daughter the older woman deserved and she only hoped the girl babe Abigail now carried would make up for Ciara’s deficit.
    She had not meant to hurt her adopted parents, but the looks in their eyes when she told them how she’d come upon Mairi had reflected pained disappointment. How many times had she seen that look?
    First from her father of birth when he spoke of a Chrechte’s need for sons, then in her mother’s eyes when it was Ciara who would come to comfort her rather than the husband she cried out for in the night. The look of disappointment in Galen’s face when they searched for, and did not find, the Faolchú Chridhe had grown with each failed attempt.
    Then Ciara had come to live with Laird Talorc and Abigail and soon seen that her inability to love them as they deserved as parents caused them grief as well. At least her ability to help with the twins had made up somewhat for her other shortcomings. Until lately.
    Once again, she was not what her family needed her to be and did not know how to change that fact without opening herself to far too much pain.
    Once Mairi had drunk some of the tea Abigail had prepared, Laird Talorc approached the woman in the bed. “You wear the MacLeod colors.”
    The words sounded like an accusation and Ciara was not surprised when Mairi flinched. “It is my father’s clan.”
    Ciara felt she should have recognized the predominately yellow plaid. Only, being neither friend nor declared enemy, the MacLeod clan’s was not a tartan she had ever seen before.
    “You deny your father’s family?” Laird Talorc asked, censure still heavy in his voice.
    And Ciara did not understand it. Surely he did not blame the young woman from wanting to escape the abuse her body gave evidence to? He had said many times in her hearing that the ancient laws still had value and one of them stated that to prey on those weaker was not the Chrechte way.
    “I meant he is laird,” Mairi clarified. “But as to him being my family, his clan being mine? I see no benefit to wearing colors that do not protect me.”
    Ciara admired Mairi’s spirit after all she had been through and nodded her head to show her understanding, catching Mairi’s gaze as she did so.
    Mairi sent her a weak smile of thanks and Talorc turned to glare at Ciara. “You have something to say, daughter?”
    Ciara swallowed the lump trying to form in her throat and nodded.
    She did not understand her laird’s attitude but feared his anger was not directed toward Mairi at all. He was furious with Ciara for being outside the fortress walls and allowing that resentment to spill forth in his dealings with the wounded woman.
    Talorc crossed his arms, his stance combative. “Yes?”
    “He beat her near to death.”
    Laird Talorc’s expression shifted, twisting into a scowl, his fury rising at her words, rather than abating as she’d intended. But this time, Ciara was positive the object of her laird’s fury was not in the room at all.
    ’Twas the MacLeod he despised so fully.
    Still, that did not mean he would give Mairi sanctuary. Though Ciara could not imagine Laird Talorc doing anything else. He would never send the defenseless woman back to the MacLeod to be beaten again.
    “When I came here, I had little to offer the clan,” she reminded her laird.
    He shrugged. “You were grieving.”
    “I was unresponsive. Angry. Unwilling to be part of the family that had taken me in,” she admitted with shame,despairing of ever being able to make up for her lack. “Abigail cried more than once over me.”
    “Oh, Ciara,” Abigail said, proving she had been following the conversation…one way or another.
    “You never raised your hand to me, though you must