Free The Highlander's Stolen Touch by Terri Brisbin Page A

in the morn,’ Uncle Iain said.
    If she had looked away just then, she would have missed it. A slight narrowing in his gaze. A minor lift in the corner of his mouth. All signs to anyone who knew Iain Robertson that there was more going on here than he would admit and that he had a hand in it somehow.
    Did he know what had happened at the stream? Did he suspect something between them? Well, no matter. Ciara nodded and placed her napkin on her lap as the servants began placing platters on the table.
    ‘They are ever attentive to their duties, Uncle. Especially Tavis.’ His left eyebrow lifted ever so slightly, confirming that he’d ordered Tavis away from this meal.
    Ciara would think about this later, for now she enjoyed the meal with her uncles. Since their path back to Lairig Dubh would go in a different direction, she might not see them for a long time. Though they supported this match, the wedding would be accomplished back at her home and she doubted any of them would attend.
    Strange. Their affection for her was obvious, yet she did not remember them ever speaking of it outside their lands.
    And, thinking about it in the silence of eating, she wondered if it had to do with her father. Oh, no, not Duncan, her stepfather, but the man who had never been mentioned by name to her. Ciara had feared asking about it as it was made clear to her that it was a subject not to be spoken of.
    Had her father dishonoured her mother and not married her then? Had he been an enemy of the Robertsons and one not eligible to marry the only daughter of the powerful Robertson laird? Had he died before her birth? She sighed then, wishing she knew the answers to these questions and wondering why she had not the courage to ask them.
    The meal ended and she and Elizabeth excused themselves to return to their chambers. Cora was off seeing to cleaning some of her garments, or at least giving them a good brushing to remove the dust of the road.
    * * *
    As she lay in bed, trying to find sleep, all the same questions plagued her. Tossing and turning so much that she disturbed her friend who could sleep through most everything, Ciara climbed from the bed and walked to the one small window on the wall. Pushing the shutters open, she leaned against it and peered into the darkness outside.
    Those in the keep were settled for the night. A cluster of nightjars sang their song out of tune and the trees seemed to move in time with it, much as she would dance to music at a ceilidh. Night-time was magical to her and, if she were home, she and Elizabeth thought nothing of walking through the village, talking and sorting out their concerns and making plans.
    Why did things seem to make sense in the dark of the night and then not when day’s light shone on them?
    Unable to figure that out, Ciara climbed back into the bed and finally allowed sleep to claim her.
    * * *
    The rain suited his mood and kept chatter to a minimum as they left Dunalastair behind and joined up with the old drovers’ path that would take them to the market town of Crieff. All three women rode, cramped, he was certain, in the shelter of the wagon. He and the other men were not bothered by the weather. He’d lived, slept, ate, fought and...did most everything outside at one time or another. As long as the roads did not turn to mud and the wagon kept moving, they travelled.
    Wrapped in the lengths of tightly woven plaid that kept most weather and water at bay, he and the men continued on. The first two days were wet, but the roads passable. On the third day of solid rain, it was as though the fates heard his thoughts; the wagon got mired down and came to an abrupt stop. He heard the startled cries from within and rode back to see if anyone was hurt. Other than a few muffled curses as he drew near, and he knew whose voice they were muttered in, everyone was safe.
    ‘Are we stuck?’ Ciara asked, lifting the canvas tarp that formed their canopy out of the way and peering through the downpour