The Warrior (25 page)

E
rik laughed to himself when the MacDonald lass pulled her dirk. She looked even prettier
up close.

“Where’s your protector now?” he taunted her.

“Duncan is fighting the murdering scum you’re traveling with,” Moira said, her eyes
spitting fire. “I suggest ye leave before he comes back.”

Erik chuckled again. She was a hot-blooded one.

“The murdering scum serve a purpose,” Erik said, resting his hands on his belt. “They’ll
keep the MacDonalds busy while we disappear in one of their boats.”

“We’re not going anywhere with ye,” Moira said.

The lad had his arms around his mother’s waist and peeked out from behind her to shout,
“Ye touch us, and my father will kick ye in the head again!”

The little shite
. Erik did not appreciate being reminded of that kick. He had blacked out and might
have drowned if the freezing water had not jarred him awake. Erik felt better when
he thought of how easy it would be to control the mother once he got his hands on
the brat.

“Without us, ye have a chance of escaping,” Moira said.

“You can climb into the boat or I can toss ye into it,” Erik said. “Makes no difference
to me.”

“If ye think you can take us and get away, then ye don’t know Duncan,” Moira said.
“He’s relentless. He’d follow ye to the gates of hell to get us back.”

“The man does have a weakness for ye, I’ll grant ye that.” Erik was counting on it.
“Would ye care to make a wager on whether he’ll give up Trotternish Castle to see
ye alive again?”

“Ye can’t ask him to choose between his duty to the clan and to us,” Moira said, her
eyes going wide with indignation.

The lass was amusing.

“I can do what I damned well want to,” Erik said. “We’ll find out soon enough which
is more important to Duncan—you and the boy, or his ambition.”

Erik considered whether to kick the dirk from the lass’s hand. Ach, he’d just grab
it.

“Ye don’t know who Duncan is, do ye?” Moira said, as Erik took a step toward her,
and the gleam in her eye stopped him. “He didn’t tell ye.”

“I know who he is,” Erik said and spit on the ground. “He’s the MacDonald who stole
Trotternish Castle from me.”

“He’s more than that to you.” Moira paused. “He’s your son.”

Erik was a trained warrior and hid his reaction, but he felt as if he had been punched
in the gut.

“You’re lying,” he said.

“Ye stole his mother from the beach near Dunscaith Castle,” Moira said. “Her father
was a MacDonald, but her grandfather on her mother’s side was a MacCrimmon piper.”

How did she know about the MacCrimmon piper’s granddaughter? That was years and years
ago. Was it possible that what she said was true? No. And even if it was, what difference
did it make?

“That lass caused me a good deal of trouble,” Erik said between his teeth. “Unfortunately
for you, I don’t share Duncan’s weakness for lovers or kin.”

“Duncan is your son!” Moira’s violet eyes were intent on his, as if she thought she
could make Erik believe that her words changed everything. But she was wrong.

“A man can always have another son,” Erik said. “A castle is considerably harder to
come by.”

At last, Duncan saw the opening in the trees that led to the cove where he had left
Moira and Ragnall. He pulled his claymore from the scabbard on his back.

He burst out of the trees at a full run—then came to a dead halt at the sight that
met him on the beach. The two warriors he had left behind lay sprawled on the ground
in the awkward positions of the dead. Moira and Ragnall stood alone on the shore with
the man who had killed the two guards.

Duncan had found Erik MacLeod.

Moira and Ragnall were backed up against the side of one of the galleys and facing
Erik, who stood a few short feet away from them with his back to Duncan. Since Erik
had not killed them yet, Duncan assumed Erik meant to take them hostage. Duncan was
too far away—he had to be cautious. If Erik saw him, he might well decide to kill
them to make a quick escape before Duncan could reach them.

Ducking low, Duncan worked his way through the shrubs and tall grass that grew above
the rocky shore until he was as close to the three on the beach as he could get without
being seen.

Moira was speaking to Erik. Hopefully, she was trying to keep him calm. Duncan inched
forward on his elbows through the tall grass. He wanted to hear what they were saying
to better judge when to make his move.

“You disgust me!” Moira said. “You’re every bit as worthless as those pirates.”

Duncan could not risk waiting. Damn, Erik was too close to Moira and Ragnall. He would
have to move very fast, or Erik could grab one of them to use as a shield.

“Duncan will send you straight to hell where you belong!” Moira shouted.

The instant Erik started forward, cocking his arm to strike her, Duncan sprang to
his feet. He heard Moira shriek and Ragnall shout as he hurtled through the air. He
and Erik crashed to the ground. Before Erik had time to stick his dirk in Duncan’s
side, he rolled off Erik and onto his feet.

“Get up!” Duncan roared as he stood over his enemy. “We’re going to finish this now.”

Erik got to his feet slowly and, keeping his eyes fixed on Duncan, picked up his claymore.

“Moira told me you’re the son of that troublesome lass I took from the beach that
day,” Erik said as they began circling each other. “She was a pretty thing, fair and
slight as a faery child.”

Duncan swung so hard that when their swords met, the force of it vibrated up his arms.

“I enjoyed bedding her for a time,” Erik said. “But she grew tiresome.”

“My mother was a good woman.” Duncan swung his claymore, but Erik met his blade again.
“You will pay with your life for the shame and misery ye brought her.”

Duncan was constrained by how close they were to Moira and Ragnall. As he and Erik
clanked swords, he tried to ease Erik farther and farther away from them so that he
could fight without caution.

“Ye knew she was with child when ye sent her to the MacCrimmons, didn’t ye?” Duncan
said.

“It could have been anyone’s,” Erik said.

Duncan knew Erik was trying to goad him into making a mistake. But Duncan’s anger
was like his sword—cold and hard and deadly.

“Your mother was weak,” Erik said. “I didn’t expect her to give me a son worth claiming.”

“The only good deed you ever did was not claiming me.”

Duncan knew that now. Having no father had given him a kind of freedom. As a lad,
he had looked around him, at the good men and the bad among his clansmen, and made
a choice about the kind of man he wanted to be.

“If I’d known ye would take after me, I would have claimed you,” Erik said.

“I don’t take after you in any way that matters.”

Duncan struck again and again, keeping one eye on Moira and Ragnall, who were caught
between their swinging swords and the side of the galley.

“You’re the warrior ye are because ye have my blood,” Erik said, and then grunted
with the effort of swinging his sword toward Duncan’s thigh.

Duncan blocked the swing and forced Erik back another step. Finally Duncan had enough
distance from Moira and Ragnall to fight without worrying about them being harmed
in the fray. He whirled and dodged, striking again and again in an uncontained fury.

Then Duncan came straight at Erik. Back and forth, back and forth, he swung his two-handed
sword in deadly arcs. Though his opponent met each swing, Duncan was forcing him to
step back and back again.

Erik was strong, but he was tiring under the onslaught of Duncan’s relentless blade.
Duncan sensed the end of their battle drawing near. And for the first time, he wondered
if he could kill his father. Aye, he would strike him dead without remorse if he needed
to.

Erik deserved no mercy. But if Duncan could simply disarm him, he would.

Erik attempted to strike Duncan across the chest, and they crossed swords, arms straining
and faces inches apart. As they leaned into each other, they were so close that Duncan
could see the drips of sweat on Erik’s brow.

“You’re a MacLeod,” Erik said, his face and neck muscles straining with the effort
of holding his sword against Duncan’s. “Claim your heritage and Trotternish Castle
for the MacLeods!”

“I will live and die as a MacDonald,” Duncan said between his teeth and shoved Erik
back with his sword.

“So be it,” Erik said.

Duncan swung his sword with all his might toward Erik’s side. But Erik was quick for
his years and at the last moment ducked under Duncan’s moving blade. Duncan knew what
Erik was going to do next before Erik did. Mercy was no longer a choice. When Erik
sprang back up with his dirk, Duncan’s was already in his hand, ready to plunge into
Erik’s throat.

But just as Duncan was about to strike, he caught a glimpse of movement from the corner
of his eye. It was Ragnall, and he was running straight for Erik.

Everything happened so fast that Duncan acted on pure instinct. He lunged for his
son and caught him midair as Ragnall launched himself on Erik. After rolling on the
ground with him, Duncan sprang to his feet, placing himself between Ragnall and where
Erik had been the moment before. He managed to do it all without either of them being
caught by Erik’s blade.

But his enemy had also moved quickly.

Erik held Moira against him, and his blade was at her throat. Duncan died a thousand
deaths as he saw the fear in her eyes.

“Ye hurt her,” Duncan said, “and I’ll kill ye before ye take your next breath.”

“I believe I have the upper hand here, and I’m taking her with me,” Erik said as he
dragged her toward the boat. “Make one move I don’t like, and I’ll slice the lass’s
throat.”

“Don’t take the coward’s way out,” Duncan said. “Fight me.”

“There was a time when I could have taken ye,” Erik said. “But I don’t need to fight
ye now that I have her.”

“Do ye care nothing for your own life?” Duncan asked. “If ye take her, I will track
ye down and kill ye. Ye could never have taken me in your prime, and ye surely can’t
now.”

Duncan held himself back, every muscle taut with the need to murder this man who dared
threaten the woman he loved. But Erik was using Moira’s body as a shield, and his
blade was a hairbreadth from her ivory neck.

“Ye set your sights even higher than I did, crawling into bed with your chieftain’s
only daughter and getting her with child,” Erik said. “Shame it didn’t lead to the
advantageous marriage ye hoped, but it was a grand scheme. Perhaps I’ll try it myself.
“

“Ye will not harm her,” Duncan said, shaking with rage.

Moira struggled against Erik as he began dragging her backward toward the boat. Panic
surged through Duncan. He had to stop them. If Erik got her onto the boat, he feared
he would never see her alive again.

Duncan dropped his sword to the ground. “Take me instead.”

Erik did not loosen his grip on Moira or lower his blade, but he did stop to stare
at Duncan.

“I’m the one who took Trotternish Castle from ye,” Duncan said as he removed the dirks
from his boots and the hidden one strapped to his thigh and tossed them aside. “Take
your revenge on me.”

“You’d do that for a woman?” Erik asked.

“Aye,” Duncan said as he started walking toward Erik. “There is nothing I would not
do for her.”

D
uncan walked slowly and deliberately toward Erik. He would take the man down with
his bare hands or die trying.

“Stay back,” Erik warned.

Duncan hesitated, judging the risk to Moira. Then he saw Erik’s eyes widen. An instant
later, he felt a rush of wind beside him as a blur of gray flashed past. It was the
wolfhound.

“No!” Duncan shouted, fearing Erik’s blade would slide into Moira’s throat.

But before the word was out of his mouth, the wolfhound leaped through the air and
dropped Erik and Moira. Sàr was snapping and growling over them like a wild beast,
while Moira and Erik writhed on the ground.

Moira’s screams filled the air as Duncan raced to them. When he reached them, the
dog had his teeth in Erik’s neck. Duncan lifted Moira to her feet with one hand and
grabbed Sàr’s rope collar with the other.

While Sàr barked and strained against his collar, Moira flung her arms around Duncan
and buried her face in his neck. His knees felt weak as relief coursed through him.
She was all right.

“Enough!” he commanded Sàr, who was still pulling at his arm, fighting to get to Erik.

He knelt beside Erik, who lay ominously still on the ground. Judging from the blood
pouring from the ragged cuts on his throat, Sàr’s teeth had found a vital vessel.

Erik was choking on his own blood. Duncan should be glad of it, but he was not. Erik
was struggling to speak so Duncan leaned down to hear him.

“You’re a man who looks after his own,” Erik said between gurgling breaths. “I want
ye to take care of Sarah.”

“
Sarah?
” Duncan asked, bewildered by the unexpected request.

“She’s your half sister.”

“Sarah is your daughter?” Duncan asked. How could such an evil man have begotten a
wee angel like Sarah?

“Her family threatened to go to my chieftain when her mother died, so I had to take
her in.” Erik’s voice was growing faint. “I didn’t intend to let her become a weakness,
but…”

“I will look after her. Always,” Duncan said and squeezed his father’s hand as the
light faded from his eyes.

Duncan was heartened to discover that his father did have a kernel of decency. Though
he had shown no regard for his children in life, Erik had used his last breath to
assure the welfare of his young daughter.

Duncan buried his father on the beach and buried his bitterness with him.

He was grateful to Ian for keeping the other men back. Ian understood that Duncan
needed to do this alone.

With each shovel of sand, he felt released from the burdens of his childhood. All
his life, he had felt something was wrong with him because his father refused to claim
him. Once he was past boyhood, Duncan had understood that the fault lay not with him,
but with the man who had sired him. Now Duncan finally believed in his heart, as well
as his head, that his father’s failure was no reflection on his worth.

Duncan was his own man, and he had chosen to be a man of honor.

Erik had been right about one thing. Having to prove himself to everyone, especially
to himself, had driven Duncan to become a renowned warrior. But unlike his father,
Duncan employed his skills for the protection of others, and he showed mercy to his
enemies when he could.

Duncan thought of his own son living under the oppressive influence of Sean MacQuillan,
and he paused in his shoveling to rest his hand on Ragnall’s shoulder.

“Will ye teach me to fight like you do?” his son asked.

Ragnall had explained that he ran at Erik because he saw him making the same move
that had killed one of the men Duncan had left to guard them. Though the lad’s interference
had nearly caused a disaster, it showed he had the natural instinct and bravery that
would serve him well as a warrior.

“Aye,” Duncan said, meeting his son’s serious gaze. “’Tis a Highland man’s duty to
protect his clan and his family, and so I will teach ye to be a great warrior.”

But Duncan hoped to teach him much more than how to swing a claymore. He wanted to
go sailing and hunting with him and to sit by the hearth listening to the
seannachie
tell the old stories of their clan. Perhaps Ragnall would want to learn to play the
harp.

Duncan finished covering the grave and put his arm around Moira as she said a brief
prayer.

Then he left his father to God.

After helping Duncan unfurl the sail, Moira settled beside him and lifted Ragnall
onto her lap. Duncan put his arm around her, pulling her close, while he held the
rudder with his other hand. When Sàr joined them in the stern, he lay across Moira’s
feet, keeping them warm. The rain had stopped, and it looked as though it would be
smooth sailing all the way home to Dunscaith.

Moira sighed and leaned her head back against Duncan’s arm to watch the clouds passing
overhead. They were quiet for a long time, enjoying the peaceful sail and the comfort
of being together after the strain of the last days. When Ragnall fell asleep in her
arms, it felt so good.

“I hope Niall recovers quickly,” she said in a low voice so as not to wake Ragnall.
“He seemed no worse than when I left him.”

“Except for being mightily annoyed at missing the fight with the pirates.” The corners
of Duncan’s mouth tilted up as he gave her a sideways glance.

“I’m glad it’s just the three of us and Sàr sailing home in this small galley,” Moira
said.

One of the other men captained the war galley Duncan had sailed from Trotternish,
and Ian had taken Niall in his war galley.

“Ragnall’s had a rough few days,” Duncan said, looking down at his sleeping face.
“You must be tired as well,
mo leannain
.”

“I’m tired to the bone, but I’m too happy to sleep,” she said, smiling up at him.
“I want to stay awake and enjoy it.”

“Ye were so brave to come to warn us.” Duncan pulled her close and kissed her hair.
“Ye saved many lives today.”

Moira’s heart swelled to bursting at his praise. She had been trying to decide how
best to bring up the loss of Trotternish Castle, which she knew must be a grave disappointment
to him. His remark gave her the opening she needed.

“I threatened to murder a woman, argued with a man who wanted to murder me, sailed
in the freezing rain for countless hours, and even slept with Teàrlag’s cow,” Moira
said. “So I hope ye can see that I’m no damned princess.”

Duncan laughed. “What you are,
m’ eudail
,” my treasure, “is a warrior princess.”

Moira liked the sound of that.

“What I’m trying to say is that ye don’t have to give me fine things to keep me,”
Moira said, looking up into his eyes. “All I need to be happy is you and Ragnall.”

“I know that now,” Duncan said. “I’m blessed to have the love of the strongest, bravest
lass in all the isles.”

“I am sorry ye did not succeed in taking Trotternish Castle from the MacLeods.” Moira
rested her hand on Duncan’s thigh. “I know how important that was to ye. But I’ll
be content to live in your cottage on the hill.”

“We did succeed in taking the castle,” Duncan said.

Moira swallowed her disappointment over leaving Sleat. Her home would be wherever
Duncan was. It was Duncan, not Dunscaith’s walls, that made her feel safe.

“I’m so proud of ye.” Moira pulled him down so she could kiss his cheek without disturbing
Ragnall. “But why aren’t ye at Trotternish Castle now? If my brother did not choose
his best warrior to be its keeper, he’ll answer to me.”

“Connor has decided to make Trotternish Castle his home,” Duncan said. “I am to be
keeper of Dunscaith.”

Dunscaith!
Moira was too stunned to react for a long moment—then she threw her head back and
laughed. After torturing her for seven years, the faeries were finally smiling on
her, making her every secret wish come true.

“Take the rudder, and I’ll lay Ragnall down where he can sleep better,” Duncan said
as he unfolded himself and stood up.

Duncan lifted Ragnall from her arms and carried him to the bow, where he made a bed
for him out of blankets. Then he snapped his fingers, and Sàr got up off Moira’s feet
and went to lie down by their son.

When Duncan returned, he knelt on one knee in front of her and took her hand.

“I know I’m seven years late—and I’ll try to make up for it every day—but, Moira MacDonald,
a chuisle mo
chroí
,” pulse of my heart, “will ye marry me?”

“Of course I’ll marry ye,” Moira said, smiling at him. “Now that I know how to sail,
ye couldn’t get away from me if ye tried.”

“I love ye with all my heart,” Duncan said, cupping her cheek with his hand. “I always
have.”

“I’m looking forward to all that making up,” Moira said and pulled her warrior down
into a long kiss. “I believe it was closer to seven and a half years.”

When the boat veered sharply to the side, Duncan broke the kiss to grab the rudder,
which she had abandoned. Then he kissed her again and again.

“The moment we get home to Dunscaith,” Moira said, her voice breathless between kisses,
“we’ll call everyone in the castle into the hall, say our vows before them, and have
a grand feast to celebrate.”

“I wish we could,” Duncan said. “But that’s a wee bit soon.”

“What?” Moira leaned back and gave him a hard look. “You’d better have a damned good
reason for keeping me waiting again, Duncan Ruadh Mòr MacDonald.”