The Warrior (18 page)

M
oira was so confused and upset she did not know what to do with herself. How could
Duncan believe he loved her and yet think so poorly of her? She dried her tears before
she entered the castle to pay a visit on Ilysa. Perhaps Duncan’s sister could help
her understand him.

After searching the keep and not finding Ilysa there, Moira crossed the courtyard
to what had been her nursemaid’s home.

“Do ye mind a bit of company?” Moira asked when Ilysa answered her door.

“I’d enjoy it,” Ilysa said. “I’m just doing a bit of stitching.”

Moira suspected that if Connor were home, Ilysa would be doing the chore in the keep.

“I sense ye came here with a purpose,” Ilysa said after Moira sat down with her. “Is
it about my brother?”

Moira appreciated the younger woman’s directness.

“Duncan said my father forced him to leave,” Moira said, deciding to start with that.
“I wish I knew if it was true.”

“My brother has his faults, but he doesn’t lie,” Ilysa said in her quiet, sure voice.

“I didn’t think my father would lie to me, either,” Moira said.

“I wouldn’t know what that feels like, as I never knew my father,” Ilysa said, which
reminded Moira that, though Ilysa looked young, she’d had her share of sorrows and
struggles.

“The loss of your mother must have been difficult.” Moira turned to look out the small
window and sighed. “If she were here, I would ask her what happened that day between
Duncan and my father.”

“I was here and saw it all,” Ilysa said. “What do ye want to know?”

“You?” Moira asked. “Why, ye were still a child.”

“I was old enough,” Ilysa said. “Ach, your father was in a dreadful fury that morning.”

“Can ye tell me what happened?” Moira asked.

“The chieftain and your brother Ragnall woke my mother and me while it was still dark.”
Ilysa stopped stitching but kept her gaze fixed on the shirt in her hands. “I know
ye loved them, but they were hard men, and they were angry. When they asked where
Duncan was, my mother started weeping.”

“I’m sorry they frightened you,” Moira said.

“I tried to comfort my mother, but she was inconsolable,” Ilysa said. “We told the
chieftain we didn’t know where Duncan was, but I suspect now that my mother guessed
he was with you.”

“What did my father and brother do when they saw that Duncan was not here?”

“They sat in these chairs at our wee table,” Ilysa said, nodding toward it. “It felt
as if the walls of our cottage would explode with their anger.”

Moira could well imagine it. Her father and older brother had been powerful warriors
long accustomed to their authority over the clan.

“When Duncan opened the door”—Ilysa paused and licked her lips—“I thought your father
was going to murder him right here in this room.”

“He would not have,” Moira said.

“He said that the only reason he didn’t was that Teàrlag had predicted Duncan would
save Connor’s life.” Ilysa met Moira’s eyes with an unwavering gaze. “I believed him
then, and I still do.”

Moira leaned over and touched Ilysa’s hand. “I’m sorry I caused such grief for you
and your mother.”

“Ye can’t help who ye love.” Ilysa cleared her throat. “Your brother Ragnall told
Duncan he would be sailing for France that day, right after the battle for Knock Castle.
Then he and the chieftain took Duncan away, without even letting him kiss our mother
good-bye.”

Moira and Ilysa sat in silence for a long while.

“My father could force Duncan to leave the clan, but he could not force him to go
to France—or to stay there,” Moira said. “Duncan could have gotten word to me to join
him somewhere, but he didn’t believe in me.”

“I don’t think that was the reason,” Ilysa said in a soft voice. “It was himself he
didn’t believe in.”

“What do ye mean?” Moira asked.

“Duncan left because he believed your father was right to send him away,” Ilysa said.
“He thought he did not deserve you.”

Moira stared blindly out the small window. Though she had not paid much attention
at the time, she remembered hearing the men make gibes about Duncan’s unknown parentage
when they were children. Perhaps there was some truth to what Ilysa said about why
he left her.

“That does not explain why he lacks faith in me now,” Moira said. “Duncan is captain
of our chieftain’s guard and has a fearsome reputation as a great warrior.”

“That’s how others see him,” Ilysa said. “But Duncan is still trying to prove to himself
that he is worthy.”

A sharp knock at the door interrupted their conversation. Without waiting for an answer,
Tait, a short, wiry member of the guard, barged in.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for ye,” he said to Ilysa.

“What is it?” Ilysa asked.

“There’s a fleet of war galleys headed this way,” he said.

Cold fear licked its way up Moira’s spine. She had thought she would be safe here
at Dunscaith.

“Have ye told Connor?” Ilysa asked.

“He and Duncan rode across the peninsula to Knock Castle,” Tait said. “I sent a man
after them, but those war galleys will arrive before they do.”

“Do ye recognize the boats?” Ilysa asked, calm as could be.

“I know the banner,” Tait said. “It belongs to Alexander of Dunivaig and the Glens.”

Moira’s hands went cold as ice. Alexander was the chieftain of a more powerful branch
of the MacDonalds and a descendant of a Lord of the Isles, which made them distant
relatives. In addition to his lands in the Western Isles of the Scottish Highlands,
he ruled over the Glens in Ireland, where he was an ally of the MacQuillans.

“He’s come for me,” Moira said.

“Are we under attack? What is happening?” women called out to Moira and Ilysa as they
raced behind Tait across the courtyard to the castle wall.

“We don’t know yet,” Ilysa told them. “Stay calm, but take the children inside the
keep.”

The courtyard was in confusion, with men shouting and running to gather weapons. Moira
picked up her skirts and climbed the ladder up the side of the castle wall. The wall
walk that ran along the top was crowded with warriors, and she had to push her way
through them to look out.

When she caught sight of a dozen war galleys sailing straight for the castle, Moira
sucked in her breath. The first ones were so close that she could see the fierce faces
of the warriors above their shields. She was aware when Tait and Ilysa joined her,
but she kept her gaze on the galleys filling the bay.

“That one is their chieftain’s,” Tait said, pointing to the galley with the warrior’s
cross on its sail and a dragon head on its bow.

A tall man with dark golden hair stood in the center of the chieftain’s boat, a little
apart from the other warriors, and scanned the hills like a hawk. When the boat glided
into shore, escorted by a galley on either side of it, he was the first to vault over
the side.

“I’m going down to the beach,” Moira said and turned to go down the ladder.

“No, ye mustn’t!” Ilysa said, gripping Moira’s arm.

“There is no point in sacrificing the lives of our men when it’s me they want,” Moira
said. “If there is a price to be paid for taking my husband’s miserable life, I’ll
be the one to pay it.”

D
uncan’s thoughts were on Moira as he and Connor rode back to Dunscaith escorted by
a dozen members of Connor’s guard. There was no use talking to Moira until he took
Trotternish Castle. Teàrlag told him he could change his fate, and she was right.
Taking the castle would settle everything—with his father, with the MacLeods, and
with Moira.

But what in the hell did Moira mean by saying he did not know her? He knew her every
mood, every expression that crossed her face, how her breathing changed when he touched
her.

Still, he had to admit there was one thing he had not understood before. Her blind
determination to walk through the night and enter the MacLeod chieftain’s lair alone
to get Ragnall had seemed utter foolishness to him. But the moment he met his son,
Duncan understood why she did it. Though Duncan knew that Ragnall was under the protection
of the MacLeod chieftain, whose word was law within his clan, Duncan shared Moira’s
driving need to bring him home.

Ragnall was one more reason Duncan was relieved he would be sailing for Trotternish
Castle tonight.

Duncan saw a rider crest the hill coming toward them and pulled his claymore before
he recognized the man as one of their own.

“Looks like trouble,” Connor said and held up his hand, signaling the guardsmen to
halt.

The rider came toward them at a full gallop, then pulled his horse up hard, causing
it to rear.

“War galleys are approaching Dunscaith!” the man shouted.

Duncan dug his heels into his horse’s side, took the lead, and rode for Dunscaith
at breakneck speed. Though they were only two miles from the chieftain’s castle, it
seemed like fifty. When Duncan finally broke over the last hill, the familiar vista
of Dunscaith on its protruding rock in the midst of miles of coastline spread before
him.

But this time, a swarm of war galleys loomed just offshore, threatening Dunscaith
and everyone in it, including Moira and Ilysa.

“This visit must relate to Sean MacQuillan’s death,” Connor shouted as he brought
his horse up beside Duncan’s.

They both had recognized the ships at once, of course, as belonging to the powerful
MacDonalds of Dunivaig and the Glens, who were allied with the less powerful MacQuillans.
Before the rebellion, their two branches of the MacDonalds had been allies as well.

“They haven’t attacked yet,” Connor continued, “so they may be willing to talk.”

“’Tis worth a chance,” Duncan shouted back.

“I’ll invite the chieftain in as my guest,” Connor said.

The Highland customs of hospitality were sacrosanct. If the other chieftain accepted
Connor’s offer, there would be no attack today. Of course, the constraint lasted only
until the guests departed.

“What in the hell is my sister doing?” Connor shouted.

Duncan snapped his gaze from the war galleys to the castle and saw a figure stepping
off the castle’s bridge.
God have mercy
, it was Moira!

Protecting his chieftain was Duncan’s first duty, but he had to stop Moira.

“Send her back inside!” Connor shouted. “If they see her, they’ll try to take her!”

Duncan veered his horse toward the castle, and they flew over the tall grass. Moira’s
eyes went wide as he bore down on her. Leaning low over the side of his horse, he
caught her around the waist and lifted her in front of him. He continued up to the
castle bridge and then dismounted with her.

“Were ye trying to make it easy for them to take ye?” he shouted, shaking her by the
shoulders.

“I know him,” Moira said. “I was just going to talk with him.”

Duncan let out a string of oaths that would make the devil blush. “You’re endangering
yourself and everyone else. Get inside
now
!”

M
oira pressed her face to the peephole, which provided a good view of the high table.

“I used this peephole many times at my father’s request,” she whispered to Ilysa,
who crouched beside her. Unlike Duncan and Connor, her father had valued her assistance
with difficult guests.

Just now, it looked as though Connor was badly in need of help. Her brother’s and
his guest’s expressions were coldly polite, but they had daggers in their eyes. As
she had guessed when she saw him standing in the galley, the tall, golden-haired visitor
was not the clan chieftain, but his eldest son, James.

“You’ll have to take the word of the captain of my guard regarding what happened at
the MacQuillan castle that night,” Connor said, sounding as immovable as granite.

Moira was sorry she had missed hearing Duncan’s version of events while she changed
her clothes.

“I don’t know your captain,” James said, his tone equally unbending. “I must hear
it from your sister directly.”

“I vouch for my captain’s word,” Connor said, raising the stakes. “And I will not
permit ye to upset my sister by questioning her. She has suffered enough.”

Ach, she did not need Connor to protect her from answering James’s questions, any
more than she needed Duncan to protect her reputation from gossip.

Where had the two of them been when she truly needed their protection?

Duncan’s teeth ached from clenching his jaw so hard. He wished the ironclad rules
of hospitality did not prevent him from challenging this James with the jewel-studded
brooch and the too-handsome face to settle the matter with swords.

When the hall suddenly went quiet, Duncan turned to see who had drawn everyone’s attention,
half fearing he would see old Teàrlag waving her arms and wailing in the doorway again.

Instead, Moira entered the hall looking like a faery queen, covered head-to-toe in
a silvery cape and matching hood, with the wolfhound at her side. The cape floated
out behind her as she swept across the room and came to a halt before the center of
the head table.

“A thousand welcomes to you, James, son of Alexander of Dunivaig and the Glens and
great-great-grandson of John, the first Lord of the Isles,” Moira said, giving the
formal greeting. “’Tis an honor and a pleasure to see you again. It has been far too
long.”

James leaped to his feet and started around the table. Duncan was half out of his
seat with his hand on the hilt of his dirk before Connor stopped him.

“James will not harm her here in my hall,” Connor said in a low voice, with a steel
grip on Duncan’s arm. “Moira’s made her choice. Let’s see how this plays out.”

Duncan gritted his teeth when James reached Moira and kissed her hand like a courtier.

“These are not the circumstances under which I had hoped we would meet again,” James
said. “It is, of course, the
unfortunate
death of your husband that brings me here to speak with you.”

James had not let go of her hand.

“I see ye brought the wolfhound I gave your son,” James said.

“I’m very attached to Sàr,” Moira said, running her slender fingers over the dog’s
head. “I could not leave him behind.”

“Moira has him in the palm of her hand,” Connor whispered to Duncan, sounding inordinately
pleased.

“If ye had a justification for what ye did, ye should not have run off,” James said.
“I—and my father—have always been fond of ye, but we could only think the worst.”

“Alas,” Moira said, looking up at James from under her lashes, “Sean’s men were in
no mind to listen to explanations that night.”

“Come, Moira,” James said, his tone far too familiar. “Tell me what happened.”

Moira stepped back from James. Slowly, she pushed back her hood and unfastened the
cape that had been tied snugly beneath her chin. She let the cape fall to the ground
and stood before them all in a low-cut gown that revealed the bruises on her neck.

Several people at the table gasped, and Connor swore under his breath. Hearing that
Moira’s husband had tried to kill her was not the same as seeing the evidence of it
on her slender neck.

“Jesu!” James’s nostrils flared and the muscles of his jaw flexed as he clamped his
lips together. After a long moment, he asked, “Sean did this to you?”

“He tried to strangle me,” she said. “Ye can see his finger marks.”

She turned her head to the side and pulled her hair back. Most of the bruising to
Moira’s face had healed, thanks to Caitlin’s and Ilysa’s skills and smelly poultices,
but the left side of her face still showed the damage Sean had done to her.

“I am so sorry he hurt ye,” James said.

“’Tis much improved,” Moira said, her voice wavering a bit. “Ye can imagine what I
looked like the night I escaped. If I had not killed Sean first, he would have murdered
me.”

“But why would Sean harm you?” James picked up her cape, wrapped it around her, and
rested his hands on her shoulders. “How could any man harm you?”

Duncan ground his teeth to keep from shouting at the man to get his hands off her.

“Sean was afraid to hurt me while I had powerful protectors. I wasn’t safe from him
once you and your father left Ireland.” She turned her gaze on Connor. “Sean did not
believe my own clan was concerned with my well-being.”

Connor was gripping his cup so tightly that his knuckles were white. He worked with
such single-minded devotion to protect their clan that Duncan knew what a blow Moira’s
words were to him.

“I believe ye, Moira,” James said and blew out his breath. “But it’s no that easy.
Having their chieftain killed by a lass in their own fortress humiliated the MacQuillans.
They want retribution.”

“What if my brother was willing to make a modest payment to the MacQuillans?” Moira
asked. “To compensate them for their…‘loss.’”

Such payments were sometimes made in cases of rape and murder, to avoid blood feuds.

“That was clever,” Connor said under his breath to Duncan, before he finally intervened
in Moira’s play. “James, I am prepared to offer a modest sum, as my sister suggests.”

“That would help soothe their pride,” James said.

“Though I will expect one in return for the harm their chieftain did to my sister,”
Connor added.

“I’ll leave now and let you men discuss it,” Moira said as if she had not orchestrated
it all. “Thank you, James, for listening to me with an open heart.”

“You’re a brave lass,” James said and kissed her hand again, quite unnecessarily.
“I’ve always admired ye.”

Duncan wanted to gag—or better yet, slice James’s silver tongue from his throat.

Moira lay on her bed, exhausted. Before her marriage, she could have carried off that
performance without feeling like her soul was bleeding out on the floor. The display
of her wounds was necessary and the drama effective, but she had underestimated the
toll it would take on her. Making love with Duncan had made her believe she had recovered
from Sean. But though she had always liked James, she found herself feeling faint
when he stood too close and kept dropping his gaze to her breasts.

The mischievous faeries must have cast a spell on her for their amusement. Not only
did she love a man who thought she was useless, silly, and wholly lacking in character,
but it appeared that no other man could touch her without sending her into a panic.

A knock on the door made her sit up straight. “Who is it?”

She squelched her disappointment when Connor stuck his head through the door.

“Can we talk?” he asked.

When she nodded, he came inside and closed the door behind him.

“I appreciate what ye did,” Connor said. “I suspect you were more of a help to our
father when he was chieftain than I ever realized.”

At least her brother was beginning to see her value, if belatedly.

“I am so sorry I didn’t send Duncan to Ireland sooner.” Connor came to stand by the
bed and took her hand. “I believed you were safe, and there were so many dangers facing
our clan that I…Well, there is no excuse for it. I should have found a way.”

Connor had such sadness in his eyes that she felt her own tearing up. “Thank you for
saying that. I thought ye didn’t care at all.”

“It was never that,” Connor said as he brushed a lock of her hair off her forehead.
“Growing up, it always seemed as if ye had a special magic around ye, and that nothing
bad could ever happen to ye.”

Moira gave a humorless laugh. “What the faeries give they take away twice.”

“Duncan loves ye, and he’s a good man,” Connor said.

“Hmmph.” Moira crossed her arms and looked away.

“Give him a chance, Moira.”

“Is that an order from my chieftain?” she asked.

“It’s advice from a brother who wants to see ye happy,” Connor said. “And now, if
you’ll have pity on me, I’m desperate for your help with our guest.”

“I do have something else I need to discuss with James,” Moira said, smiling at her
brother. “And I think I might enjoy aggravating Duncan a bit more.”