The Warrior (14 page)

“No, Ilysa lives there,” Connor said. “Duncan often sleeps in the hall with the men,
but he has his own house.”

“Where?” she asked.

Connor pointed to a white cottage she could barely see near the top of the hill behind
the castle. “Duncan says that he can keep a lookout for anyone approaching Dunscaith
from up there, but I know he just needed a place of his own.”

“The view must be lovely,” she said. “I’d like to see it. I think I’ll pay him a wee
visit.”

“Why?” Connor asked, narrowing his eyes at her. “Is there something between the two
of ye I should know about?”

“Of course not.” It was none of Connor’s business.

“Ye should wait until you’re invited,” Connor said.

“Whatever for?” Moira asked with a laugh.

“Duncan likes his privacy. Ye should—”

“He’ll be happy to see me.” Moira winked at her brother over her shoulder as she left,
feeling like her old self.

Duncan opened the door to his cottage. He had been proud to have a home, a place that
belonged to him. He kept it freshly whitewashed and in good repair, and his sister
had planted a dog rose by his door that bloomed in summer.

But as he stood in the doorway and looked at it with different eyes—with her eyes—he
saw that it was just a humble, two-room cottage. Two chairs and a small table fit
comfortably in the main room with the hearth. Ilysa had proclaimed it cozy, but he
could see now that it was simply tiny.

He sat down on one of the chairs and rested his head in his hands. What a fool he’d
been. Moira had lived her entire life as the mistress of fine castles. He could never
ask her to live with him here. Her gowns alone would take up the entire second room.

“Duncan, you’re home!”

He started at the sound of the voice coming from the other room and turned. What in
the hell was Rhona doing here?

B
efore Duncan could stop her, Rhona bolted across the room and threw herself at him.
He unlocked her hands from around his neck and set her on her feet.

��Ye said you’d be gone when I returned.”

“A woman can change her mind,” Rhona said, cocking her head to the side, “and a wise
man doesn’t remind her that she has.”

When she reached up to run her fingers down his cheek, Duncan caught her hand. “It’s
finished between us.”

“Finished?” Rhona’s eyes widened.

“It was done before I left.”

“Ah well, I decided to forgive ye.” She looked at him from under her lashes and gave
him a slow smile. “I know how ye can make it up to me.”

“I want ye to go,” Duncan said. “Now.”

“Ye don’t mean it,” she said giving him a coy smile.

Duncan paused. He may as well make it plain. “Moira is here.”

“Moira?” Rhona said her name in a shriek, then she narrowed her eyes to slits. “I
should have known. Ye were always such a fool for her.”

He was, but there was no point in discussing it.

“And did the little princess let ye pleasure her in bed like she used to?” Rhona said.
“That’s all Moira thinks you’re good for. She won’t be seen with ye in the light of
day.”

“Don’t,” Duncan warned her.

“Ye don’t like hearing the truth?” Rhona’s eyes were snapping fire as she poked her
finger into his chest. “Moira never thought ye were good enough for her.”

“If ye have anything in my house, take it with ye now,” Duncan said. “You’re not coming
back.”

When Rhona did not budge, Duncan took the large cloth bag from the hook on the wall
and started tossing in the odds and ends she had left in his house. He’d never really
noticed them before.

“As soon as ye left for France, Moira started sneaking off with that handsome Irish
chieftain,” Rhona said. “She used my clothes, pretending she was me, just like she
had with you.”

“That’s enough.” Duncan did not want to hear it, did not want to believe it.

“While ye were bleeding for her as ye crossed the sea to France, I had to listen to
Moira prattle on about what an important man her Irish lover was,” Rhona said, waving
her hand in the air, “and all the things he could give her.”

Duncan shoved the bag at Rhona and opened the door. “Out!”

“She forgot ye like that.” Rhona snapped her fingers in front of his face as she left.
“And she’ll do it again.”

A hint of spring was in the air, and the view from the path to Duncan’s cottage was
indeed wondrous. Moira spread out her arms and drank it in. When she was near the
top of the hill, she paused in the middle of the open field to look back at the Cuillins
and was pleased with herself when she could remember the names of most of the peaks.
There was no place on God’s earth she would rather be than right here.

She smiled as she continued up the path. Just ahead, Duncan’s cottage was a pretty
sight with its fresh whitewash and thatch. Sàr lay on one side of the door, and someone
had planted a dog rose on the other side that would be lovely come summer. Who would
have guessed the fiercest of the MacDonald warriors had a soft spot for dogs and flowers?

As she drew nearer the cottage, she heard raised voices. Rather, one voice. A woman’s.

Her stomach dropped. Duncan had not mentioned that he had a woman waiting at home.
When Duncan touched her, he made her believe there was no other. Perhaps she had just
wanted that to be true.

Only now did Moira admit to herself why she had come to his cottage. She had wanted
to take that last step and let him make love to her fully. She was no longer a seventeen-year-old
lass in the blush of first love. She thought Duncan did not have the power to hurt
her now.

But she was wrong.

She should have known that a man as fine looking as Duncan would not be alone. Even
apart from his handsome face and warrior’s body, Duncan was the sort of man who intrigued
women—at least the brave ones. They were drawn by his darkness and silence, each hoping
to be the one woman he would share his secrets with.

Before Moira could start back down the hill, the door opened and a black-haired woman
came out. Her head was turned, and she was shouting back toward the cottage.

“Ye are a damned fool, Duncan Ruadh! Princess Moira would never have stayed with ye
before, and she won’t now.”

The woman adjusted the large cloth bag that weighed down her shoulder, then started
marching down the hill with her head down. Moira had nowhere to hide in the open field.
After a few steps, the woman looked up, and they both sucked in their breath.

“Rhona!” Moira could not think of a single other word to say to her former maid.

“Duncan will come crawling back to me after you’ve broken his heart again,” Rhona
said.

Moira stood there, too stunned to move, as Rhona brushed past her. Then she watched
Rhona’s figure, swaying under the burden of the heavy bag, as it disappeared down
the hill. After a while, she felt eyes on her and turned to find Duncan standing in
front of the door of his cottage.

“Don’t mind her,” he said.

Moira waited for Duncan to give her an explanation, but the man said nothing. This
was one of those times when she found his dark silence far more annoying than intriguing.

“So ye missed me every day, did ye?” she snapped. “I see your suffering did not include
sleeping alone.”

Duncan shrugged. “Rhona and I met each other’s needs for a time, that’s all.”

“Is that all ye have to say about it?” Moira put her hands on her hips. “Judging from
how upset Rhona was—and that heavy bag slung over her shoulder—you’ve been meeting
each other’s needs for some time.”

Ach, she sounded like a harpy. Did she expect Duncan to have lived like a monk these
past seven years? But knowing she had no cause to feel aggrieved did not make her
feel less so. Moira turned her head and fixed her gaze on the sheep grazing across
the hillside.

“Are ye coming in?” Duncan asked.

Well, she had come all the way here, and she was curious about where he lived. Besides,
she was not done with this conversation.

Duncan stepped to the side to let her in and then shut the door behind them. Sàr,
who must have come into the cottage during the confusion, was lying in front of the
hearth and taking up half the room. He raised his scraggly brows at her and wagged
his tail.

“Outside,” Duncan said, and the wolfhound slunk past her with a guilty look.

Moira perched on the edge of one of the two chairs and took in the room, which was
small but clean and pleasant. She drummed her fingertips on her knee and waited to
speak again until Duncan sat as well.

“Why Rhona?” Moira asked.

“I’m sorry if she upset ye,” Duncan said, which was no answer.

“She’s an angry woman,” Moira said. “And she was wrong. I would have stayed with ye
forever if ye hadn’t left for France.”

She was not speaking to Rhona’s accusation that she would not stay with him now. If
Moira had any sense, she would be running down the hill.

“Ye weren’t here,” Duncan said.

“What?” Moira asked.

“That is the reason I was with Rhona,” Duncan said, meeting her eyes with his direct
gaze. “You are the only woman who ever mattered to me. Rhona knows it. Everyone does.”

“
O shluagh
.” Just when she was ready to storm off, he said something like that to her. Worse,
Duncan thought he believed it.

And for the next few hours, Moira was going to let herself believe it, too.

She picked up the harp from where it rested beside her chair and handed it to him.
“Play that song for me,” she said. “The one about the black-haired lass.”

Duncan strummed the strings a few times as he tuned it. Then he looked at her with
his warm hazel eyes, and his rich voice filled the small cottage with the song of
love and longing.

Duncan should not have sung that song to her again and bared his soul to her so utterly.
Yet there was no point in attempting to hide his feelings. Moira knew he had lost
his heart to her seven years ago, and he was not a man whose feelings changed.

Seeing her here in his humble home made the situation clear to him. Yet when Moira
stood in front of his chair and looked down at him with violet eyes as soft as her
velvet gown, Duncan knew he would give his life to keep her.

She took his harp from him, set it on the floor, and held out her hands to him. “Take
me to bed.”

I
’m glad ye came.” Duncan framed her face in his hands and gave her a long, lingering
kiss.

When he picked her up and carried her into the other room, Moira laughed because he
had to turn sideways and duck his head to get through the low doorway. A simple, wood-framed
bed covered with thick blankets filled most of his bedchamber, which Moira guessed
had been converted from what was usually the cow’s half of a cottage.

Behind the bed, the single window was tightly shuttered against the winter winds.
Moira imagined that when it was open on a fine day, Duncan could lie in bed and have
a grand view of the sea and mountains.

Without exchanging a word, they undressed quickly in the small space beside the bed.
As they crawled under the heavy blankets, the ropes holding the mattress creaked beneath
their weight. The bedchamber was so small and the bed so cozy that Moira felt as if
she were locked away with Duncan in a warm cocoon.

She put her arms around his neck and gazed into his face. His features were all hard
angles and his expression was serious, but his gold-flecked hazel eyes were warm.
When he slid his hand over the curve of her hip, she sighed.

With the MacCrimmons, Duncan had been patient with her, giving her time to trust his
touch. Under his gentle ministrations, her body had come alive again. And now that
she had seen herself in the mirror, she knew that it was not just her beauty that
made him want her.

You are the only woman who ever mattered to me. Rhona knows it. Everyone does.

The cottage, the creaking bed, and Duncan’s strong, warrior’s body all made her feel
protected. And after Sean, she needed to feel safe and wanted for herself before she
could share her body fully.

Was she ready? She ran her hands over Duncan’s chest, enjoying the feel of the taut
muscles and rough hair beneath her palms. When he splayed his hand against her back
and drew her into a deep kiss, she closed her eyes and melted into him. Aye, she was
ready.

Moira moved against him like a cat to feel the friction of his chest on her sensitive
breasts. He groaned and pulled her more tightly to him. Their kisses grew more fevered,
and the hardness of his shaft poking against her belly aroused a deep need in her.
She held him tightly, needing to be closer still, as their tongues moved together
in a rhythm as old as time.

When he rolled her on her back, she wrapped her legs around his waist, instinctively
urging him forward. Aye, this was what she wanted. No more waiting. Flashes from that
long-ago summer came back to her—of Duncan deep inside her, crying out his love for
her when he could not say it any other time. How she wanted him like that again.

She moaned aloud when the tip of his shaft touched her center. For a long, long moment,
Duncan held still above her, the muscles of his shoulders straining beneath her fingers.
As the tension between them became unbearable, she dug her fingers into his shoulders
and lifted her hips.

“Please, Duncan.”

Instead of doing as she urged, he covered her breasts with his callused hands and
moved down her body. He teased her nipples between his fingers and thumbs while he
kissed her throat and ran his tongue down her breastbone. Liquid heat pooled deep
in her belly as he moved lower and lower with his warm lips and tongue.

Anticipation sang through her body as he lifted her leg over his shoulder and kissed
the inside of her thigh. A high moan came from the back of her throat when he finally
ran his tongue over the sensitive spot between her legs. As he worked his magic with
his lips and tongue, she gripped the bedclothes in her hands and bit her lip.

She came in waves of white light.

It was wonderful, but this time it was not enough.

When Duncan moved to lie beside her, Moira pulled him down on top of her.

“I want to feel ye inside me,” she said, still breathing hard.

Oh, Jesu
. Did she mean it?

“Are ye certain?” Duncan forced out the question. “We don’t have to do this yet.”

“I want us to be as one,” she said, echoing the words of the song he had sung to her.
“And I don’t want to wait another moment.”

This time, when she tightened her legs around him, urging him forward, Duncan did
not resist her. They both gasped as he thrust deep inside her in one stroke. Sweat
beaded on his forehead as he forced himself to take long, deep breaths and hold still.
His body was so hungry for her, and for release, that the urge to pound into her again
and again until he exploded was nearly irresistible.

And Moira was not making it any easier for him. She was hot and wet and squirming
beneath him.

Slowly, slowly, he pulled out almost all the way. When he slid back inside her, the
rush of pleasure almost blinded him. He held her face between his hands and stared
into her midnight-blue eyes as he moved in and out with excruciating slowness.

“Is this good?” he asked, though he could tell that it was.

“Aye,” she said and gasped as he thrust deep into her again. “And for you?”

He almost laughed. “Nothing has ever felt this good.”

As he increased his pace, she made those high-pitched sounds that drove him wild.
She raised her hips to meet him as he thrust into her faster and harder. He could
hold back no longer. He had wanted her forever. Through the blood pounding in his
ears, he heard Moira cry his name as her body clenched around him.

At long last, Moira was his again. He let go, exploding inside her.

Duncan wanted her again.

He had been deprived of Moira for so long that he was like a starving animal. When
he ran his finger up the silky skin of her inner thigh to ask the question, her breath
hitched. Then she rolled on top of him, giving him precisely the answer he wanted.

Miraculously, Moira seemed almost as hungry for him as he was for her. They made love
all afternoon until they were too sore and weak to do it again.

But afterward, while she dozed in his arms, Rhona’s words echoed round and round in
Duncan’s head.

Did the little princess let ye pleasure her in bed like she used to? That’s all she
thinks you’re good for…​Moira forgot ye like that, and she’ll do it again.

Duncan had thought if she gave her body fully to him, she would give him her heart
as well. But he’d had her love once, if briefly, and he knew the difference.

He looked about his tiny bedchamber, barely large enough for his bed. How long would
Moira want to sneak out of the castle to seek pleasure with him here? Their clan needed
allies, and Connor would surely pressure her to make a new marriage to benefit the
clan. And Connor had a way of getting what he wanted. Eventually, Moira would agree
to wed one of the men Connor invited to visit, a chieftain who could give her all
the things she was accustomed to.

Duncan had not sung the last verse of the song to her, the sad one. But he heard it
in his head now.

Duncan was not sure he could survive being parted from her a second time. He was willing
to suffer the thousand deaths to be with her now.

But damn it, that was not enough. As he lay watching the only woman he would ever
love sleep on his chest, Duncan made up his mind. He was not giving her up. This time,
he would find a way to give Moira all the things she needed.

This time, he would find a way to keep her.

When Moira opened her eyes, she found Duncan standing beside the bed fully dressed
and smelling of the outdoors. In his hand, he held a cup with a clump of heather in
it. He kissed her forehead and leaned across the bed to set the heather on the windowsill.

“I didn’t know the heather was blooming already.” She sat up and put her nose in it
to breathe in the scent.

“Ye just need to know where to look,” Duncan said and sat on the edge of the bed.

Moira felt her defenses crumbling. After making love to her until she was senseless,
Duncan was showing her this gentle side of him that squeezed her heart. When he was
like this, she could almost trust him. Almost.

Moira felt a twinge of guilt for not telling him about Ragnall. She knew that the
longer she waited to tell him that Ragnall was his son, the harder it would be.

But despite his passionate lovemaking and kind gestures, a part of her still did not
believe he deserved to know. She had not forgotten that Duncan had left her or all
that she had suffered because of it—the years of living in fear and having her body
used by a man she loathed. And how she’d had to fight in a thousand subtle ways against
Sean’s influence over her son. She had won the battle for her son’s soul, and she
had done it all on her own.

Duncan took a strand of her hair between his finger and thumb and twirled it. “You’re
even more lovely than ye used to be.”

She snorted. “I’ve seen myself in a looking glass.”

“I think ye know I would want ye no matter what ye looked like,” Duncan said, making
Moira feel all soft inside again.

While Moira could not forget the past, neither did she want to let bitterness ruin
her happiness of the moment. And, miraculously, she was happy.

“I expect to be gone for a few days on an errand for Connor,” Duncan said.

“Must ye go?” she asked and ran her hand up his chest.

“Aye,” he said and brushed her hair back from her face. “Before I go, I need to tell
ye that I lo—”

Moira put her fingers over his lips. “Don’t say it.”

Meaningless words, that’s all they were. She did not want him to ruin what was between
them with words of love that amounted to false promises. All those years ago, she
had believed those words meant that he would stay with her, that he would always be
there, that he would not fail her.

“Let’s make the most of this while it lasts,” she said.

“While it lasts?” Duncan asked, with an edge to his voice.

“Aye.” That’s all anyone could count on. Expecting more just led to disappointment.

“And how long do ye think that will be?” Duncan said between his teeth.

“I don’t know.” He was growing angry, but she was not going to lie. Until she had
her son back, she did not want to think about the future any more than the past. She
rubbed her hand up Duncan’s thigh. “All I do know is that I am happy with ye now.”

“Ye like sharing a bed with me.”

“I do.” She could not help the grin spreading across her face, despite the forbidding
look Duncan was giving her. “I want to stay here at the cottage with ye until ye go.
Perhaps I’ll stay here while you’re gone as well. Can ye help me bring some of my
things up?”

“Ye can’t stay here,” Duncan said, his voice rising, despite his effort to be calm.
“And ye can’t be living in my cottage while I’m gone.”

The woman would drive him mad. No matter what else she said, her plan to stay in his
cottage had to mean she intended to marry him. Since she did not care to hear his
words of love, he could only assume he pleased her in bed even more than he thought.

“Why can’t I stay here?” she asked.

“For one thing, ’tis safer in the castle. For another, it would be improper. And for
a third, Connor would have my head on a platter.”

“Improper?” Moira asked, sounding outraged. “I’m no unmarried lass of seventeen.”

She leaned over the side of the bed and started gathering her clothes from the floor.

“Come, Moira, ye know ye can’t stay here without us being married.”

Duncan had formed a plan, but he did not want to discuss marriage with her until he
was certain his plan would succeed—and until he had Connor’s permission. That was
the only honorable way to do this.

“I know nothing of the kind,” Moira said as she jerked her shift over her head. “No
one—not you, not my brother, not anyone—is going to tell me what I can and cannot
do.”

“We can’t have everyone believing you’re giving yourself to me without us being wed.”

“But I
am
giving myself to ye without being wed.” She squeezed past him with the rest of her
clothes in her hands.

“That is no the point,” Duncan said, following her into the other room. “Have ye no
concern for your reputation?”

“No,” she said, turning to look straight at him. “I don’t.”

She stepped into her gown and, leaving it unfastened in the back, threw her cloak
over it.

“If you’re going to act foolishly with no regard for the consequences,” Duncan said,
shaking his finger in her face, “then ye can expect those who care for ye—
and who have a good deal more sense
—to tell ye what to do.”

“You’re a pigheaded arse, Duncan MacDonald!” Moira shouted. “For the last seven years,
I’ve been under a man’s thumb, my every move watched and censored, and I shall never
let that happen again.”

“I’m not like Sean,” Duncan objected, spreading his arms out. “But I won’t have all
our clansmen thinking ill of ye because of what you’re doing with me.”

“I thought this is what ye wanted,” she snapped. “Ye certainly seemed to like it—repeatedly—a
short time ago.”

“I do want ye,” he said. “Ye know damned well I do.”

She ignored him and headed for the door. “I doubt I’ll have any trouble,” she said
over her shoulder as she opened it, “finding a man who appreciates an improper lass
like me.”

“Ye let another man
appreciate
ye, and I’ll kill him.”

The door slammed behind her.