The Warrior (6 page)

But the woman Moira had become was serious and cold. He missed the flashes of mischief
and joy he used to see in her violet eyes.

“Ye are welcome to stay the night,” Sean said, drawing Duncan’s attention from the
empty doorway through which Moira had gone.

By suggesting they were only invited to remain at his home for one night, the MacQuillan
chieftain was perilously close to violating a Highlander’s almost sacred duty to welcome
guests.

“We don’t wish to impose upon your generous hospitality,” Duncan said.

“If ye have any business to discuss, let’s hear it.” Sean glanced meaningfully toward
the stairs and said, “With a wife as beautiful as mine, I’m sure ye understand why
I want to get to bed.”

Duncan’s anger, already burning bright, flared like a raging inferno at the thought
of Sean touching Moira in all the ways that Duncan once had—and desperately wanted
to again.

Niall saved Duncan from punching Sean’s smug face by poking his elbow in Duncan’s
side and saying, “Our chieftain asks that ye consider fostering your son at Dunscaith.”

Connor had them make this request as a means of determining if the MacQuillan chieftain
was still committed to the alliance.

“We can take the lad with us now,” Duncan said, “unless ye think he’s too young to
be parted from his mother.”

“Ragnall is already fostered,” Sean said.

“Who did ye send him to?” Duncan asked.

Sean paused before answering, his eyes glinting with amusement. “I sent him to the
MacLeod chieftain.”

“MacLeod of Lewis?” Niall asked, referring to the branch of the MacLeods with whom
the MacDonalds were on good terms.

Sean shook his head, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “MacLeod of Harris
and Dunvegan.”

When Duncan wrapped his fist around the handle of his dirk, the MacQuillan chieftain’s
guards took their places beside him.

“Ye must have known what a grave insult it would be to our chieftain to send his only
nephew to foster with his worst enemy,” Duncan said. “Did Moira agree to this?”

“Ye seem overly concerned about my wife’s opinion.” Sean narrowed his eyes at Duncan,
examining him as if he were seeing him for the first time. Then his eyes suddenly
widened, and his face flushed a dark red.

Duncan smiled because he thought Sean was going to give him the fight he longed for.
One move, and my fist will be in your face.

“We’ll bid ye good night and farewell,” Niall said, grabbing Duncan’s arm. “We’ll
be gone in the morning.”

M
oira!”

The hair on the back of Moira’s neck stood up as her husband’s voice thundered up
the stairs and echoed off the stone walls. Before she could prepare herself, the door
crashed open. Sean stomped into the bedchamber and slammed the door behind him.

“What is troubling ye, dear?” She attempted to make her voice calm, but it came out
high and thin.

“Don’t ye play games with me!” Sean shouted. “I know what ye did.”

Moira took an involuntary step back as he came toward her. “I don’t know what ye mean,
Sean.”

“Ye pretended ye were an innocent virgin while ye carried that man’s child! Ye whore!”

He backhanded her across the face so hard that Moira staggered backward and fell against
the side of the bed. She grabbed the bedpost and struggled to keep her feet. In the
last week, she had learned that there was nothing worse than to fall to the ground
and try to protect her head from kicks. Her ribs had not healed from the last time.

“Ye will pay for this,” Sean said as he shoved her against the bed.

Sean was always accusing her of perceived wrongs or slights, and she had seen him
angry countless times. But this was different. The rage in his eyes glowed like a
wild beast and bespoke murder.

Moira looked about her desperately for something to use to protect herself.

“I should have known the boy wasn’t mine. He’s nothing like me.” Sean grabbed hold
of her shoulders and shook her. “Ye told me he was born early!”

“Ye remember the blood on the sheet,” Moira said. “Of course Ragnall is yours.”

“Then why does he look exactly like that big red-haired MacDonald warrior?” Sean demanded.

“He doesn’t!” Moira said, her voice sounding far too desperate. “Ragnall takes after
my father and older brother. They were both fair.”

“Ye lie,” Sean hissed an inch from her face. “That Duncan MacDonald looked at ye as
if he believed ye belonged to him.”

“I’ve told ye that I can’t help if men look at me.”

“Other men look at ye as if they want ye,” Sean said. “But that man looked at ye as
if he’d touched every inch of your skin and memorized it.”

Moira shivered as Sean slid his hand around her neck in a menacing caress. His thick
fingers curved around the back of her neck as he rubbed his thumb up under her chin,
forcing her head back.

“Don’t, Sean. Please.”

“Ye made a fool of me for all these years.” He kissed her roughly on the mouth.

She squirmed and tried to push him away. When he began to slowly squeeze her throat,
she tried to scream, but it came out as a pathetic muffled sound against his mouth.
Finally, she managed to sink her teeth into his bottom lip.

He jerked back with a yelp and released her. “Goddamn ye!”

She gasped for air. But then he punched her in the eye so hard that everything went
black. She felt herself falling. Sean caught her and slammed her against the wall.
Her head bounced against it, dazing her again. She blinked to clear the stars sparking
across her vision in one eye. The other eye she couldn’t see out of at all.

“You’ll never see Ragnall again!” Sean shouted. This time he hit her in the jaw. Pain
jutted upward and exploded inside her head.

Moira felt as if she were watching herself from a distance.
He’s going to kill me this time
drifted through her thoughts, but she felt indifferent to it.

“Did ye hear me?” Sean shouted. His face was only inches from hers, but she could
not see it clearly.

When her head lolled to the side, he gripped her chin and held it. His fingers dug
into her cheek, sending shooting pains from her injured jaw to her ear. She tasted
the tang of blood on her tongue.

“I’m going to kill your son, too,” Sean said.

“Ragnall?” Her voice was a scratchy whisper. “No, ye can’t!”

“I will,” Sean said. “And when he’s dead, there will be nothing left of ye on this
earth.”

Moira fought her way through the layers of fog in her head. She knew she must do something,
but her body was slow to follow her commands. She had to concentrate to hit her fists
against Sean’s chest, but her efforts were feeble.

“I’ll bring Ragnall home and squeeze the life out of the little bastard,” Sean said
through clenched teeth. “Just like this.”

As Sean closed his hands around Moira’s throat, panic surged through her and blasted
away the fog that had debilitated her. She had to live so she could protect her son
from Sean. She scratched and clawed at his hands around her throat. When that did
not stop him, she kneed him in the groin.

“Huh!” Sean grunted and doubled over.

Moira sucked in lungfuls of air. When he came at her again, she fought him off, kicking
and raking his face with her nails. But Sean was far heavier and stronger, and soon
he had his hands around her throat again. His eyes were wild and bulging. Drops of
spittle came from his mouth like a mad dog.

Her lungs burned as she fought for air against his ever-tightening hold. The bright
sparks crossed her vision again, and she knew she was close to blacking out.
Please, God, help me!

Something hard poked her stomach. The hilt of his dirk! Her hands were going numb
as she closed her fingers around it and jerked the dirk free. Then, with a last surge
of strength born of desperation, she plunged it into Sean’s side.

“Argh!” Sean made a loud animal sound between a roar and a groan and threw his hands
up.

Moira’s throat burned, and her head pounded with a violence that made her stomach
roil. Still, she held on to the hilt of the blade when Sean jerked away. He staggered
and bent over, holding his side. Blood seeped between his fingers.

But Sean kept his feet. He was not badly injured.

When he raised his head, rage glowed in his eyes like a demon from hell. If she was
very lucky, she would have one more chance. Only one. She still held the dirk, but
she had no idea where to stick him. She cursed her father and brothers for not teaching
her how to protect herself.

Her head was starting to spin, and she was weaving on her feet. With desperation clawing
at her belly, she held the dirk in front of her.

Then everything happened at once. Sean roared and launched himself at her with such
force that she was hurtling through the air backward. Her screams echoing off the
walls seemed as if they came from someone else. The back of her head banged on the
floor, jarring her injured jaw and setting off a burst of blinding pain. An instant
later Sean slammed on top of her, his weight forcing the air out of her lungs with
an
oof
.

God, no. She did not want to die with Sean lying on top of her.

Across the flames of the fire, Duncan saw the wolfhound’s eyes glinting in the darkness.
He took another piece of dried meat and tossed it over the fire into the darkness
beyond and was pleased when he did not hear it hit the ground. The dog was quick.

“I’ve never seen ye like that,” Niall said, giving him a sideways glace. “It looked
as though ye intended to fight their chieftain in his own hall with a hundred of his
warriors watching.”

“Hmmph.” Duncan prided himself on never letting his temper interfere with his judgment
or cause him to forget his duty. But he had failed to control it tonight. In truth,
his hands still itched to murder Moira’s arrogant husband.

“Moira wasn’t at all like I remember her,” Niall said. “What did ye think?”

“About what?”

“About Moira,” Niall said, sounding as though Duncan was trying his patience.

Moira had given him nothing. Not so much as a soft glance.
I have no recollection of ye at all
.

“Do ye suppose she is all right?” Niall asked. “That Sean is an arse.”

“That he is.” Duncan took a swig from his flask. “But he’s the man Moira wanted.”
Her father doted on his little princess—he would not have forced her to marry Sean
MacQuillan against her wishes. There were other suitable chieftains’ sons.

An icy rain started up, causing the campfire to hiss and smoke. As Duncan’s temper
cooled with the temperature, he thought back on that first moment when Moira entered
the hall and saw him. In that brief instant, everything that had once been between
them flashed in her eyes.

It was gone almost before he saw it, and then Moira was as cold as this winter rain
running down the back of his neck. Niall was right; Moira had changed. Though her
eyes were the same astonishing shade of violet, they carried no laughter in them.
The cautious woman he had met in the hall who measured her words was a far cry from
the carefree lass who ran headlong through the dark, believing nothing and no one
could stop her.

Duncan threw bits of dried meat to the wolfhound, drawing the dog ever closer, while
he pondered the question of what could have caused such a change in Moira’s nature.

As a quiet man who kept his own counsel, Duncan was usually a keen observer of others.
He had been so angry and absorbed in his own pain that he had failed to examine Moira’s
demeanor with his usual cool perception. Going over their brief encounter in his mind
now, he recalled the tension in Moira’s neck and how she repeatedly smoothed the skirt
of her gown with her hands.

Her aloof and dismissive manner had fooled him. Though she had covered it well,
Moira was frightened
. Who or what could make her fearful? And why in the hell did her husband not make
her feel safe?

Only one answer came to him.

Duncan got to his feet. “Stay here with the boat and be ready.”

“Ready for what?” Niall asked, sitting up straight.

“A quick departure.” Duncan leaned inside the boat for a coil of rope and stuck it
inside his plaid. “Can ye handle the boat alone?”

Niall shrugged. “If I have to. Why?”

Ach, Duncan did not like the idea of Niall sailing alone such a distance in the stormy
sea, but if Duncan was dead or in the castle dungeon, Niall would have to do it.

“If I’m not back by an hour before dawn,” Duncan said, “set sail for Skye without
me and tell Connor what’s happened.”

“How can I tell Connor what’s happened,” Niall asked, spreading his arms out wide,
“when I have no notion myself?”

“Something’s amiss,” Duncan said. “Moira may be in danger.”

While they talked, the wolfhound had quietly come to stand beside Duncan, probably
for what little warmth their sputtering fire gave off. The dog was thin and ragged.

“Leave the extra meat for the wolfhound.” Duncan patted the dog’s head as he left.

He hoped the guards would let him in without any trouble since their chieftain had
welcomed him earlier, but he picked up a rock just in case. If he had misread Moira,
he was about to cause a lot of unnecessary trouble for Connor. He could not feel too
badly about it. Sean had thrown his lot in with the MacLeods, which made him an enemy.

When Duncan banged on the gate, one of the guards opened the small door next it. The
light from his torch spilled out into the rainy night.

“Changed your mind about sleeping out in the cold rain?” the guard asked.

“Aye,” Duncan said. “No need to disturb anyone. I’ll just go into the hall and sleep
on the floor with the rest of the men.”

“Ye made your choice and can freeze to death for all I care,” the guard said. “I can’t
let ye in without my chieftain’s permission, and he’s gone to bed.”

Before the guard could close the door or take a breath to shout, Duncan pulled him
outside by the front of his shirt, locked an arm around his throat, and knocked him
on the head with the rock.

“Simon?” another guard called from inside.

Duncan flattened himself against the castle wall and waited. As soon as the second
guard poked his head out the small door of the gatehouse, Duncan hit him with the
same rock. Working quickly, he tied the two men together with his rope and dragged
them a few feet into the darkness away from the castle wall.

He drew his dirk and entered the gatehouse without making a sound. Anticipating he
might need to make a quick escape, he removed the heavy crossbar that held the gate
closed. When he heard footsteps, he paused until they passed. A single set of boots.
Duncan trained his men to work in pairs when they stood guard—not that two men could
have stopped him.

The guards up on the walls would be looking outward for attackers, if they were awake
at all. To avoid raising suspicions, Duncan walked across the yard as if he belonged
there.

Inside the keep, a few men were still drinking near the hearth. Sean was not among
them. Staying in the shadows, Duncan followed the wall around the room until he reached
the doorway that led to the stairs. This was the riskiest part so far because no one
but family members and a few trusted servants would have good cause to go to the rooms
above at this late hour.

Duncan waited until there was a burst of laughter from the men around the hearth,
then strode through the doorway and started up the stairs.

When he was halfway up, a woman’s scream came from above, piercing the air—and his
heart. It was Moira. Duncan charged up the spiral stone stairs three at a time. The
door on the next floor was closed. Without pausing, he slammed his shoulder against
it. The door crashed open and banged against the wall.

Moira lay on the floor in a pool of blood with a man on top of her.

Duncan was across the room in two strides. He jerked the man up by the back of his
tunic with one hand while he brought up his dirk with his other to slice the man’s
throat. He stopped his arm midswing. The man he was holding was Sean, and he was already
dead.

Duncan looked down at Moira.
Oh, Jesu.
One of her eyes was swollen purple like a ripe plum, and the rest of her face was
battered. Her gown was torn and gaping open.

Blood was everywhere. In her hair. On her hands and face. Soaking her gown. Duncan
dropped to his knee beside her. Grief swept through him.
God, no!
He was too late to save her.