Chapter 10

10

Maura could hardly make sense of anything that evening, and was almost unable to smile or crack a joke with her customers as she usually did. She tried to force the argument with Gavin out of her mind, but it lurked at the back of it all evening like a malevolent shadow. Many of her friends and fellow workers began to whisper amongst themselves when she snapped at them or spilled their drinks, wondering what was amiss. Maura valiantly tried to calm down before she completely lost her temper. She could see that Gavin was not having a good time either, and that gave her a perverse pleasure.

He was looking threateningly at some of the men who had begun to taunt him by questioning his masculinity. “Hey, big man!” one of them shouted. “This wee lassie”—he pointed to Maura—“has got ye wrapped around her wee finger. Nice place tae be.” He held up his pinky finger to illustrate his point, and his friends laughed. Gavin grabbed it and squeezed it hard, and the man yelped with pain.

“I do not think so,” he said, with an evil smile. “I am wrapped around yours now, and you do not like it at all, do you? I doubt Maura would either.”

He let go, shooting a warning glance at the man. He might be leaving soon, but until he did, no half-drunken idiot was going to insult Maura.

Gavin was trying to look at her while he was working, storing up every memory of his last night in this strange, uncouth place he had come to think of as his home. If he could, he would have bought it from her uncle and made it into a palace for her, with brocade curtains at the windows and Turkish carpets instead of the grubby wooden floor.

He would have put in a fine marble fireplace and carved mahogany furniture with the chairs upholstered in velvet—and a dog. He had always wanted a pet dog, a big rumbustious hound who would run beside him when he was hunting and sit at his feet at nighttime. He knew that Maura preferred cats, though, and in his daydream he could see her sitting nursing one on her lap.

As he watched, he saw another young woman join her, and they went into a conspiratorial huddle, as he had often seen young women do. Her friend was blonde, without Maura’s fine features, but she had an air of mischief about her that Gavin found appealing. He tried to watch them without being too obvious about it, and noticed that the young blonde woman kept sneaking glances at him. He was obviously being discussed. What were they saying about him?

“Ye look a bit under the weather, hen,” Una, Maura’s closest friend, observed.

“No,” Maura answered, rubbing her forehead. “I have a splitting headache, Una.”

“Have ye been at some o’ that good wine?” Una asked wickedly. “I know ye keep a wee bit somewhere. Or has that big hunk over there been wearin’ ye out?” She winked and nodded at Gavin.

Maura pretended to laugh. “Pfft!” she scoffed, flapping her hand at her friend. “I have had enough o’ him and wi’ that lot over there thinkin’ that we are a couple.” She waved her arm at the men Gavin had been arguing with. “I widnae take him as a gift. He is no’ half the man ye think he is, Una. I hired him because he is handsome so that he could bring in the lassies, an’ he has done that, but he isnae much o’ a man inside. Good looks arenae everythin’.” Her voice was bitter.

“He breaks up the fights an’ a’,” Una pointed out. “Remember when he landed a punch on Rob MacVicar’s nose? Broke it so bad it will never be straight again. The troublemakers are a’ scared o’ him. If I were one o’ them, I would be an’ a’.”

“Aye, that is true,” Maura acknowledged. “But he is still no’ the man ye think he is.”

“What dae ye mean?” Una was baffled, but Maura had been called to pour a drink for someone else, and had to end the conversation.

The next customer was an elderly, white-haired man who had a positive army of children and grandchildren and was a habitual drunk, but he was never aggressive and always happy, and Maura liked him.

“Ye’re lookin’ a bit under the weather tonight, Maura,” he told her. “Anythin’ wrong?”

Maura smiled at him because he looked genuinely concerned. “I am fine, Jimmy,” she replied, smiling at his kind old face. “Dinnae worry. Just a wee bit o’ a headache.”

“Ye are such a lovely lady,” he said warmly. “Ye should be married by now an’ have bairns o’ your ain.”

Maura laughed. She had never met a man she could honestly say she had wanted to marry, although at one point she had imagined Gavin as a possibility. Now that hope was gone, however, and she could think of no one else. Besides, he had proven to her that all men were untrustworthy. Not to mention he was a Laird, and she was a barmaid, poor of no social standing. She had almost given him her heart—indeed, at one time she had contemplated giving him her body—but now she realised that she had had a lucky escape. They were just too different.

As he worked, Gavin watched Maura out of the corner of his eye and saw that she was simply not her usual self. The usual sparkle had gone from her eye and her face was expressionless except when one of the men challenged her or laughed at her, when she snapped back at them. She looked miserable, he thought.

Presently, one of the usual belligerent drunks shouted at her. “Ye’re gettin’ on a bit, Maura! Why are ye no’ married? I would wed ye, but I’m already spoken for. I am sure many men here would take ye on, though, hen. What dae ye say? I am very good in bed, so the lassies tell me.” He winked, and there was an enthusiastic chorus from many of the patrons, during which many lewd suggestions were made. Maura was utterly disgusted, and wished she had a man’s strength to give him a taste of his own medicine.

Gavin moved like a shadow. He barged over to stand beside her and pulled the drunk man halfway over the counter by his collar. His face was a mask of rage and hatred as he stood nose to nose with Andy MacGuinness. “Unless you want me to strike you down where you stand, as I did your friend Robbie a couple of weeks ago,” he growled. “Remember his broken nose? He is even uglier now than he was before. Now I suggest you apologise to Maura and take yourself somewhere to sober up. I can help you, if you like.”

He bunched his fist and held it up to MacGuinness’s face, and the man whimpered as he looked down his nose at it, trying to focus cross-eyed.

He let out a whimper of fear and tried to look around himself for help, but every one of his friends had backed away from him. “I am sorry,” he said fearfully, looking at Maura. “I didnae mean any harm.”

“Let him go,” Maura said, sighing. She was tired of all the hostility and anger. All she wanted to do was finish the night’s work, then she could go to bed and cry her eyes out.

Maura could not believe that this was her last night with Gavin. She had come to expect to see his handsome face every morning when she came down from her bedroom, and the thought that he would not be there filled her with deep sadness.

She had been badly hurt; her trust in Gavin had been irretrievably shattered, and she had made up her mind that she never wanted to see him again. At least, that was what she told herself, but the thought of him disappearing out of her life forever broke her heart.

Gavin had been drawn into conversations with many of the village men, with whom he had become friends that evening. It suited him to stay busy and distract himself with light-hearted banter, which kept his mind off Maura—at least for a while. Then, when the lout insulted Maura, he was almost glad to have a chance to defend her and take out his anger on someone who deserved it!

He was teased about the ladies he chatted to, and some men expressed their jealousy in a light-hearted way. They all knew by now that it was not a good idea to get on the wrong side of Gavin! A few men commented on his hunting skill and offered to buy his catch from him next time he had a good haul.

When he had a free moment, though, Gavin looked at Maura and saw by her general demeanour that she was not herself. Her smile looked fixed and, occasionally, she was rude, which was not like her. She was quieter than usual; a few customers even commented on it, and he heard her giving lame excuses like being tired or having a headache.

Gavin was drowning in guilt; he had made her feel this way. He was the one who had brought up all the pain and sadness of her parents’ death, and ultimately, he was to blame because he had done nothing to put the situation right. He had wealth, and he had connections in all the right places with the expertise to solve the problem of the water in the loch. He could have done something—or at least tried to—-as soon as his father died, but he had been too busy wallowing in his own misery.

He could not blame Maura for her actions, or her decision to sack him. He would likely have done the same had the positions been reversed.

You are a selfish, cowardly swine, Gavin Forsyth, he thought. You could have had anything you wanted, and you threw it all away.

The evening went on, and Maura studiously avoided looking at Gavin, merely doing what she had to do with her usual brisk efficiency. Occasionally, he would catch her eye, but she always turned away and ignored him until he became so frustrated he could stand it no more.

He needed to speak to her alone, but could find no way of doing so, so he continued to watch and wait until she finally gave him the opportunity.

Maura needed his help to bring a barrel from the storeroom. She groaned inwardly, trying to think of a way to avoid asking Gavin for assistance, but it was a job she could not do by herself. She was just not strong enough.

Her voice was stiff as she said, “Please help me with a barrel.”

“Of course,” Gavin smiled at her, but Maura had already turned away; he was not surprised. He moved behind the kitchen to where the beer barrels were stored, but when Maura came in behind him, he ducked behind her and closed the door then stood in front of it, blocking her exit.

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.