“Moira, I just want to be able to make ye happy,” he said in a soft voice.
“Ye still don’t believe I’m capable of loving ye without all that?” she said. “After what I’ve been through, ye think I care about gowns and servants?”
“I—”
“I won’t marry a man who thinks so little of me.” She threw the bedclothes off, jumped to the floor, and started dressing. “Ye could be the king of Scotland, and I wouldn’t have ye!”
“I think the world of ye,” Duncan said.
“Ye don’t,” she said. “I lived with a man for seven years who treated me as if I were nothing, and I won’t do it again.”
Duncan got out of bed and grabbed her arm as she started to leave the bedchamber.
“Get your damned hands off me!” She was so angry her vision was blurred. “I trusted you! How could ye do this to me again?”
“I want to give ye all the things ye ought to have—the things ye deserve,” he said.
“Ye still think of me as a shallow, spoiled girl,” Moira said. “I was never just that, and it is certainly not who I am now.”
She grabbed her cloak from the peg and opened the door without taking the time to put it on.
“Don’t leave like this,” Duncan said. “I love ye, Moira.”
“You’re no different from the other men who wanted to bed me,” she said over her shoulder. “Ye don’t love me. For God’s sake, Duncan, ye don’t even know me.”
Chapter 29
Moira was so confused and upset she did not know what to do with herself. How could Duncan believe he loved her and yet think so poorly of her? She dried her tears before she entered the castle to pay a visit on Ilysa. Perhaps Duncan’s sister could help her understand him.
After searching the keep and not finding Ilysa there, Moira crossed the courtyard to what had been her nursemaid’s home.
“Do ye mind a bit of company?” Moira asked when Ilysa answered her door.
“I’d enjoy it,” Ilysa said. “I’m just doing a bit of stitching.”
Moira suspected that if Connor were home, Ilysa would be doing the chore in the keep.
“I sense ye came here with a purpose,” Ilysa said after Moira sat down with her. “Is it about my brother?”
Moira appreciated the younger woman’s directness.
“Duncan said my father forced him to leave,” Moira said, deciding to start with that. “I wish I knew if it was true.”
“My brother has his faults, but he doesn’t lie,” Ilysa said in her quiet, sure voice.
“I didn’t think my father would lie to me, either,” Moira said.
“I wouldn’t know what that feels like, as I never knew my father,” Ilysa said, which reminded Moira that, though Ilysa looked young, she’d had her share of sorrows and struggles.
“The loss of your mother must have been difficult.” Moira turned to look out the small window and sighed. “If she were here, I would ask her what happened that day between Duncan and my father.”
“I was here and saw it all,” Ilysa said. “What do ye want to know?”
“You?” Moira asked. “Why, ye were still a child.”
“I was old enough,” Ilysa said. “Ach, your father was in a dreadful fury that morning.”
“Can ye tell me what happened?” Moira asked.
“The chieftain and your brother Ragnall woke my mother and me while it was still dark.” Ilysa stopped stitching but kept her gaze fixed on the shirt in her hands. “I know ye loved them, but they were hard men, and they were angry. When they asked where Duncan was, my mother started weeping.”
“I’m sorry they frightened you,” Moira said.
“I tried to comfort my mother, but she was inconsolable,” Ilysa said. “We told the chieftain we didn’t know where Duncan was, but I suspect now that my mother guessed he was with you.”
“What did my father and brother do when they saw that Duncan was not here?”
“They sat in these chairs at our wee table,” Ilysa said, nodding toward it. “It felt as if the walls of our cottage would explode with their anger.”
Moira could well imagine it. Her father and older brother had been powerful warriors long accustomed to their authority over the clan.
“When Duncan opened the door”—Ilysa paused and licked her lips—“I thought your father was going to murder him right here in this room.”
“He would not have,” Moira said.
“He said that the only reason he didn’t was that Teàrlag had predicted Duncan would save Connor’s life.” Ilysa met Moira’s eyes with an unwavering gaze. “I believed him then, and I still do.”
Moira leaned over and touched Ilysa’s hand. “I’m sorry I caused such grief for you and your mother.”
“Ye can’t help who ye love.” Ilysa cleared her throat. “Your brother Ragnall told Duncan he would be sailing for France that day, right after the battle for Knock Castle. Then he and the chieftain took Duncan away, without even letting him kiss our mother good-bye.”
Moira and Ilysa sat in silence for a long while.
“My father could force Duncan to leave the clan, but he could not force him to go to France—or to stay there,” Moira said. “Duncan could have gotten word to me to join him somewhere, but he didn’t believe in me.”
“I don’t think that was the reason,” Ilysa said in a soft voice. “It was himself he didn’t believe in.”
“What do ye mean?” Moira asked.
“Duncan left because he believed your father was right to send him away,” Ilysa said. “He thought he did not deserve you.”
Moira stared blindly out the small window. Though she had not paid much attention at the time, she remembered hearing the men make gibes about Duncan’s unknown parentage when they were children. Perhaps there was some truth to what Ilysa said about why he left her.
“That does not explain why he lacks faith in me now,” Moira said. “Duncan is captain of our chieftain’s guard and has a fearsome reputation as a great warrior.”
“That’s how others see him,” Ilysa said. “But Duncan is still trying to prove to himself that he is worthy.”
A sharp knock at the door interrupted their conversation. Without waiting for an answer, Tait, a short, wiry member of the guard, barged in.
“I’ve been looking everywhere for ye,” he said to Ilysa.
“What is it?” Ilysa asked.
“There’s a fleet of war galleys headed this way,” he said.
Cold fear licked its way up Moira’s spine. She had thought she would be safe here at Dunscaith.
“Have ye told Connor?” Ilysa asked.
“He and Duncan rode across the peninsula to Knock Castle,” Tait said. “I sent a man after them, but those war galleys will arrive before they do.”
“Do ye recognize the boats?” Ilysa asked, calm as could be.
“I know the banner,” Tait said. “It belongs to Alexander of Dunivaig and the Glens.”
Moira’s hands went cold as ice. Alexander was the chieftain of a more powerful branch of the MacDonalds and a descendant of a Lord of the Isles, which made them distant relatives. In addition to his lands in the Western Isles of the Scottish Highlands, he ruled over the Glens in Ireland, where he was an ally of the MacQuillans.
“He’s come for me,” Moira said.
* * *
“Are we under attack? What is happening?” women called out to Moira and Ilysa as they raced behind Tait across the courtyard to the castle wall.
“We don’t know yet,” Ilysa told them. “Stay calm, but take the children inside the keep.”
The courtyard was in confusion, with men shouting and running to gather weapons. Moira picked up her skirts and climbed the ladder up the side of the castle wall. The wall walk that ran along the top was crowded with warriors, and she had to push her way through them to look out.
When she caught sight of a dozen war galleys sailing straight for the castle, Moira sucked in her breath. The first ones were so close that s
he could see the fierce faces of the warriors above their shields. She was aware when Tait and Ilysa joined her, but she kept her gaze on the galleys filling the bay.
“That one is their chieftain’s,” Tait said, pointing to the galley with the warrior’s cross on its sail and a dragon head on its bow.
A tall man with dark golden hair stood in the center of the chieftain’s boat, a little apart from the other warriors, and scanned the hills like a hawk. When the boat glided into shore, escorted by a galley on either side of it, he was the first to vault over the side.
“I’m going down to the beach,” Moira said and turned to go down the ladder.
“No, ye mustn’t!” Ilysa said, gripping Moira’s arm.
“There is no point in sacrificing the lives of our men when it’s me they want,” Moira said. “If there is a price to be paid for taking my husband’s miserable life, I’ll be the one to pay it.”
Chapter 30
Duncan’s thoughts were on Moira as he and Connor rode back to Dunscaith escorted by a dozen members of Connor’s guard. There was no use talking to Moira until he took Trotternish Castle. Teàrlag told him he could change his fate, and she was right. Taking the castle would settle everything—with his father, with the MacLeods, and with Moira.
But what in the hell did Moira mean by saying he did not know her? He knew her every mood, every expression that crossed her face, how her breathing changed when he touched her.
Still, he had to admit there was one thing he had not understood before. Her blind determination to walk through the night and enter the MacLeod chieftain’s lair alone to get Ragnall had seemed utter foolishness to him. But the moment he met his son, Duncan understood why she did it. Though Duncan knew that Ragnall was under the protection of the MacLeod chieftain, whose word was law within his clan, Duncan shared Moira’s driving need to bring him home.
Ragnall was one more reason Duncan was relieved he would be sailing for Trotternish Castle tonight.
Duncan saw a rider crest the hill coming toward them and pulled his claymore before he recognized the man as one of their own.
“Looks like trouble,” Connor said and held up his hand, signaling the guardsmen to halt.
The rider came toward them at a full gallop, then pulled his horse up hard, causing it to rear.
“War galleys are approaching Dunscaith!” the man shouted.
Duncan dug his heels into his horse’s side, took the lead, and rode for Dunscaith at breakneck speed. Though they were only two miles from the chieftain’s castle, it seemed like fifty. When Duncan finally broke over the last hill, the familiar vista of Dunscaith on its protruding rock in the midst of miles of coastline spread before him.
But this time, a swarm of war galleys loomed just offshore, threatening Dunscaith and everyone in it, including Moira and Ilysa.
“This visit must relate to Sean MacQuillan’s death,” Connor shouted as he brought his horse up beside Duncan’s.
They both had recognized the ships at once, of course, as belonging to the powerful MacDonalds of Dunivaig and the Glens, who were allied with the less powerful MacQuillans. Before the rebellion, their two branches of the MacDonalds had been allies as well.
“They haven’t attacked yet,” Connor continued, “so they may be willing to talk.”
“’Tis worth a chance,” Duncan shouted back.
“I’ll invite the chieftain in as my guest,” Connor said.
The Highland customs of hospitality were sacrosanct. If the other chieftain accepted Connor’s offer, there would be no attack today. Of course, the constraint lasted only until the guests departed.
“What in the hell is my sister doing?” Connor shouted.
Duncan snapped his gaze from the war galleys to the castle and saw a figure stepping off the castle’s bridge. God have mercy, it was Moira!
Protecting his chieftain was Duncan’s first duty, but he had to stop Moira.
“Send her back inside!” Connor shouted. “If they see her, they’ll try to take her!”
Duncan veered his horse toward the castle, and they flew over the tall grass. Moira’s eyes went wide as he bore down on her. Leaning low over the side of his horse, he caught her around the waist and lifted her in front of him. He continued up to the castle bridge and then dismounted with her.
“Were ye trying to make it easy for them to take ye?” he shouted, shaking her by the shoulders.
“I know him,” Moira said. “I was just going to talk with him.”
Duncan let out a string of oaths that would make the devil blush. “You’re endangering yourself and everyone else. Get inside now!”
Chapter 31
Moira pressed her face to the peephole, which provided a good view of the high table.
“I used this peephole many times at my father’s request,” she whispered to Ilysa, who crouched beside her. Unlike Duncan and Connor, her father had valued her assistance with difficult guests.
Just now, it looked as though Connor was badly in need of help. Her brother’s and his guest’s expressions were coldly polite, but they had daggers in their eyes. As she had guessed when she saw him standing in the galley, the tall, golden-haired visitor was not the clan chieftain, but his eldest son, James.
“You’ll have to take the word of the captain of my guard regarding what happened at the MacQuillan castle that night,” Connor said, sounding as immovable as granite.
Moira was sorry she had missed hearing Duncan’s version of events while she changed her clothes.
“I don’t know your captain,” James said, his tone equally unbending. “I must hear it from your sister directly.”
“I vouch for my captain’s word,” Connor said, raising the stakes. “And I will not permit ye to upset my sister by questioning her. She has suffered enough.”
Ach, she did not need Connor to protect her from answering James’s questions, any more than she needed Duncan to protect her reputation from gossip.
Where had the two of them been when she truly needed their protection?
* * *
Duncan’s teeth ached from clenching his jaw so hard. He wished the ironclad rules of hospitality did not prevent him from challenging this James with the jewel-studded brooch and the too-handsome face to settle the matter with swords.
When the hall suddenly went quiet, Duncan turned to see who had drawn everyone’s attention, half fearing he would see old Teàrlag waving her arms and wailing in the doorway again.
Instead, Moira entered the hall looking like a faery queen, covered head-to-toe in a silvery cape and matching hood, with the wolfhound at her side. The cape floated out behind her as she swept across the room and came to a halt before the center of the head table.
“A thousand welcomes to you, James, son of Alexander of Dunivaig and the Glens and great-great-grandson of John, the first Lord of the Isles,” Moira said, giving the formal greeting. “’Tis an honor and a pleasure to see you again. It has been far too long.”
James leaped to his feet and started around the table. Duncan was half out of his seat with his hand on the hilt of his dirk before Connor stopped him.
“James will not harm her here in my hall,” Connor said in a low voice, with a steel grip on Duncan’s arm. “Moira’s made her choice. Let’s see how this plays out.”
Duncan gritted his teeth when James reached Moira and kissed her hand like a courtier.
“These are not the circumstances under which I had hoped we would meet again,” James said. “It is, of course, the unfortunate death of your husband that brings me here to speak with you.”
James had not let go of her hand.
“I see ye brought the wolfhound I gave your son,” James said.
“I’m very attached to Sàr,” Moira said, running her slender fingers over the dog’s head. “I could not leave him behind.”
“Moira has him in the palm of her hand,” Connor whispered to Duncan, sounding inordinately pleased.
“If ye had a justification fo
r what ye did, ye should not have run off,” James said. “I—and my father—have always been fond of ye, but we could only think the worst.”
“Alas,” Moira said, looking up at James from under her lashes, “Sean’s men were in no mind to listen to explanations that night.”
“Come, Moira,” James said, his tone far too familiar. “Tell me what happened.”
Moira stepped back from James. Slowly, she pushed back her hood and unfastened the cape that had been tied snugly beneath her chin. She let the cape fall to the ground and stood before them all in a low-cut gown that revealed the bruises on her neck.
Several people at the table gasped, and Connor swore under his breath. Hearing that Moira’s husband had tried to kill her was not the same as seeing the evidence of it on her slender neck.
“Jesu!” James’s nostrils flared and the muscles of his jaw flexed as he clamped his lips together. After a long moment, he asked, “Sean did this to you?”
“He tried to strangle me,” she said. “Ye can see his finger marks.”
She turned her head to the side and pulled her hair back. Most of the bruising to Moira’s face had healed, thanks to Caitlin’s and Ilysa’s skills and smelly poultices, but the left side of her face still showed the damage Sean had done to her.
“I am so sorry he hurt ye,” James said.
“’Tis much improved,” Moira said, her voice wavering a bit. “Ye can imagine what I looked like the night I escaped. If I had not killed Sean first, he would have murdered me.”
“But why would Sean harm you?” James picked up her cape, wrapped it around her, and rested his hands on her shoulders. “How could any man harm you?”
Duncan ground his teeth to keep from shouting at the man to get his hands off her.
“Sean was afraid to hurt me while I had powerful protectors. I wasn’t safe from him once you and your father left Ireland.” She turned her gaze on Connor. “Sean did not believe my own clan was concerned with my well-being.”
Connor was gripping his cup so tightly that his knuckles were white. He worked with such single-minded devotion to protect their clan that Duncan knew what a blow Moira’s words were to him.
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