The Warrior (19 page)

D
uncan sat by the hall’s great hearth sharpening his dirk on a whetstone while he watched
Moira flirt with James. At least she had changed out of that low-cut gown, though
nothing could hide curves like hers.

He emptied his cup of whiskey and refilled it. If everything went well, he would be
the keeper of Trotternish Castle in a week’s time. Then he could marry Moira and give
her the kind of home she needed.

If she didn’t run off with that damned James, son of a chieftain, first.

Connor strolled over and sat next to him. “I had a long talk with James,” he said
in a low voice. “Thanks to Moira, he’s verra cooperative now.”

“Hmmph.” Duncan took another long drink of his whiskey.

“According to James, Alastair MacLeod and Shaggy Maclean have left the rebellion and
are proving their newfound loyalty to the Crown by chasing after their former ally
Donald Gallda,” Connor said, referring to the leader of the rebellion. “They haven’t
caught Donald yet, but they captured his brothers and turned them over to the Crown
to be executed.”

“Now we know where Alastair MacLeod went with his war galleys,” Duncan said. “’Tis
good news for us that he’s busy elsewhere.”

“The bad news is that the Crown has rewarded Alastair MacLeod by granting him a royal
charter to the lands he stole from us on Trotternish.”

“But we never joined the rebellion!” Duncan said, slamming his cup down. Connor had
taken a considerable risk by not taking up arms with their neighboring clans against
the Crown.

“Surely ye remember the parable of the prodigal son,” Connor said, shaking his head.

“Forget the damned charter,” Duncan said. “What matters most is who holds the land.”

It had proven far easier for the Crown to issue royal charters—in fact, it had been
known to issue charters to the same land to rival clans—than to remove a clan from
its lands.

“I should help my sister with our guest,” Connor said, shifting his gaze to Moira,
who was still having an excessively friendly chat with James on the other side of
the hall. “I know it’s soon to ask her, but I wonder if she would consider James for
her next husband.”

Duncan squeezed the cup in his hand pretending it was James’s neck.

Rhona came into the hall from the kitchens carrying a jug of wine and cups. After
serving Moira, James, and Connor, she ambled over to where Duncan sat.

“I see she’s even quicker to find a new man this time,” Rhona said, leaning down to
speak into his ear. “I told ye this would happen.”

Rhona gave him an amused glance over her shoulder as she pranced off.

Duncan watched how Moira and James leaned their heads together and looked into each
other’s eyes while they talked about God knew what.

But it was her laugh a moment later that sent him over the edge. As her face lit up,
he could feel the pulse in his temples throb. Her shining black braid fell over her
shoulder as she leaned closer to James and laughed. That last night before he was
forced to leave for France, Duncan had watched her laugh just like this with the man
who became her husband.

The temper Duncan had spent his youth learning to control exploded. It surged through
his veins, pounded in his ears, and tunneled his vision until all he could see was
the two of them laughing.

Duncan marched across the hall, aware but not giving a goddamn that he was causing
a disruption. He’d had enough. As he neared the pair, some of James’s men started
to rise from their seats

“Stay where ye are!” Duncan said, turning to glare at them. “It’s not James I’m after.”

At least not yet.
James was just a pawn in Moira’s game.

When Duncan reached Moira, he grabbed her by her arms and lifted her out of her seat.

“What do ye think you’re doing, Duncan MacDonald?” she said, as he dragged her away.
“Connor! Do something!”

“Halt!” James called and started after them, but he thought better of it when all
of the MacDonalds of Sleat began hooting and clapping.

Duncan was too full of fury to feel gratified by the cheers.

“I’ll strangle ye in your sleep! I’ll burn your cottage!” Moira was spewing a stream
of useless threats.

He hauled her through the arched doorway to the stairwell, then tossed her over his
shoulder and headed up the stairs. She was pounding his back and calling him all manner
of vile names, which for some perverse reason did bring him a measure of satisfaction.

Duncan flung open the door to the sacrosanct bedchamber belonging to the adored chieftain’s
daughter, the room he was never permitted to violate with his lowly presence even
as a child. As a young man, he would have been beaten within an inch of his life if
he had been caught invading this hallowed place.

Well, he was here now.

Duncan kicked the door shut behind him. As soon as he set Moira on her feet, he grabbed
her arms before she could scratch his eyes out. Judging from the fire in hers, that
was precisely what she wished to do to him.

Good. He was in the mood for a fight.

“What in hell were ye doing down there in the hall?” he shouted at her.

“What was
I
doing?” she asked. “I was enjoying a civil conversation with a civilized man before
ye interrupted us acting like a madman.”

“I won’t have your games, Moira. I put up with them when I was nineteen, but I won’t
now,” he said as he backed her up against the door. “I’ll no stand by while ye flirt
and bat your eyes and God knows what else with another man!”

“We have an important guest,” she said between her teeth. “I was merely being a gracious
hostess—not that it’s any business of yours.”

The edges of his vision turned blood-red. “Does being a gracious hostess involve taking
our highborn guest to bed?”

He had released her arms, which was a mistake. Moira tried to slap his face, but years
of practice with a sword made him far too quick for her. He caught her wrists again
and pinned them against the door.

“What do ye mean, it’s no my business?” he said an inch from her face. “I thought
we had an understanding.”

“An understanding?” she said, her eyes narrow slits of blue fire. “And what understanding
would that be?”

“That you’re mine.”

Duncan kissed her—not the sweet, tender kisses he had been giving her, but hard on
the mouth. She said she was no fragile flower, and he hoped to God she was right,
because he was in no mood for caution. His need for her was as violent as the storm
that had torn their boat apart.

Ever since he had found her again, he had banked his passion, made himself be the
gentle lover she needed him to be. But he could hold back no longer. Control was beyond
him. His hunger for her was boundless.

He wanted to strip her bare to her soul and make her his, utterly and completely.

Moira gripped her hands in his hair and held on as he thrust his tongue into her mouth
and devoured her with his kisses. Her nails dug into his shoulders through his clothes.
When he grasped her buttocks and lifted her against his throbbing erection, she wrapped
her legs around him in a vise. He wanted desperately to take her right now, fast and
hard against the door.

But he had spent too many nights in his younger years dreaming of her in that bed.

Without lifting his mouth from hers, he carried her to it. When he broke the kiss
to pull back the bed curtains and set her down, she looked at him with velvet eyes
that were dark with desire.

“Ye don’t seem quite so concerned about propriety now,” she said in a throaty voice
as her mouth curved up in a slow smile. When she ran the tip of her tongue over her
swollen lips, all the blood in his head went straight to his cock.

This was the old Moira. Without realizing it, Duncan had been waiting for her—the
wild and free Moira he had first fallen in love with. And yet, she was so much more
now. He loved this complex, deeper woman even more than he had loved the carefree
girl.

“Just because I want to protect ye,” he said between harsh breaths, “does not mean
I think you’re weak.”

Moira fisted her hands in his shirt and pulled him down. They fell across the bed,
legs tangled and hands tearing at each other’s clothes with a frantic desperation.
Duncan ignored the sound of her gown ripping as he pulled the bodice down and filled
his hands with her full, rounded breasts. While he rubbed his thumbs over her nipples,
he moved down her throat with his mouth, leaving his mark on her with sucking kisses.
She moaned and arched her back, egging him on.

His, she was his.

He licked the salt of her skin, breathed in the smell of her desire. As he sought
more bare skin beneath her clothes, he kissed her breasts and pressed his cock against
her thigh. There was far too much cloth between them, and he was desperate for her.

“Hurry, Duncan, hurry,” Moira pleaded in ragged breaths as she jerked at her skirts,
trying to help free them. “I want ye now.”

The lass was going to kill him. With a final tug, he had her skirts up around her
waist.

“I love ye so much,” he said. “And I do know you.”

Moira clamped her legs around him and lifted her hips to meet him. As he plunged into
her, he squeezed his eyes shut against the rush of pleasure that surged through him.
He paused, deep inside her, reveling in the sensation. This was where he was meant
to be. She was his. And God knew, he was hers. He had been since the beginning of
time.

“Aye, aye,” she gasped as he began moving inside her.

She was everything he wanted, and he was claiming her, body and soul. She tossed her
head from side to side and held on to him, making frantic little noises as he thrust
deeply, again and again.

“Don’t stop,” she pleaded as he reached the very edge of his control.

They cried each other’s name as they came together in an explosion of pleasure that
was so intense it blinded him. He rested his forehead on the bed beside her, gasping
for air. He was trying not to crush her, but he could hardly hold himself up. Finally,
he gave up and collapsed beside her. They lay side by side, breathing hard, their
skin damp with perspiration.

Duncan stared up at the fancy drapes that hung around her bed. That hadn’t resolved
anything, but he felt a whole hell of a lot better.

“I’m leaving to take Trotternish Castle now,” he said. “And ye had best be waiting
here for me.”

“And if I’m not?” Moira said, raising her eyebrows.

“I will come find you.” He cupped her cheek with his hand and held her gaze. “You
and I are one, and we will always be.”

A
s Duncan made his way down the hill to meet Alex’s boat, he was glad for the dense
fog that had rolled in with the night, covering the sea and the shore. No one would
see them slip out of the bay. Duncan was twenty paces from where Alex’s boat was pulled
up on shore before its black outline emerged from the dark gray billowing fog.

As Duncan drew closer, he could make out the figures of the men in the boat—and one
man leaning against it. He knew it was Connor even before he was close enough to recognize
the long, lean frame.

“Duncan,” Alex called out in a soft voice from the boat, and Duncan raised his hand
in greeting.

“We must talk,” Connor said. “In private.”

Duncan sighed inwardly. Connor was furious with him—and rightly so—for carrying Moira
out of the hall like that, declaring to the world that he was bedding the chieftain’s
sister. Though Duncan knew they must have this conversation, he had hoped to delay
it until after they had taken Trotternish Castle.

“Ye shouldn’t leave the castle without guards,” Duncan said when they had walked through
the fog far enough to be out of earshot of the others.

Connor chafed under the constraints for his personal protection that came with being
chieftain, but he understood what his death would mean for the clan so he usually
complied.

But not tonight.

“I have important business with ye.” Connor put a hand on Duncan’s shoulder, but there
was no mistaking the steel in his voice. “We need to discuss my sister.”

Though he and Connor had been his best friends since the cradle, Connor would put
the interests of the clan before their friendship. Duty to the clan was ingrained
in Connor’s soul, and it weighed even more heavily on him now that he was chieftain.

“What is it ye wish to know?” Duncan asked, delaying the inevitable.

Connor squeezed his shoulder harder and leaned close. “Ye know damned well what I’m
asking.”

Connor, Ian, and Alex had always treated Duncan as an equal, but others had not because
his father was unknown. Duncan had worked hard—harder than anyone—until he became
a warrior of such strength and skill that he commanded respect in his own right.

Still, asking to wed his chieftain’s sister was reaching above him.

“I know this is not what ye want for Moira or for the clan,” Duncan said. “But I can’t
live without her.”

“That’s a bit vague,” Connor said, and Duncan could feel Connor’s eyes drilling into
him through the darkness. “What, precisely, do ye plan to do about it?”

“I respect ye as my chieftain, and you’re closer than a brother to me,” Duncan said.
“But I cannot let ye wed Moira to another man. If I must, I will fight even you for
her.”

The prospect of losing Connor’s friendship was like a hot blade piercing his heart.
If he lost this lifelong bond, Duncan would never feel whole again. But as much as
it would pain him, he was choosing Moira.

“I intend to marry her this time,” Duncan said and steeled himself to face Connor’s
fury.

“It would have been a shame to have to kill ye,” Connor said, his teeth showing white
in the darkness as he broke into a grin. “With the way the two of ye have been carrying
on, the whole clan is talking—and that was before ye carried her upstairs in front
of God and everyone today.”

“Are ye saying I have your approval?” Duncan was stunned. “I thought ye would want
Moira to make a marriage alliance for the clan.”

“Ach, marrying her outside the clan has its dangers,” Connor said. “If Moira sticks
a dirk in you like she did her last husband, I won’t have to worry about it causing
a clan war.”

“There is that,” Duncan said with a dry laugh.

“You’ve always underestimated your value to me and to the clan,” Connor said, his
tone serious. “If you are the one Moira wants to wed, I’m glad of it.”

“Well,” Duncan said, and cleared his throat. “Moira has not agreed to it, precisely.”

“Not precisely?” Connor asked.

“She will.” She had to. “I told her we could not marry until we took Trotternish—and
ye made me keeper of the castle.”

“Moira was ready to wed, and ye put her off and set conditions on it?” Connor threw
his head back and laughed, a rare sound these days. “I wondered what the problem was.
Ach, you’re both stubborn as mules.”

“She’s always had a fine home to live in,” Duncan said, defending himself.

“If we succeed in taking Trotternish Castle, it will need a keeper,” Connor said.
“You’re the only man I would entrust it to.”

“We will succeed,” Duncan said.

“Did ye ask Moira what she was discussing with James when you
interrupted
them?” Connor asked.

“I don’t want to know.”

“She was telling him that Ragnall is your son, not Sean’s,” Connor said. “She asked
him to share that news with the MacQuillans so they would not demand the lad’s return
after we bring him home to Dunscaith.”

Duncan’s chest felt tight. While he did not regret carrying her off to her bedchamber,
he felt like an ass for shouting at her.

“We should go,” Alex called to them. When Duncan and Connor returned to the boat,
Alex said, “After your display in the hall, Duncan, a few of us laid wagers on when
you and Moira would wed.”

“You what?” Duncan asked.

“Don’t give me that surly look,” Alex said. “I seem to recall you were the one taking
wagers before I wed.”

Duncan had collected a fine bag of coins from it, too.

“Your chieftain wagered a silver coin on your marriage taking place in three weeks,”
Connor said, draping his arm around Duncan’s shoulder. “A wise man would remember
that.”

“We’ll see you and Ian at the gates of Trotternish Castle in four days,” Duncan said
to Connor and climbed into the boat.

“We’ll take the MacLeods by land and by sea,” Connor called out to them, and they
raised their fists and echoed back the MacDonald clan motto.

“
Air muir ’s air tìr!
” By land and by sea!

“We’re a couple of miles from Trotternish Castle now,” Alex alerted Duncan.

They had made good time and arrived in less than two full days.

“Bring us to shore,” Duncan said, “and I’ll walk the rest of the way.”

A misty rain was falling and the afternoon light was fading, which was good, because
everything depended upon no one seeing a MacDonald galley full of warriors land. When
Connor and Ian arrived with their galleys, they would take the greater caution of
staying out to sea until it was full dark.

“Quiet, lads,” Alex said as he guided the galley toward a stretch of beach with no
cottages in sight.

The soft, regular splash of their oars was the only sound the men made as the boat
approached the shore. As one, they lifted their oars, and Duncan felt the soft scrape
of the hull on the rocks as they glided in.

“Two nights from now, after the household has gone to bed, I’ll signal from the tower
window if it is safe to proceed,” Duncan told Alex, though they had gone over this
a dozen times before.

“I’ll be waiting,” Alex said. “When I see the signal, I’ll send a man to tell Ian
and Connor to have their men ready.”

The plan was for Duncan to drop a rope from the tower room. After Alex and a handful
of his men climbed up, they would make their way to the castle’s gate, subdue the
guards, and let their main force in through the gate.

“I hope ye haven’t grown too weak from your lax training to climb the rope,” Duncan
chided him.

Alex just laughed.

“If the sea is rough,” Duncan said more seriously, “it will be difficult to bring
your boat close enough to the cliff to reach the rope.”

“Ach, I could do it with my eyes closed,” Alex said. In the dark of night, it would
be much the same as doing it blind, but no one was a better sailor than Alex.

“By then, the castle folk should be accustomed to seeing me and won’t be watching
me closely.” Or so Duncan hoped.

“I’d wager that a few of the women will still be eyeing ye,” Alex said with amusement
in his voice. “You’re usually blind to the lasses’ attention, but ye ought to be mindful
of it this time. I advise ye to pick one of them when ye first arrive, and that will
discourage the others.”

“I’ll be wed soon,” Duncan said, offended.

“I’m no saying ye need to bed the lass,” Alex said. “Just flirt with her—make the
others believe she’s the one ye want so they don’t follow ye about.”

“I’ll make certain no one follows me,” Duncan said and changed the subject. “With
any luck, we’ll surround the MacLeods while they’re still sleeping in the hall, and
the fighting will be over quickly.”

“We can hope,” Alex said, sounding doubtful. “Otherwise, this is bound to be bloody.”

“Remember,” Duncan said, gripping Alex’s arm, “the keeper of the castle is mine.”

“And you remember,” Alex said, “that MacLeod hostages are more valuable to us than
dead MacLeods.”

Not this one
. Duncan picked up the bag that held his pipes and prepared to drop over the side
of the boat into the shallows.

“It will all go as smooth as cream down a cat’s throat,” Alex said, which they both
knew for a lie, and put his hand on Duncan’s shoulder. “All the same, you’ll be alone
in there, my friend, so be careful.”