The Warrior (24 page)

M
oira helped Niall make a lean-to using a blanket she found in the boat. The rain had
eased to a drizzle, so it should serve well enough to keep him dry.

“I want ye to rest while I’m gone,” she said as she cut strips from her shift for
a new bandage. “Ye should have told me the wound had reopened.”

She looked at his pale face and wondered how long he had been hiding it from her.
Ach, men.

“We should sail past Hugh’s men tonight instead of you doing this alone,” Niall said,
but they both knew that if all had gone well at Trotternish, their boats should be
passing through the strait today.

“Don’t fret. ’Tis a wee walk through the woods, and I’ll have Sàr with me.” Moira
brushed Niall’s hair back and kissed his forehead. “You’ve become a fine man, Niall
MacDonald, and I’m proud to call you cousin.”

He was a worry to her, but there was no more she could do for him now. When she climbed
out from under the shelter of the lean-to, Sàr was waiting for her. He gave her a
forlorn look from beneath his shaggy brows. But when she whistled to him, he followed
her up the hill.

Moira knew she was walking into danger. As she made her way up the steep hill through
the trees, she thought about all the times she had stood on the beach in Ireland,
longing to take her son home to her clan on Skye where they would be safe. Then she
thought of the peril awaiting the returning warriors. If Hugh succeeded, her clan
would be destroyed and none of them would be safe. Not Connor, not her cousins Ian,
Alex, and Niall, not Duncan, and not her son.

Moira regretted so much. At long last, she and Duncan could have been together, if
she had been able to forgive him for the past. She had been too bruised and too fearful
to trust him. But when she remembered how he looked at her while he sang the song
about his dark-haired love, she knew in her heart that he did truly love her. If she
lived to see him again, she would not waste another day denying their bond.

Moira squeezed the hilt of her blade as she marched up the hill. She intended to live
a long life with Duncan and Ragnall. When this was over, she was going to be the damned
happiest woman in all of Scotland, and nothing and no one was going to stop her.

The sound of male voices brought her attention abruptly back to the present. She signaled
to Sàr to stay close and be quiet. Then she crept a few paces down the hill to peer
through an opening in the trees.

O shluagh!
Hugh’s men were no more than thirty yards below her. They appeared to be enjoying
themselves, throwing dice and drinking around campfires, as if they were celebrating
a feast day instead of waiting to murder her kin. But then, Hugh’s pirates were rough,
clanless men who raided the coasts and stole winter stores from poor folk whose children
would go hungry. And woe to any women they caught.

Hugh had far more men than Moira expected, which made it all the more important that
she not fail to warn her returning clansmen.

Moira climbed higher up the hill to make a wider circle around their camp. When she
was above the trees, she scanned the sea to the north. Far out on the horizon, the
sky had cleared, and streaks of sunlight shone on the sails of three galleys. They
were too far away for Moira to recognize them, and yet she knew they were the MacDonald
boats returning from Trotternish.

Down in the trees, the men would not be able to see the galleys yet, but it would
not be long before their lookouts spotted them. Moira’s heart pounded. She had to
get to the shore north of the ambush in time to signal her brother’s boats.

She ran as fast as she could across the side of the hill with Sàr on her heels. Her
lungs hurt, and her breath came in deep gasps, but she kept running. She flicked her
gaze back and forth between Hugh’s camp and the arriving boats, trying to judge how
soon she dared to drop down to the shore. She had to go down soon enough to warn the
MacDonald boats but not so soon that Hugh’s men could reach her and haul her away
before she gave the warning.

Erik had not risen from nothing by being slack. While Hugh relied on a couple of lookouts
to watch the passage into the straits—and threw dice and drank with the rest of his
men—Erik remained vigilant to every sound around him.

That was why he was the only one who saw the dark-haired lass slipping through the
trees high above them. A shiver went up his back when he saw the beast following on
her heels. For a moment he thought the hounds from hell were coming for him, but it
was only one of those giant dogs from Ireland.

The woman was probably a local lass on an errand. But there was an urgency in her
step that made him suspicious. And that dog was all wrong. A warrior who ignored his
instincts did not live long, so he followed her. He did not owe his men an explanation
and gave them none.

After the lass went above the tree line, she began running. Erik ran on a parallel
path below her, keeping in the trees. After half a mile through rough terrain, in
which she did not slacken her pace, she dropped down through the trees. He hid behind
a boulder so she would not see him.

A low growl snapped Erik’s attention away from her. As he turned, he picked up a large
rock. The dog was ten feet from him, with his teeth bared. Before it could spring
on him, Erik hurled the rock. It hit the dog between the eyes and dropped the animal
to the ground.

As one of the greatest MacLeod warriors who ever lived, it was not Erik’s fate to
be killed by a damned dog, no matter how large.

He turned back in time to see the lass run by him as she came down the hill—and he
caught his breath. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her eyes were
an unusual violet color, her lips were full and red, and her hair was black as midnight.
It was a testament to the startling beauty of her face that he was able to take his
eyes off her voluptuous curves.

She continued past him and did not slow to a walk until she reached the shore. Despite
her dirty gown, this was no farmer’s daughter. She held herself with the self-assurance
of a princess. Erik would wager his life that this lass was close kin to a chieftain.
Very close kin—a wife, a sister, or a daughter. And usually, if a woman was one, she
was all three.

So what was this gorgeous, highborn lass doing here? When he followed her gaze and
saw the three MacDonald war galleys sailing into the strait, he knew at once who she
was. The MacDonald chieftain had no wife. This had to be his sister, Moira MacDonald,
a lass famed throughout the isles for her beauty.

Erik almost regretted that he was going to slit her throat.

Moira climbed up on a rock and waved her arms. The galleys were only fifty yards away.
The wind filled their sails, and they were moving fast. She glanced over her shoulder.
She thought she had come far enough that Hugh’s men could not see her, but she could
not be sure.

Were the MacDonald men blind? She was beginning to wonder if she would have to show
her breasts like Saucy Mary to get their attention, when the first boat finally veered
toward her. As it drew close to shore, she saw that the man standing in the bow was
not her brother or Ian. It was Duncan!

Joy filled her heart as Duncan sprang over the side of the galley. While he ran toward
her through the surf, she jumped off the rock and, clutching her skirts in her hands,
raced across the beach to meet him. When they collided, she leaped into his arms,
and he lifted her off her feet in a crushing embrace.

“What in God’s name are ye doing here?” Duncan asked as he squeezed the life out of
her.

Then he kissed her, and everything felt right again. The beach, the pirates, all her
fears and worries faded away, and she felt safe and loved.

“Are you two ever going to stop?”

When they reluctantly broke the kiss, Moira saw that Ian was standing beside them
and that the two other boats had come to shore.

“Now then,” Ian said, folding his arms, “perhaps Moira can enlighten us regarding
how in the hell she came to be here—and why.”

“Niall and I came to warn ye that you’re sailing into a trap,” Moira said. “Hugh has
his men hidden just ahead on that point, waiting to ambush ye.”

While Moira went on to explain about Niall, it occurred to her that Duncan would not
be returning home unless they had lost the battle for Trotternish Castle. Ach, poor
Duncan. He would lay all the blame for the loss on himself.

Then she noticed that one of the galleys was missing. Dear God, how many of their
men had perished? Moira looked for her brother among the MacDonald warriors who were
now crowding the beach. Tears sprang to her eyes when she did not see him.

“Where is Connor?” She could not make herself ask if her brother had been killed.
“Is he hurt?”

“Connor is safe and well,” Duncan said, squeezing her shoulders. “I’ll tell ye all
about what happened after we deal with Hugh and his pirates.”

“Is there anything else ye can tell us about this ambush?” Ian said to her.

Moira told them quickly exactly where she had seen Hugh’s men camped and how many
she guessed were there.

“Mother!”

Time stopped when Moira heard her son’s voice calling to her. When she turned, she
saw Ragnall’s bright copper head leaning over the side of the boat Duncan had sailed
in on.

A thighearna bheannaichte!
Blessed Lord!

“Don’t jump, I’ll come get ye,” Duncan called, and he trotted back to lift Ragnall
out of the boat.

Moira’s knees felt weak as Duncan brought her son to her. Finally, she had Ragnall
in her arms.

“Duncan brought ye safe to me,” she said as she held him close. “I missed ye so much!”

“We should go,” Ian said after a moment.

“You and you,” Duncan said, pointing to two warriors. “Stay and protect them with
your lives.”

Duncan ruffled Ragnall’s hair, then swept Moira into one more kiss.

Moira held her son’s hand as she watched Duncan lead the MacDonald warriors up the
hill. They reminded her of the wolves, running silent and swift through the trees.

Please God, watch over my love. Watch over them all.

Erik smiled to himself. The big, red-haired warrior had embraced Moira MacDonald as
if she were his own bit of heaven. Finally, Erik’s luck had turned.

Ach, revenge would be sweet, indeed.

D
uncan ran through the trees, leaping over rocks and fallen logs, with Ian right behind
him, until he neared the place where Moira said Hugh’s men were camped. After waiting
for the other men to catch up, he signaled for them to be cautious, then crept forward.
Hugh’s pirates were vile, but Duncan did not make the mistake of underestimating their
fighting skills.

As soon as he spied the enemy camp, he waved at the men to spread out through the
trees. They moved forward in silence, forming a net through which none of their enemy
could pass.

Duncan exchanged glances with Ian. When Ian nodded, Duncan raised his claymore high
over his head. When he brought it down, the MacDonalds stormed the camp shouting their
battle cry, “
Fraoch Eilean!
”

The pirates scrambled for their weapons. Duncan swung his claymore in swift, powerful
strokes and cut them down as they came at him in twos and threes.

While he fought, Duncan noticed a group of men who neither looked nor fought like
pirates and worked his way toward them. He knocked the sword out of the hands of one
of them and pinned him to the ground.

“Who are ye?” Duncan shouted in the man’s face. “A MacKinnon or a MacLeod?”

“I’m a MacLeod.”

“Who brought ye here?” Duncan demanded.

“Erik, the keeper of Trotternish Castle.”

Erik is here
. As soon as Duncan heard of Hugh’s ambush, he should have known Erik would be part
of it. He was not one to accept defeat lightly.

Anxiety balled in his stomach as he scanned the chaotic battle around him and did
not see Erik. Although scores of men were in the camp, Duncan would see him if he
were here. Erik was a man who stood out and gave orders.

Duncan gripped the front of the MacLeod warrior’s shirt. “Where is Erik?”

In the distance, he saw movement on the shore. True to their reputation for avoiding
capture, some of the pirates were running for their boats now that the outcome of
the battle was clear. And first among them was Hugh Dubh.

Duncan roared in frustration as he watched Hugh pushing off in his galley. When he
turned his attention back to the MacLeod warrior whose chest he was sitting on, the
man had terror in his eyes.

“I don’t know where Erik went,” the man said. “He went up the hill through the trees
like he was stalking a doe.”

Duncan’s heart stuttered in his chest.

“Ian!” he shouted as he jumped to his feet. “I’m going back to our boats. Moira and
Ragnall are in danger!”

Ian looked up from where he was tying a pirate’s hands while resting his knee on the
man’s back. “Go! I’ll come as soon as I can!”

Duncan was already running. He jumped over a pair of men grappling on the ground and
shoved a couple of others out of his way as he left the camp.

Duncan’s heart seemed to pound in time to his steps as he raced the half mile back
to where he had left Moira and Ragnall. Though he had chosen two of his best warriors
to guard them, he could not shake the feeling that he had left them exposed and vulnerable.
As he ran, he prayed to every saint he could think of to protect them, and then he
called on the faeries as well.

Erik was a patient man. He waited until he was certain the MacDonald warriors would
have reached the point and be engaged in battle so that they would not hear any screams
or shouts for help.

He fixed his gaze on the dark-haired lass and her son, who sat on a blanket leaning
into each other and talking. Duncan MacDonald had made a grave mistake. Such a fine
warrior should know that attachments to women and children make a man vulnerable.
Erik would see to it that Duncan paid dearly for his weakness.

All the MacDonalds would pay. Erik would use the beautiful, dark-haired lass and her
son to get back what belonged to him. And then he’d kill them slowly so that the knowledge
of how they died would torture Duncan MacDonald for the rest of his days.

Moira sighed with happiness and smiled down at her son as she brushed his unruly red
locks back from his forehead.

“I can’t wait to see Sàr again,” Ragnall said and rested his head against her.

“I brought him here with me,” she said. “He must have run off chasing a deer, but
he’ll be back soon.”

In all the excitement, she had not noticed that the wolfhound had disappeared. That
was odd. Though Sàr frequently went off alone, he had a keen sense of danger. She
was surprised he had left her side with the pirates nearby.

“Get behind us!”

The shout of one of their guards startled Moira. She spun around and gasped when she
saw a tall, heavily muscled warrior coming toward them with his claymore in his hands.
The strange warrior carried himself like a man who was a formidable fighter and knew
it. Though his hair was graying, his stomach was flat and the corded muscles of his
arms and neck flexed as he swung the claymore from side to side.

But it was not his size that made Moira’s mouth go dry so much as his eyes. They were
hard and cold—and exactly as she imagined Duncan’s looked when he fought an enemy.
He held her gaze, as if the two warriors who stood between them were of no concern
to him. Moira pulled her son closer.

“That’s Erik MacLeod,” Ragnall said under his breath.

Duncan’s father
.

Erik moved so quickly that Moira did not even see his blade strike one of their guards,
but suddenly the MacDonald warrior crumpled at her feet. When she looked down at his
empty eyes and saw the blood seeping between his lips, she finally screamed.

The other guard was engaged in a desperate fight with Erik. Fear and panic gripped
Moira, for she could foresee the outcome. Erik fought with a strength and easy agility
that she recognized. It was obvious that Duncan’s natural skills as a warrior had
come from his father.

The clank of swords meeting rang through the air as Erik forced the MacDonald warrior
back and back again. For a moment it looked as though the MacDonald warrior had the
better of Erik when Erik failed to block his sword. But Erik dropped low, letting
his opponent’s blade slice through the empty air above him. Then Erik sprang to his
feet and sank the blade of his dirk under the man’s breastbone.

Erik took his time wiping his blade on the shirt of the brave warrior he had just
killed. Then he lifted his gaze to her. Moira’s blood froze at the smile of satisfaction
in his eyes.

She pushed Ragnall behind her.