Dragon's Moon (43 page)

Shona's sleeping daughter stirred in her arms and she looked down to see pretty green eyes so like her own blinking up at her. “Mama, is there giants?”

At three, Marjory was as different from her older brother as night from day. Petite and quiet-spoken, she adored the older brother who was and had always been big for his age and confident to the point of brashness.

So like his father it made Shona's heart ache, though she'd never let her children see it.

“They're the laird's guard come to greet us,” Shona claimed, her voice maintaining a shocking steadiness despite the blatant lie she'd just told.

One look from her two adult companions assured her they weren't fooled by her words. But neither of her children were frightened and that was what mattered.

She just had to believe that the Sinclair was a better man than some who had been in her life. His reputation as a fierce but fair leader even as far south as England had led to her decision to travel on his lands instead of taking a more circuitous route to her final destination.

They rode for another ten minutes before meeting the Sinclair warriors.

Shona halted her horse and the rest of her party followed suit.

“Who are you and what are you doing on our land?” Though the soldier's words were abrupt and his demeanor nothing less than ferocious, Shona felt no fear. Something
about the man speaking made her think he would not hurt them. Perhaps it was the flash of concern in his eyes when he looked at her children.

The big warrior would have been devastatingly handsome but for the garish scar on his cheek, but Shona felt no draw to him. She had only ever wanted one man in her life, and, despite having been married to another, that had not changed. Nor did she believe it ever would. But she did not lament her lack of interest in the opposite sex. Men could not be trusted and she was better off keeping what was left of her heart for her children and her children alone.

“I am Shona, Lady Heronshire, seeking safe passage through your laird's lands to visit my family on Balmoral Isle.” The words were formal, and she spoke them in flawless Gaelic, her native tongue.

“Did you get that scar in a fight?” Eadan asked.

Audrey gasped, but Shona just sighed. Her son had no cork for the things that came out of his mouth.

The warrior's attention moved to Eadan and he studied him closely for several seconds before something that could have been surprise and then speculation flared in his gray gaze. “I did. Do you ride as protector of your mother?”

Shona didn't understand the man's reaction to her son, unless it was to the fact that such a small child spoke Gaelic so well. She'd spoken to both her children in her native tongue since their births and they both communicated equally well in Gaelic and English. Just as she did.

Her son, mayhap, even better than she did.

Eadan puffed up his little boy chest and did his best to frown like the warriors in front of them. “I do.”

“You sound like a Scot, lad, but you dress like a Sassenach.”

“What's a sassy patch?” Marjory whispered from her perch in Shona's lap.

“An Englishman,” the big warrior answered, with a barely there smile for her daughter's interesting pronunciation of the word, proving he'd heard the quietly uttered question.

“Oh.”
Pop
. Marjory's thumb went into her mouth. It was
a habit Shona and Audrey had worked hard to break her of, but the little girl still sucked her thumb when she was overly tired or nervous. After two weeks of grueling travel and coming upon men who looked more like giants than soldiers, the tot was no doubt both. Shona sighed again.

This brought the big man's attention back to her. “I am Niall, second-in-command to the Sinclair laird. My men and I will accompany you to the keep.”

“Thank you.” What Shona really wanted to say was,
Thank you, but no
.

She'd rather head directly for the island. She was tired of traveling and she wasn't going to feel safe until she'd gotten the Balmoral laird's promise of protection for her and her small band.

However, to refuse the hospitality of the other laird would not only be considered rude, but she'd no doubt they would end up traveling to the keep no matter what she might say on the matter.

She'd learned long ago that some things were beyond her control.

T
he keep was a fortress far superior to that of the MacLeod holding where she'd grown up, and even more formidable than that of her deceased husband's. The high wall surrounding the laird's home and guard towers was stone, though the buildings within were crafted mostly from wood.

The keep itself was on top of a motte, the manmade hill only accessible by a narrow path she just knew Niall was going to tell her they could not take their horses on. Even from this distance the keep looked big enough to easily accommodate fifty or more in the great hall. The imposing nature of the holding made her wish her family was of the Sinclair clan. She could do naught but hope the Balmorals lived equally as secure.

The bailey was busy with warriors and clanspeople alike, many of whom seemed interested in the new arrivals. And slightly suspicious, if the frowns she and her
companions received were anything to go by. But the overt hostility she might have expected toward those garbed as the English was surprisingly absent.

Niall stopped his horse and the warriors with him did as well. Shona guided her tired mare to a halt, so fatigued she was not absolutely sure she would make it off the horse without sending both herself and Marjory tumbling.

“Should we dismount then?” Audrey asked, her tone showing no more enthusiasm for the prospect than Shona felt.

Shona opened her mouth to answer, only to lose any hope she had of speaking as her gaze fell upon a warrior standing near the open area in front of the blacksmith's. The man, who was easily as tall and as broad as Niall, wore the MacLeod colors with no shirt beneath the plaid to give him any hint of civility.

His back to them, his lack of interest in the English strangers was more than obvious.

But she could not claim the same apathy. Not when every inch of his arrogant stance was as familiar to her as the mane on her mare's head.

His black hair was longer than it had been six years ago, the blue tattoos covering his left shoulder and arm a new addition, his muscles bulging more, but she had absolutely no doubt about the identity of the MacLeod soldier standing so confidently among the Sinclairs.

Caelis.

Even the sound of his name in her own thinking made her heart beat faster and her hands tighten into fists.

Betrayer, screamed that voice in her mind that had never gone fully silent though she'd been forced to marry another man.
Mine
, cried the heart that had learned never to trust again at this man's feet.

She'd given him her love and her innocence.

He had repaid those gifts with repudiation.

She'd thought never to see him again, been certain that even her return to Scotland would not cause their paths to cross.

After all, she hadn't gone home to her former clan and
she'd been careful to avoid their lands during the journey northward. She'd no desire to come into contact with her former laird and even less this man. How cruel of fate to dictate differently. To ensure that this man be in this place the one day out of time she would ever spend in the Sinclair keep.

The head of Shona's mare jerked against her tightened hold on the reins and she knew gratitude that they were no longer moving. Marjory slept on, oblivious to the cataclysm happening inside her mother.

As if Caelis could feel the weight of Shona's regard, he turned. Slowly and with no evidence of curiosity, his gaze slid over her, his expression dismissive as he took in her English clothing.

She could tell the moment he recognized her though, the very second he realized she was not just an Englishwoman, but a woman from his past.

He went rigid, his eyes widening with a shock so complete it would have been amusing if she were not so devastated at his appearance in her already turbulent life.

He moved as if to take a step and stumbled.

How odd. He was a surefooted man. Perhaps one of the other warriors had tripped him. Men played games with each other like that.

Even as the nonsensical thoughts floated through her mind, fear screamed through her body. He couldn't see Eadan. Her son could never know the man who had denied his very existence and rejected the woman he had professed to love.

They had to leave. Now. The laird of the Sinclairs would simply have to do without the pleasure of making their acquaintance.

That thought alone gave her the strength to break her gaze from Caelis as she jerked her head around, wildly searching for Eadan.

He was already on the ground, his hand held in Niall's giant paw, a smaller man standing nearby, talking to them both with an engaging smile.

Shona wanted to scream at them to put her son back on
his horse and get out of their way. But no words left her lips because as frantic as her feelings were, she knew her desire to escape was hopeless.

The boy was out of Caelis's line of sight, but that gave Shona little comfort. The warrior was bound to see her child soon, and when he did? He would know the truth, no matter how much he might like to deny it.

“Shona…”

She looked down and saw that both Audrey and Thomas were there, standing beside Shona's mare. Audrey's hands were upraised to take Marjory so Shona could dismount.

When had they gotten off their horses?

“Are you all right?” Thomas asked, clearly worried. He and Audrey wore matching expressions of concern. “We've said your name three times.”

“I…no…” she answered with honesty before she thought to control her tongue.

“What is it?” Suddenly Niall was there. “Lady Heronshire, do you need help dismounting?” He reached up as well. “Give me the babe.”

Dropping the horse's reins, Shona wrapped her arms around her daughter in an instinctive move of protection.

“Do not touch her.” The snarl came from behind Niall, and then Caelis was there, shoving the other warrior away from Shona's horse.

Niall spun on the other man, knocking him back and shouting. “The hell!”

“She's mine,” Caelis growled, his voice so animallike the words were barely discernable.

“Calm yourself,” Niall snapped, sounding less angry for some reason, though he didn't back away. “The Englishwoman—”

“She is not English.”

“Do ye see how she is dressed? She is a lady, Caelis. Stop and think.”

But Caelis appeared beyond reason, his aggression not lessening one iota. And Shona did not understand it. In no scenario that she might ever have imagined about this
moment would she have considered him laying claim to her…or was it her daughter?

None of this made any sense.

Marjory chose that moment to awaken, squirming to sit up. “Mama! Want down.”

Caelis jerked as if pierced by an arrow, his gaze landing on the little girl in Shona's arms. Some great emotion twisted his features, and then his blue eyes, so like their son's, locked with hers, the accusation in them unmistakable.

She stared back, defiant, furious like she had not been since the night he told her it was over.

All the fear she'd felt over the past months, the anger she'd experienced at the perfidy of men since his betrayal, followed by others, bolstered her fury so that—if it were possible—she would have burned him to ash with her gaze.

His head snapped back, surprise again showing on his handsome features, this time mixed with confusion. Though what he had to be confused about she didn't know. Did he think that just because he didn't want her that no other man would ever want to wed her?

Arrogant blackguard.

“Mummy?” Eadan's worried voice rose from where he stood beside Niall.

She needed to tell her son all was well, but she could not look away from Caelis's face as he got his first look at the son they had made.

The child he had told her would never happen.

The Forests of the Éan, Highlands of Scotland
1144
AD
, Reign of Dabíd mac Maíl Choluim, King of Scots and the Reign of Prince Eirik Taran Gra Gealach, Ruler of the Éan

U
na stood in shock, terror coursing through her like fire in her veins, burning away reason, destroying the façade of peace she had worked so hard to foster for the past five years.

Her eagle screamed to be released. She wanted to take to the skies and fly as far as her wings could carry her until the sun sank over the waters and the moon rose and set again in the sky.

The high priestess, Anya Gra, smiled on the assembled Éan like she had not just made a pronouncement that could well spell their doom.