Page 23 of The Shadow of a Laird
Maura stared at him and swallowed nervously, then took a step backwards, and he could see the glitter of tears in her eyes, but he realised that they were not tears of sadness or joy, but fear.
“What dae ye want, Gavin?” Maura asked with a tremor in her voice. “I willnae be changin’ my mind. Ye arenae stayin’ here.”
“I know,” he replied, then moved forward to take her hands in his. He felt her try to pull away, but he held on, looking down into her troubled blue eyes. “I am not going to harm you, Maura. I care for you too much, but I do not blame you for being angry with me.
You are a good woman—a very good woman, and you have been much kinder to me than I deserve. You have opened your home to me and even given me paid employment. It would not be an exaggeration to say that I owe you my life. I could have frozen to death.” He paused, and watched as her expression softened.
“I want this last night to be full of happy memories, not arguments,” he went on, hopefully. “I already had to deal with some unpleasant characters, and although I don’t like doing it, that is what you pay me for. Please let us be civil to each other before I go.”
Maura looked up into the green eyes that had become so dear to her, and cursed herself for being so gullible. This man was not worth her time, and certainly not worth her love, so why did she feel as if her heart had been shattered? She forced herself to remember the mother she loved, her hours of teaching Maura to sew, never losing patience or love.
Maura recalled being seven years old when she had embroidered her first handkerchief with a flower on it, and how proud her mother, Aileen, had been when she saw her efforts.
“Ye’re an artist!” she had said fondly, hugging Maura tightly. “I am so proud o’ ye, my Maura. Go an’ show it tae your Da.”
When her father, Lewis, saw the little square of fabric, he grinned from ear to ear. “My clever wee lassie!” he said proudly. Then he frowned and became serious, and for a moment Maura thought she had done something to displease him, then suddenly he grinned. “Dae ye think ye could dae one for your Mammy an’ Da?” he asked.
She remembered jumping up and down, then throwing her arms around her father’s neck and kissing him. She made the handkerchiefs, and her mother and father used them every day till their deaths.
Their deaths. Suddenly, Maura felt a wave of hatred and anger wash over her, as well as shame that she could possibly have any tender feelings for this arrogant creature. “You killed my parents,” she said, her voice low but throbbing with rage. “They would still be alive an’ happy if it wasnae for your family. I might even have found myself a good husband an’ they might have had grandchildren if they an’ half my village hadnae died! You murdered them!”
“I was not the Laird then,” he pointed out. “But I am now—if I live to get my heritage back. Then I vow to you, Maura, that I will be the best Laird Duncairn has ever had.”
“Of course ye will,” Maura sneered. “An’ I am the Queen o’ Scotland! Laird Gavin Forsyth—ye are a piece o’ rubbish, a liar, an’ when ye leave here tonight, I swear tae you ye will never darken my doors again!”
Looking into her face, now crimson with rage, Gavin felt his anger rising to meet Maura’s. He had not been responsible for poisoning the loch, but she was blaming him anyway, and he could not stomach the harshness of her judgement.
“That is not fair,” he cried. “I never told you any lies about myself! I didn’t tell you my surname, but that isn’t a sin. You are a coward, denying your feelings and driving me away because you think you might—what? Fall in love with me?”
Maura laughed sarcastically. “My god! Ye fancy yourself, dae ye no’? Well, ye might be tall an’ good lookin’, but ye are rotten inside. Yer father killed my family an’ I will never forgive ye for that!”
Gavin stood glaring at her for a second. “You are a coward, Maura,” he said, his voice loaded with derision. “You have built a wall around your heart so high that no one can break it down, and you hide away in this tavern so that nobody can come anywhere near you.”
“At least I didnae turn intae a monster!” she retorted, then drew back her arm and used all her strength to give him a stinging blow across the face. Gavin staggered backwards, amazed by the force of the blow, and stared at her in disbelief.
“Get that barrel moved!” she shouted before marching away.
11
Maura and Gavin were both exhausted by closing time, having been both physically and emotionally drained by the events of the day.
When he left, Gavin went straight to his room and closed the door behind him. He said nothing to Maura as he marched past her, and she felt unaccountably wounded by his silence. She watched his broad shoulders and strong, muscular backside and legs as he turned the corner to go to his chamber and felt a stab of pure sadness. In spite of everything she had said to him, she knew she was going to miss him dreadfully, since she had become used to his sense of humour, intelligence, and charm.
As well as that, the ladies loved him and the worthier men respected him. She cared nothing about the ones who were scared of him; that suited her purposes perfectly. Gavin’s strength made her feel protected and safe, and when a newcomer came to the tavern, he usually took one look at him and decided to behave with respect.
Maura smiled at the thought; bullies did not last long in theGoose and Gander. Then she sighed. Had she been too hard on Gavin? He had, after all, admitted his fault and asked for herforgiveness. In fact, he had been so humble he had all but kissed her feet!
Maura suddenly felt wretched. If Gavin stayed here and was murdered, would it do any good? Would it bring her parents back? No, and it would put not just her, but everyone in Carmalcolm in danger.
Suddenly, she came to a decision.
Gavin silently did his job of sweeping the floor, which he would normally have scrubbed in the morning. However, there would be no more scrubbing, he thought. He had hated the job at first, but after a while it had become like a contest to see who would win—the floor or him. Would it win the battle to stay dirty or would he conquer it and clean it? Gavin laughed softly at the thought. He needed something to laugh at to help him get through the next few painful moments.
He had precious little to pack, since he had arrived with next to nothing and had acquired only a couple of second-hand shirts and a pair of breeches since he had come to live in Carmalcolm.
It was in stark contrast to the enormous wardrobe and drawers full of clothes he had possessed while living in the Castle at Duncairn. He had rarely had to wear anything more than three times. This was because a gentleman, especially a Laird or a Laird’s son, could not be seen wearing a garment too many times, lest people think he was too poor to buy new clothes. In a world where status was everything, this could be devastating to his reputation.
The shallowness of it all had become apparent to Gavin as he had watched ordinary people sew up holes and patch their garments to make them last longer. Older siblings passed theirclothes down to their younger brothers and sisters when they grew out of them, and when they were absolutely worn out, they were used as cleaning cloths or turned into patchwork quilts. Absolutely nothing was wasted.
