Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

The days that followed her introduction to Clan Cameron as Laird Cameron’s supposed lover were a bewildering whirlwind for Thora. There was so much to keep track of, so many things to keep in mind, that she sometimes felt in danger of losing her wits entirely.

Ruses within ruses, falsehoods within falsehoods… never before had she found herself in such a complicated and difficult situation. She wished there was some way to simplify matters, but there was none, at least not that she could see.

Rhiannon’s constant need for her presence, as they worked to build her a wardrobe worthy of the new Lady Cameron, was something of a godsend. The seamstress was possessed of boundless energy and was rarely ever still or quiet. However, being in her presence allowed Thora to focus on nothing but fabrics and stitching and dresses.

Though her days in the seamstress’s workroom often left her weary and breathless, the simplicity of her time there was a much-needed breath of fresh air. Outside Rhiannon’s workspace, she had to remember to be Thora MacTavish, a simple village lass who’d incidentally caught the attention, and the affection, of Laird Cameron. She didn’t dare let herself forget her supposed position, not for a moment, save when she was alone in her rooms, or working with the seamstress.

Thora MacTavish had never had the opportunity to learn chess or play cards. Thora MacTavish was self-conscious and a little embarrassed when servants bowed or curtseyed to her, or when occupants of the castle addressed her as ‘Miss MacTavish’ or ‘m’lady’.

Thora MacTavish was awed by the luxury of the castle - the meals, the soft linens, the idea of a bathing chamber where one could have all the hot water one wanted - or the even greater luxury of having anything she wanted brought to her rooms!

It was an effort, not only to remember the appropriate reactions, but also to remember to make the little ‘mistakes’ that a village lass would likely make, such as attempting to empty her own chamber pot, or make her own bed.

More than once, she found herself wishing that Clan Cameron and Clan MacLeod were not at odds with each other. The whole task would have been far less difficult if it could have been accomplished in her own person, as Thora MacLeod.

In the dark of the night, and only then, she dared to admit that an easier task was not the only reason she wished the clans were not at odds. The other reason, and the one which occupied ever more of her attention and her thoughts as time went on, was Aedan Cameron.

He was exasperating. Stubborn, hard-headed, and unwilling to believe in anything he couldn’t see, smell, touch or otherwise identify with his own senses. He was never unkind, but he made no secret of the fact that he considered her Gift to be a product of tales and superstitions, along with a certain gullibility. His teasing was gentle, no worse than what she’d often received from Kai as a child, but there was an air of patient, bemused disbelief about his words that stung more than it should have.

It didn’t help that, as she grew to know him, she found more about his personality to admire than to dislike.

Aedan was stern, but he was fair with his folk. When he trained with his guards, he pushed them hard, but never harshly. He corrected mistakes in ways that made his men better, without making them feel embarrassed at their own deficiencies.

He gave little praise to his servants, even Mac Sinclair, but he was not dismissive of them, the way some lairds were. When he addressed them, it was clear that while he expected his orders to be obeyed, he regarded his folk as more than tools to be used and otherwise ignored.

He gave himself no special treatment, beyond what convention demanded. He worked as hard as any man or woman in his service, and harder than a good many of them.

He might not believe in Thora’s visions, but once he’d given his word, he worked with her as seamlessly as if they’d agreed on their plan from the beginning. When she’d sworn the oath with him, she’d known that his honor would guide him to help her, even without the curse woven into the agreement.

There were also the things she discovered over the course of evenings spent in his company, getting to know him. Aedan Cameron had a dry sense of humor and a keen intelligence, which he was more than willing to use to fence words with her. He teased her, but it was never the sort of malicious teasing that stung or embarrassed - more a game that dared her to match wits with him.

He enjoyed the strategy involved in a game of chess, the clash of wits and wills and banter that were part of a game of cards, and he was skilled in both. He wrote neatly and swiftly, and everything about his office and his work was carefully organized and very efficient.

He was strong, but his strength was carefully controlled, never using more than necessary. He was kind, even if he was shy about demonstrating that kindness.

In short he was courteous, strong, intelligent, fair and honorable. He was a good laird, every bit as generous and responsible as her own kinfolk. Everything that gave Thora pride in her brothers drew her to Aedan like a moth toward flame.

And like a moth, she would be burned if she permitted herself to go too near.

Even so, a certain level of familiarity and closeness would be expected between them, if they were to pose as husband and wife. She would have to risk the dangers to her heart and possibly her safety, if she wished to have any hope of succeeding in thwarting the future her visions had warned her against.

I dinnae mind the risk… I only hope that when I reach the end o’ this ruse, ‘twill be with my wits and me heart intact.

Thora MacTavish. Aedan saw very little of her in the whirlwind of activity that accompanied his decision to travel for Yule - mostly at meals, and in the evenings, when he invited her to share a game and some conversation before they all retired. He understood, from the reports of his servants, that she spent much of her time holed up with Rhiannon, working on her wardrobe.

That suited him quite well. It kept both his unusual guest and his seamstress busy, which meant he had time and energy to devote to other matters. Even so, he found his thoughts turning to Thora MacTavish far more often than they ought to, even in light of the ruse that they were lovers.

Her beauty was enough to entrance any man - she could hardly have looked more like one of the Fair Folk come to bewitch the minds of mortals if she’d tried - but as the days passed, he found more about her to admire than her appearance.

She was tidy, despite how she’d looked when she arrived at his door. Her clothing was always neat, her face and hands clean, and her long black hair brushed and braided into tail down her back.

She was courteous as well. There were some women, he knew, who would have taken the chance of the temporary elevation in status to lord it over the servants who were required to follow their orders, but Thora MacTavish was not one of them. She was polite, to the point that Christopher sometimes had to remind her that a certain amount of distance would be expected of her. And even that did not stop the easy kindness with which she addressed everyone from the youngest page and scullery maid to Aedan himself.

She was intelligent, her wild beliefs in mystical powers notwithstanding. She learned the nuances of chess and the games of cards quickly, and by the third night, she matched wits with himself and Christopher nearly as well as if she’d done it all their lives. She might blush at some of the less delicate comments that passed between them, but she was rarely ever lost for a response.

She worked hard with Rhiannon, and the one time he sought out the seamstress to discover her opinion of Thora, Rhiannon had nothing but praise for her focus, her dedication, and her skill with a needle.

She was no less devoted to the task she’d set for the both of them, and threw herself wholeheartedly into the persona of the new Lady Cameron, settling into the role so naturally it surprised him.

Thora MacTavish was no paragon of maidenly virtues, he had only to remember how she’d kidnapped him over a belief that she could see the future to know that. She was also stubborn, and sometimes her tongue could turn sharp. She apologized for it afterward, but that did not stop the words from cutting when she chose to let them. She was never discourteous to the servants, but she would only accept Aedan or Mac’s suggestions or commands to a point. Further than that, and her blue eyes would harden to chips of ice, her expression would tighten, and she would fight back. Their encounter in the stables was proof of that.

The fourth day after she’d kidnapped him, Aedan took her down to the stables to choose a mount for the journey. His recommendation would have been a placid, five-year-old gelding who was often used for pages and squires in training - a good horse for someone who’d lost control of her original mount in the storm and might struggle to control a more headstrong animal.

Thora, however, insisted on claiming the roan she’d used to kidnap him - a three-year-old named Steadfast. Steadfast was a good horse, but a more spirited one, and Aedan feared she would be unable to handle him.

He made the mistake of saying so. “Ye should have another horse… one o’ an easier temperament.”

Thora lifted her chin, expression turning cold. “And why? We’ll get on well together, yer Steadfast lad and I. We already have once afore.”

“Mayhap, but a horse with two riders is a steadier beast altogether. Ye said ye lost yer first in a storm. If another storm comes while we travel, ye’ll never control Steadfast.” Aedan knew from experience that the young stallion was near impossible to bring back under control if he got the bridle in his teeth.

“I made a mistake o’ dismounting to calm the animal. I’ll nae make that mistake again.”

“Doesnae mean the horse willnae throw ye.”

“Any horse might, in the proper conditions.” There was a glint of true defiance in her eyes. “I never met one yet, who wouldnae shy at the sight o’ a snake, or a wolf or wild dog, and a crack o’ thunder overhead would startle anyone, man or beast.”

“But if ye lose control o’ Steadfast, ye’ll never be able to bring him back down. Even I cannae stop him easily when he gets his head free. Ye’re so light, he’ll never even notice ye tryin’.”

“And what o’ it? If the horse will run, I’m small and light enough to stay on his back till he tires, then turn him back. And if he’s as Steadfast as his name, then he’ll be kind to a rider, and turn back when ‘tis needed.”

“And in the meantime, if ye run afoul o’ bandits or a moor swamp, or those wolves ye mentioned? What then?”

“Then I’ll find a way to win myself free or scream loud enough fer ye tae find me.”

The idea of her screaming his name - though in somewhat different circumstances, for a very different reason - was enough to check his thoughts momentarily. Not for more than a second, but long enough for him to recognize by the glint in her eyes that she had no intention of agreeing to any other mount. He could, of course, order the stable hands to saddle a different one for her on the actual day, but at best, it would cause more strife between them.

He gave in. “Have it yer way then, lass. But on yer head be the consequences, and dinnae expect me to rescue ye from them, nae without remindin’ ye that I warned ye.”

“If I need the reminder, ye’re welcome to give it.” Thora smiled, and Aedan, after a few more words with the head groom, returned to his paperwork.

He should have been angry at her defiance. He was the laird, and even if she was pretending to be his lover and his ‘wife’, she still should have shown more deference. And yet, as he sat down to his paperwork, he had to admit that it wasn’t anger that filled him. It was admiration.

Her defiance was a frustrating thing, but mostly because he feared she would come to harm, due to her own stubbornness. But he admired her willingness to stand by her decision, whatever might come of it. Her tenacity and her boldness in refusing to listen to his words - they were admirable, and he couldn’t help liking her better for those qualities.

And that, he knew, was what made Thora MacTavish dangerous. Not the knowledge she held about his clan, and the state of their coffers, but that incredible, spirited tenacity.

Trusting her was dangerous. Admiring her even more so, and actually developing a fondness for her was the most dangerous thing of all. He knew it. And yet, it didn’t stop his thoughts from lingering on her.

In other circumstances, he would have distanced himself, or even sent her away. But he had a part to play, of laird and lover, and new husband. Distance was not an option, not if he wished to convince Lachlan Ross of their relationship. Admiration and fondness made the role easier, even as they made him more uneasy with every passing day.

By the time this ends, the difficulty may nae be playin’ the part o’ lover and husband… but remembering ‘tis a role I took on only because she forced me tae, rather than by choice!