Duncan pulled her hard against his chest and kissed her with a fierce passion that left no doubt that giving her pleasure had excited him. If he wanted to make love to her fully now, Moira would not be able to say no. But she was afraid to be that close to him, to be joined as one. She wanted to be like a man and give in to lust without losing herself.
When Duncan pulled away and took several slow, deep breaths, Moira was both relieved and disappointed. Then he tucked her head beneath his chin and ran his fingers through her hair.
As she lay enfolded in his arms, the question pounded in her head like an echo of his heartbeat against her ear until she had to ask it, though she knew it was a mistake.
“Why did ye leave me?”
His chest rose and fell on a deep breath. She lay very still while Duncan kept her waiting for an answer he should have had ready.
“Your father found out about us,” he said in a flat voice. “He ordered me to go with the others to France. He gave me no choice.”
That was not what her father told her, and her father had never lied to her. Never. She knew she should not have asked.
Against her will, the things her father said about Duncan on her wedding day went through her head over and over. He didn’t deserve ye. That Duncan is bad seed. Blood will out. Had even her father betrayed her trust? It was one more bitter disappointment, but she finally accepted that it was possible her father had lied to her.
Yet it changed nothing if Duncan had been commanded to leave. This was the man who managed to sneak into an unfamiliar castle, pull her dead husband’s body off her, and carry her away with a hundred warriors chasing them. If Duncan had wanted to, he could have found a way to come back for her or get word to her to meet him. Instead, he had sailed off and not returned.
“I missed ye every day,” Duncan said in a soft voice.
He sounded so sincere. Perhaps he had missed her—or at least missed bedding her—but that had not brought him back any sooner. Nor could it undo one day of her or her son’s suffering.
Moira was grateful to Duncan for the healing pleasure she found in his arms, and she would let herself enjoy it. But she would never give him the power to hurt her again.
* * *
Duncan watched Moira sleep in the morning light. How long would he have her this time? He knew he must take her home to Dunscaith as soon as Niall was well enough to leave and the boat was repaired—but he dreaded it. She was in his arms because she wanted to forget the terrible things that had happened to her, at least for a while. But it would end when they left here. Duncan did not know how he would bear it.
Connor had always been a better judge of character than his father and older brother, and he would make sure that the next chieftain or chieftain’s son she wed was a good man. Duncan tried to take comfort in this, but he failed miserably.
It made him furious to see the deep purple bruises marring her perfect skin. The bumps and scratches from her fall yesterday would heal quickly, but he feared the marks Sean left on her—inside and out—would be with her a long time. Before they parted, there was something more he needed to do for her.
Moira opened her eyes and stretched, giving him a slow grin.
“Out of bed with ye,” Duncan said. “’Tis time for your lessons.”
“What?” Moira asked with a laugh in her voice, then she waggled her eyebrows at him. “Will this lesson involve getting splinters in my backside from the door?”
“Is having your wicked way with me all ye can think of, lass?” Duncan asked.
Moira rolled her eyes at him.
“A lass should know how to protect herself,” he said. “Your training in this regard has been sorely lacking, so I’m going to teach ye how to kill someone with a dirk.”
“That’s the sweetest thing a man has ever said to me,” Moira said in a dead-serious voice.
Duncan threw his head back and laughed out loud. When Moira laughed with him, Lord above, it felt good.
“What was your father thinking, not teaching a lass like you how to use a blade?” he asked.
“A lass like me?” she asked, tilting her head.
“Aye. A lass who runs headlong into danger without a second thought.” Duncan pointed his finger at her. “Falling down that ravine was not the worst thing that could have happened to ye roaming about the hillsides on your own.”
“Ach, don’t give me another tedious lecture.” Moira got out of bed naked and stood with one hand on her hip, as if she meant to torture him. “Just show me how to use the dirk.”
Duncan retrieved her gown from where it had been drying in front of the hearth and tossed it to her. “Put it on quickly, or I can’t guarantee we’ll get to the lesson.”
Chapter 19
I’ll be away from Skye for a time,” Alastair Crotach MacLeod told Erik. “When I return, I’ll want ye to report to me on Hugh Dubh.”
Erik had cultivated informants and heard a whisper that his wily chieftain was negotiating to change sides in the rebellion and throw his support behind the Crown—for a price. That would be a wise move now that it was clear the rebellion was failing. What troubled Erik was that his chieftain had not confided his plans to him.
Still, his chieftain’s absence from Skye would give Erik the opportunity he needed.
“I could take the MacQuillan lad off your hands while you’re gone,” Erik said, taking care to make it sound as if it were a burden he did not relish.
“Aye, take the lad to Trotternish Castle.” The corner of the chieftain’s mouth lifted a fraction in what passed for a smile. “We have a duty to train him, but don’t teach him all ye know—he may be our enemy one day.”
Erik wouldn’t be teaching him anything for long. One less MacDonald male of chieftain’s blood would be good for the MacLeods, as far as he was concerned. His chieftain didn’t have the stomach to do what needed to be done, so Erik would do it for him.
At Trotternish Castle, Erik had both the power and the distance from his chieftain to handle matters as he saw fit. He would be careful, of course, so that the blame could not be laid at his door.
“No one could match ye as a warrior in your prime,” his chieftain said, standing up to clamp a hand on Erik’s shoulder.
Erik nodded to acknowledge the compliment, but the in your prime remark had cut. Although Erik was closer to fifty than forty now, few men were willing to challenge him to a fight. He was still stronger than most and twice as devious as the rest.
* * *
Duncan awoke with Moira in his arms. He rested his cheek against the top of her head and watched the late-afternoon light sift through the crack in the shutters. It had been years since he felt this content.
For the last three days, he and Moira had barely left the cottage. They had spent their time alternately napping, practicing with the dirk, and rediscovering interesting things to do in bed, short of a full joining of their bodies, that, in the end, were quite satisfying for both of them. It brought him untold joy to watch Moira’s innate sensuality blossom under his hands.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Duncan sprang out of bed and picked up his claymore from where he kept it at the ready on the floor.
“What is it?” he called through the closed door.
“’Tis me, Uilleam.”
Duncan opened the door a crack.
“Not dressed, and the day’s nearly over?” Uilleam said. “I suspected that the two of ye weren’t wed yet, and now I know it for certain.”
Duncan could not help cracking a smile. “What urgent business has ye getting me out of bed now?”
“Niall has recovered so well that the neighbors are starting to talk about my daughter Caitlin,” Uilleam said. “If ye don’t get him out of her cottage by morning, they’ll expect me to demand a wedding—not that Caitlin would agree to it.”
“My boat is ready, so we’ll set sail first thing tomorrow,” Duncan said. “I’m grateful to your daughter. I hope Niall isn’t troubling her too much. He seems
taken with her.”
“He’s not the first,” Uilleam said, shaking his head. “Bring your whistle to Caitlin’s cottage tonight. We’ll have ourselves a good time drinking whiskey and playing music.”
Duncan felt like celebrating.
* * *
Moira tapped her foot to the lively tune the men were playing as she sat with Caitlin by the hearth. In the morning, they would be on their way home to Dunscaith.
Home. It had been such a long time.
She glanced at Duncan, and he winked when he caught her gaze on him. She could not remember ever seeing him so carefree. Playing music brought him such pleasure, and he truly had a gift for it.
The other men stopped playing, and Duncan strummed his harp.
“Ach, I know this song,” Caitlin said and elbowed Moira.
Goose bumps rose on Moira’s skin as Duncan’s strong voice filled the small cottage. It was an old tune, but she felt as if he had made up the words to sing just for her.
Black is the color of my true love’s hair
Her lips are like some roses fair
She has the sweetest smile and the gentlest hands
And I love the ground whereon she stands
I love my love and well she knows
I love the ground whereon she goes
I hope the day it soon will come
When she and I will live as one
Duncan set his harp down, said something in Uilleam’s ear, then came to stand in front of Moira. When she looked up at him, he gave her one of his rare smiles that went straight to her heart and held out his hand.
“Dance with me, Moira MacDonald.”
“I—”
“Go on, lass!” one of the women called out. “When a man that handsome asks ye to dance, ye must jump to your feet before he goes looking for a lass who will.”
“There’s only one lass I wish to dance with,” Duncan said, his eyes warm on hers. “’Tis Moira and none other.”
He said it as if he meant more by it than dancing. Duncan kept saying things like that to her, suggesting he had not put her out of his heart—as if he were not the one who left.
“Hurry up lass,” Uilleam said. “We’re ready to play.”
Moira gave Duncan her hand and let him pull her to her feet. A couple of the men moved the table against the wall, and the small cottage filled with a burst of music.
The joy in life that she used to feel every day spread through her as she and Duncan skipped and hopped, arm in arm, in a tight circle in the tiny room. Duncan made a travesty of the footwork, but his body moved with a natural grace to the rhythm of the music. When he twirled her in his arms, Moira let her head fall back, laughing.
The door opened and closed as people from the neighboring cottages squeezed in to hear the music and watch the dancing. Those who weren’t playing clapped. Moira and Duncan danced until she was sweaty and breathless. Duncan was not even breathing hard.
“Please,” she gasped, “I can’t anymore.”
Duncan found an empty space on one of the benches and pulled her onto his lap.
“I can sit on my own,” she said.
“There aren’t enough seats,” he said, still smiling. She couldn’t resist him when he was lighthearted like this; it was so unexpected.
Caitlin came around with cups of whiskey.
“Cha deoch-slàint, i gun a tràghadh!” It’s no health if the glass is not emptied!
Moira tossed it back. The third time the whiskey was passed, Moira shook her head. Her head was spinning pleasantly.
“Ach, I’m so hot!” She fanned herself with her hand.
“Let’s take a stroll outside to cool off,” Duncan said.
Before she could answer, he was walking her out the door. When he paused to lift their cloaks from the pegs, Moira thought she caught Uilleam giving Duncan a wink.
The cool night air felt good on her hot cheeks. For once, it wasn’t drizzling or blowing.
“Ah, that was lovely,” she said. Except for Ragnall not being here, everything was perfect tonight.
Moira felt a bit unsteady on her feet and was grateful when Duncan put his arm around her. Being with him was so easy. She did not have to watch what she said or even speak at all. Though she knew she had felt exactly this way before he left her, she pushed that worry aside for now. Tonight she felt happy, and she was just going to let herself enjoy it.
“That was a short walk,” she teased him when he took her straight to their cottage at the end of the row.
Anticipation ran through her as she watched Duncan light a candle, poke at the burning embers in the hearth, and put fresh peat on the fire. The light from the flames glinted in his hair. He moved with the ease and sureness of a man whose body was honed and trained as a weapon to do whatever he asked of it.
Once he had the fire going, Duncan came to where she stood and put his hands against the wall on either side of her head. She found it hard to breathe as he gazed into her eyes for a long moment.
“There are a few things we haven’t tried yet,” he said and trailed his finger along her jaw. “Things ye used to be quite fond of…”
Instead of kissing her right away, he let the tension grow between them until she wanted his kiss so much that she grabbed hold of his tunic and pulled him to her.
For such a hard-muscled, uncompromising man, his lips were soft. She leaned into him with a sigh. His arms came around her, not constraining her, but enveloping her in a delicious warmth.
* * *
Duncan held Moira as she slept and wondered if this would be his last time.
He had little more to offer her now than he had when he was nineteen. Though he held a position of respect as captain of her brother’s guard, respect was not enough to hold a woman like Moira. She was meant to grace a high table, wear the finest silks, and have servants to wait upon her. She carried the blood of the Lord of Isles and the ancient kings before them, while he was the unclaimed son of a MacLeod rapist.
Still, he whispered, “Please God, don’t take her from me. Not again.”
Chapter 20
Moira blinked against the sting in her eyes at her fist sight of Dunscaith Castle sitting majestically on its rock island off the headland. As they sailed nearer, the rain cleared, revealing the green hills behind the castle and the purple mountains across the bay to the northwest.
“I’d forgotten how beautiful it is,” she said. Growing up, Moira had taken both the beauty of her home and her happiness for granted.
“Aye, ’tis a lovely sight,” Duncan said, standing beside her. “And Dunscaith is a strong fortress as well.”
It had been easy to be fearless here.
The guards standing on the castle wall recognized Duncan’s boat and waved. Moira waved back with both arms. At long last, she was coming home. If only Ragnall were here with her, all would be well.
“Once I have my son safely behind the walls of Dunscaith,” she said, “he’ll never be in danger again.”
“Ragnall has MacDonald blood in him,” Niall said from behind her, where he was sitting with his injured leg propped up. “Once he’s grown, he’ll not be content to hide behind walls when it’s time to fight.”
Moira was not going to think about that now.
“It looks as though the whole household is coming out to greet us,” Duncan said.
A steady stream of people were crossing the narrow bridge slung between Dunscaith and the main island and coming down to the shore. Moira’s heart beat fast as she tried to pick out her brother. Connor was chieftain now, so perhaps he would wait to greet her formally in the hall.
Despite Duncan’s explanation for Connor’s failure to visit her, Moira felt uneasy about whether he would be pleased to see her.
“Moira!”
She heard someone call her name, and then she saw Connor running into the surf to meet the boat with his black hair blowing behind him. When he reached it, he held out his arms to her. Laughing, she jumped down and threw her arms
around his neck. She thought of her beloved father and older brother Ragnall, who were not here, and held on more tightly to Connor as he carried her to the beach.
“Welcome home,” Connor said and gave her a broad smile as he set her on her feet.
They held each other’s hands and leaned back to gaze at each other. Connor looked much the same, lean and hard-muscled, but his face had sharper angles and the lankiness of his youth had given way to a powerful presence.
“’Tis good to have ye back,” Connor said, and he seemed genuinely happy to see her.
“I’ll never leave again,” she told him. “Never.”
Connor raised an eyebrow, but then his gaze shifted to something behind her.
“Is that a horse or a dog with Duncan?” he asked with a laugh in his voice.
Moira turned and saw that Sàr, the traitor, had remained at Duncan’s side in the boat. “That’s my son’s wolfhound.”
“Is Niall hurt?” Connor asked as Duncan helped Niall off the boat.
“Aye,” she said. “He would have died if not for Duncan.”
“Duncan is the best man to have with ye when trouble comes,” Connor said and ran off to help him with Niall.
Moira proceeded to greet everyone who had come down to the shore to welcome her. From the way they stared at her, she must have changed more than she realized. But the women gave her affectionate smiles as Moira exclaimed over all the new babes and the children grown up in her absence.
After some time, a brisk young woman in an ugly brown gown took her arm. “Ye must be weary from your journey,” the young woman said. “Would ye like to go inside now?”
“Do I know ye?” Moira asked.
“I expect ye don’t recognize me because I was only eleven the last time ye saw me,” the young woman said with a warm smile. “I’m Ilysa, Duncan’s sister.”
It was hard to believe this wisp of a lass was Duncan’s sister.
“I’m sure we can find one of your old gowns for ye to change into,” Ilysa said.
The Warrior Page 12