The Warrior (20 page)

M
oira could see her breath as she paused to watch the clouds traveling over the lush
green hills wet with rain. Duncan did not believe it, but she would rather live here
on the Sleat Peninsula of Skye in a small cottage than live in a castle anywhere else.
For her, this was home, and there would never be a place she loved as much.

She turned to gaze across the wide inlet toward the misty peaks of the Cuillins. Beyond
them, on the farthest corner of the island, lay the Trotternish Peninsula. Duncan
and Alex should be arriving there now. Trotternish was starker, less green than Sleat.
The castle, sitting high on its forbidding cliff, reminded her too much of the MacQuillans’.

Moira had wandered the hills for hours with Sàr. Since Duncan’s departure two days
ago, she had much to think about. She understood that Duncan must serve as the keeper
of Trotternish Castle. After prying it out of the thieving hands of the MacLeods,
the clan needed its fiercest warrior to be the castle’s protector and defender. But
would she go with him?

Aye, she knew she would. Perhaps she could live without him, but she did not want
to.

She had faith that Duncan would take Trotternish Castle, but she wished he had enough
faith in her to wed her without it. At least he did not think of her as fragile anymore.
She smiled to herself. The way he had made fierce love to her before he left was rather
persuasive on that point.

When it started to rain, she suddenly remembered that Connor was leaving for Trotternish
with most of their warriors tonight. The day had gotten away from her. She started
back, hoping to reach Dunscaith in time to see Connor and the others off.

As she ran on the muddy path along the windblown ridge of the hill, Moira noticed
a boat and two figures on the shore of a small cove below her. All of the Sleat Peninsula
was firmly in the hands of the MacDonalds, so these would be her clansmen. Sailing
back to Dunscaith would be much faster, and it was growing dark. She decided to take
advantage of being the chieftain’s sister and ask them to take her back to Dunscaith
in their boat.

The rain was coming down harder all the time. She left the path and went slipping
and sliding down the hillside through the tall wet grass with Sàr on her heels. When
she reached the thick brush near the shore, she had to slow her pace.

Moira was close enough now to call out to the pair, but she stopped herself when she
recognized the woman.
What is Rhona doing here?

“Quiet, boy,” Moira whispered when she heard the low rumble of Sàr’s growl beside
her.

She knelt and put her arm around him to hold him back. As she watched, Rhona embraced
the man and gave him a good, long kiss.

“Hmmph. It didn’t take Rhona long to find a way to comfort herself over the loss of
Duncan,” she whispered to Sàr. “At least I won’t have to worry about her poisoning
my food now.”

Moira reconciled herself to walking the rest of the way back to Dunscaith in the pouring
rain and missing saying good-bye to Connor. She was not about to interrupt the tryst
on the beach. With a sigh, she got to her feet to leave.

Just then, the man with Rhona broke their kiss and turned, showing his profile. Moira
froze. For a long moment, she thought she was seeing her father’s ghost.

But no, her memory was playing a trick on her in the fading light of the rainy winter
afternoon. Moira felt a deep pang of sorrow. The man on the beach was only a man with
a large frame and dark gold hair the color her father’s had been when Moira was a
young girl.

Her father was dead.

As Moira climbed back up the hill, she suspected that what had triggered the memory
of her father even more than the man’s build and hair color was seeing him in an illicit
embrace with a woman. Her father always had women about. Some said that his infidelities
broke her mother’s heart. Others said her mother put a curse upon her father, which
she may have. Despite all his women, Moira was his last child. At least, she did not
know of any others.

By the time she reached Dunscaith, Moira was chilled and drenched to the bone. And
she had missed saying good-bye to Connor.

Soon I will be master here
.

The words echoed in Duncan’s head as he passed through the gate of Trotternish Castle.

As he crossed the castle courtyard, a man coming the other way gave him wide berth,
and Duncan realized he was walking as he normally did. Though it went against every
instinct, he hunched his shoulders and lowered his head.

Once inside the keep, he scanned the hall from under his hood, instinctively counting
men and weapons and finding no more than last time. His gaze came to an abrupt halt
at the high table. Ragnall was sitting next to his friend Sarah, just a few seats
down from Erik.

Duncan should not have been caught off guard by Ragnall being invited to sit at the
high table, though he had not been there last time. After all, the MacLeods believed
Ragnall was the MacQuillan chieftain’s only son. But Duncan could feel the evil emanating
from Erik MacLeod, and he disliked having his son anywhere near him.

Ragnall was leaning his head on his chin and had a scowl on his face. When he saw
Duncan, his expression brightened, and he sat up straight. Much as it warmed Duncan’s
heart that the lad was pleased to see him, it could spell disaster. If Ragnall acted
overly friendly toward him or came too close, it was possible someone could notice
the resemblance between them.

When Duncan gave his head a slight shake, Ragnall dropped his smile at once and looked
away. Ragnall’s quick perception of Duncan’s signal spoke of lessons learned from
living under the threat of Sean’s temper. Though it was useful at the moment, it troubled
Duncan. He had much to make up for with his son.

“I see you’ve returned to eat my food, piper,” Erik called out, drawing Duncan’s attention
to the center of the high table. “Let’s have a lively tune.”

Erik’s rudeness was boundless. Duncan forced himself to lower his eyes so Erik would
not see murder in them. When one of the serving maids brought Duncan a stool and gave
him a saucy wink, he remembered Alex’s advice.

“What’s your name, lass?” he asked loud enough for those nearby to hear.

“Mòrag,” she said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “But for you, I’ll answer to
anything.”

Luckily, the lass did not require much encouragement. Now, if someone caught him in
a part of the castle he should not be, he could say he thought that’s where Mòrag
had told him to meet her.

Duncan felt Erik’s gaze burning holes in him as he began to play. Damn the man’s suspicious
nature. When Erik threw that apple at him last time, he should have let it hit him
in the head. Duncan had seen it from the corner of his eye and caught it instinctively.

He could afford no more mistakes like that.

Erik was aware that one of the guards on duty at the front gate had come into the
hall and stood behind him, but he made him wait. He was vigilant about reminding the
men of the importance of his position. While he kept the guard waiting, he watched
the piper.

“What brings ye back from the MacCrimmons so soon?” he called out when the piper finished
a tune.

“Well,” the piper said, “the MacCrimmons are a bit too protective of their daughters
for my taste.”

Erik laughed. That was too true. Reassured that at least the piper had been where
he said he was, Erik leaned back in his chair and waved the guard forward.

“That MacDonald pirate is here,” the guard said close to Erik’s ear.

Hugh Dubh must finally have news about his nephew’s plans.

“Send him in,” Erik said.

W
ith Erik’s gaze fixed on him, Duncan kept his own on his pipes and continued playing.

All the same, he was aware when someone entered the hall and approached the high table.

“Ragnall,” Erik called out. “Come meet your mother’s uncle.”

Duncan missed a note and struggled to pick up the tune again. From the back, the visitor
standing before the high table could be one of Moira and Connor’s Clanranald uncles
from their mother’s side. Duncan did not pray often, but he was praying hard that
whichever uncle it was did not recognize him. He played softly, using his music as
an invisible shield as he let it float behind the conversations in the hall.

“This is your uncle Hugh Dubh,” Erik said.

Hugh
. They should have guessed that Hugh would be consorting with the MacLeods again to
stir up trouble.

“Come, lad,” Erik said, waving to Ragnall.

Icy fingers stole up Duncan’s spine as he watched Ragnall go to stand beside Erik
with only the width of the table between him and Hugh. His son looked so small and
vulnerable, like a wee rabbit caught between two circling hawks.

Duncan’s every muscle tensed, ready to fight to protect his son. He envisioned himself
stealing a claymore, running across the room to reach Ragnall, tossing him over his
shoulder, and then escaping with him out of the hall, across the bailey yard, out
the gate, and through the open fields to safety. He would never make it—but for a
long moment, he considered it.

Duncan did not realize he had stopped playing until Erik shouted, “Another tune, piper,
to welcome my guest!”

Time seemed to slow as Hugh turned and looked straight at Duncan. Hugh’s eyes went
wide. Duncan was already on his feet when Hugh flung out his arm and pointed at him.

“I know that man,” Hugh shouted. “That’s Duncan MacDonald!”

Even without his claymore, Duncan took down half a dozen of the MacLeods who came
at him. But there were too many of them, and eventually they held him long enough
to tie his hands behind him. Through the melee of men grabbing and pushing and women
screaming, Duncan caught a glimpse of Ragnall. His son’s expression was closed but
his eyes seemed to take in everything, and his wee friend, Sarah, was holding his
hand.

The next time Duncan looked, the two children were gone.

Moira and Ilysa discussed the week’s menu as they melted tallow for rush candles.
Servants usually did this task—and the smell was dreadful—but staying busy helped
keep their minds off their worry over the men who had gone to Trotternish. After the
kitchen was cleaned up from the midday meal, Ilysa had shooed the servants out so
it was just the two of them. Moira had grown fond of Duncan’s sister and was glad
for the time alone with her.

“We’ll run out of fresh meat soon,” Ilysa said. “Tait had some lads drop lines out
the sea gate, so perhaps we’ll have fish for supper.”

“Speak of the devil,” Moira said, giving Tait a friendly wink as he came into the
kitchen.

“Good day to ye both,” Tait said. “Have ye seen young Fergus?”

“Not today,” Moira said and glanced at Ilysa, who shook her head. “Why?”

“He’s gone missing.” Tait leaned forward, resting his hands on the worktable, and
spoke in a low voice, though no one else was in the kitchen. “No one has seen Fergus
since he was on guard duty last night.”

“I won’t believe Fergus is our spy, if that’s what you’re suggesting,” Ilysa said,
pulling her delicate brows together. “He’s a simple young man.”

“What else am I to think?” Tait asked. “Connor was very clear that no one was to leave
the castle until he returned. He was taking no chance of the MacLeods being forewarned.”

“I saw Fergus with Rhona yesterday,” Ilysa said. “Perhaps she knows.”

“What business does Rhona have with a sixteen-year-old guard?” A cold dread settled
in Moira’s belly. “Let’s split up and search the castle for the two of them.”

“No need to alarm the household,” Ilysa warned.

Half an hour later they met, as agreed, in Connor’s chamber.

“Neither of them is in the keep,” Moira reported.

“I checked all the storerooms along the wall,” Ilysa said.

“I didn’t find them, either. But the men guarding the gate with Fergus last night
saw him and Rhona fook—” Tait halted midsentence and turned bright red. “Sorry.”

“By the saints, Tait, just tell us,” Moira said.

“Well, when the other guards saw that Fergus and Rhona were…um,
occupying
themselves against the wall, they took a walk,” Tait said.

“The other guards ‘took a walk’?” Ilysa asked, arching her brows.

“Ach, it happens,” Tait said, squirming under Ilysa’s gaze. “Night guard duty is long
and tedious, and if a willing lass…”

“Just tell us about Fergus and Rhona,” Moira interrupted.

“When the other guards returned, the pair was gone,” Tait said. “The men assumed Rhona
and Fergus had found a more private place to carry on their business.”

“The guards did not report that Fergus had left his post?” Ilysa asked, with her hand
on her hip.

“Men cover for each other for something like that, expecting—or at least hoping—to
need the favor returned.” Tait was shifting his weight from foot to foot, clearly
uncomfortable explaining this to sweet-faced Ilysa. “They wouldn’t dare if Duncan
were here for fear he’d skin them alive when he found out—which he would—but Duncan
has been away a good deal lately.”

“Regardless, the pair of them are gone,” Moira said. “But if they are spies, why sneak
out of Dunscaith now? ’Tis too late to warn the MacLeods. Connor left with our war
galleys two days ago.”

“I can’t believe Fergus would be disloyal,” Ilysa said. “If he’s involved, Rhona must
have duped him into helping her.”

“Fergus is not the sharpest knife in the kitchen, if ye know what I mean,” Tait said,
glancing at Moira.

“Rhona was here at Dunscaith when Hugh held the castle,” Ilysa said. “I was never
certain, but I suspected she was one of the women who was
friendly
with Hugh then. After the four returned from France, however, Rhona attached herself
to my brother like a leech.”

While Tait blathered on about the danger of a scorned woman—as if he knew—Moira tried
to puzzle it out.

“I saw Rhona meet a man some distance from the castle shortly before Connor sailed
out,” she told them. “I thought she was meeting a lover for a tryst, but I suppose
she could have had another purpose as well.”

“Who was the man?” Ilysa asked.

“For a moment, I thought it was my father’s ghost.” Moira started to laugh at herself
for her foolishness, but then she clutched Ilysa’s arm. “Do you suppose it could have
been my uncle? I haven’t seen him since I was a bairn, and I don’t remember him at
all.”

“If your father and Hugh had not been fifteen years apart,” Tait said, “they would
have looked very much alike.”

“Then the man I saw with Rhona could have been Hugh,” Moira said. “But if she is Hugh’s
spy, why would she leave now, two days after Connor set sail for Trotternish?”

“I don’t know, but I sense trouble,” Ilysa said.

“We need to find Rhona and Fergus—and stop them,” Moira said.

“I’ll go after them,” Tait said.

“No, Connor left you in charge of the defense of the castle,” Ilysa said. “We don’t
know that Rhona poses a danger, and with most of our warriors away, Connor would not
want you to leave.”

“He did take most of the able-bodied men,” Tait said.

“I wish I knew for certain which of the warriors he left behind are trustworthy…”
Ilysa narrowed her eyes, considering. “We must be very careful who we share this with.”

“Aye,” Moira agreed. “We need a man we can absolutely trust.”

At a knock on the door, the three of them jumped like guilty conspirators. A moment
later Niall hobbled in using a thick stick for a cane.

“I’ve got Duncan’s boat fixed as good as new,” he said. “Either of you lasses want
to go for a wee sail and try her out?”

Niall was perfect.

“Here’s our man,” Tait said, slapping Niall on the back.

No one was more trustworthy, and Niall was strong and well trained. And yet, Moira’s
gaze kept shifting between his young, open face and his injured leg. While the other
two told him about Rhona and Fergus, she gathered her courage.

“I’m going with Niall,” Moira said and stood up.

“You?” Ilysa blinked at her.

“Look at him,” Moira said, pointing at Niall’s leg. “He can’t sail the boat alone.”

Even more than that, Niall was far too softhearted when it came to women. He would
be no match for Rhona.

Moira would not have the same problem.

Hugh was drinking copious amounts of Erik’s best whiskey.

“I expect payment for alerting ye to the presence of a MacDonald spy in your midst,”
Hugh said as he helped himself to more whiskey.

Damn it, Erik had known something was not right about that piper. Erik felt a begrudging
admiration for Duncan MacDonald’s fearlessness in entering his enemy’s castle alone
and under such a ruse. If Erik were not so furious, he’d have a good laugh over it.

“That was pure luck,” Erik said. “Ye had no idea he was here.”

“’Tis true that I didn’t expect to find the captain of Connor’s guard inside your
castle pretending to be a piper.” Hugh pointed his finger at Erik. “But I did know
that he left Dunscaith in the dark of night. That meant the attack would come soon,
so I came to warn ye.”

Hugh did not know half as much as he pretended. “What I need to know is why your nephew
sent the captain of his guard here.”

“He’s scouting things out in preparation for the attack.” Hugh leaned back and stretched
out his legs as if he had a right to be here in Erik’s castle. “Why else would he
be here?”

“Did ye see the MacDonald war galleys set sail?” Erik demanded.

“No, but I was told that the men were packing up the boats.” Hugh speared a herring
from the platter that had been left on the table and commenced to eat it. “I expect
they’ll be here anytime now.”

Hugh was guessing, but it was possible. Erik would double the guard.

“Connor’s cousin Ian was also preparing his boat at Knock Castle.” While he spoke,
Hugh picked at his teeth with his dirk like a heathen.

“But ye know nothing at all about how they plan to make the attack?” Erik asked.

“No, but ye have the captain of Connor’s guard in your dungeon,” Hugh said as his
gaze followed a dimpled lass with an ample behind. “Get it from him.”

“My men have tried for a night and a day already,” Erik said. “He hasn’t said a word,
and I don’t believe he will.”

It was pointless for Duncan MacDonald to keep his mouth shut now that he had been
discovered. Whatever his task was here, he had no chance of completing it, and the
attack would surely fail. Erik thought the man’s honor was senseless, but he did admire
his stubbornness.

“Feed him salted pork with no water,” Hugh said around another mouthful of food. “A
man dying of thirst will talk—if it doesn’t make him go mad first.”

“That takes too long,” Erik said.

Besides, Duncan MacDonald was likely to know that trick. Though most men could not
help eating the salted pork anyway, Erik suspected this MacDonald was tough enough
to refuse to eat it no matter how long they starved him.

“I showed ye the spy and brought ye valuable information,” Hugh said, interrupting
Erik’s thoughts. “Give me the lad now.”

“The MacDonalds don’t have enough warriors to take this castle,” Erik said. “But if
you’re right and the MacDonalds do attack, you can have the lad then. No one will
blame me if he is killed or disappears in the chaos of the battle.”

Erik had given the MacQuillan lad very little thought, but he pictured him in his
mind now. He was a fine-looking lad, tall for his age, and surprisingly quiet for
having fiery red hair.

Red hair…No, it couldn’t be. There were ginger-haired men and lads all over Scotland
and Ireland. Yet the more Erik thought of it, the more it seemed to him that there
was a resemblance between the MacDonald spy and the lad. And the lad’s mother was
Moira MacDonald.

“Ye say our spy has been friends with the MacDonald chieftain since they were lads?”
Erik asked. “Was he friendly with the chieftain’s sister as well?”

“Duncan’s mother was nursemaid to Connor and his sister Moira,” Hugh said with a shrug.
“They all grew up together at Dunscaith.”

So it was possible…The lad was supposed to be MacQuillan’s, but, God knew, women were
deceitful. Erik would not risk his life for a son, but many men would. This Duncan
MacDonald struck him as that sort of man.

“From what I hear, there’s more between Duncan and Moira than childhood memories,”
Hugh said as he leaned forward to spear another herring with his dirk. “They say Moira
is a rare beauty like her mother—and that she is Duncan’s only weakness.”

Erik smiled to himself. If he was right, he knew how to get the attack plan from the
MacDonald spy.

It was almost too simple.