The Warrior

by Margaret Mallory

  “Well,” Duncan said, and cleared his throat. “Moira has not agreed to it, precisely.”

  “Not precisely?” Connor asked.

  “She will.” She had to. “I told her we could not marry until we took Trotternish—and ye made me keeper of the castle.”

  “Moira was ready to wed, and ye put her off and set conditions on it?” Connor threw his head back and laughed, a rare sound these days. “I wondered what the problem was. Ach, you’re both stubborn as mules.”

  “She’s always had a fine home to live in,” Duncan said, defending himself.

  “If we succeed in taking Trotternish Castle, it will need a keeper,” Connor said. “You’re the only man I would entrust it to.”

  “We will succeed,” Duncan said.

  “Did ye ask Moira what she was discussing with James when you interrupted them?” Connor asked.

  “I don’t want to know.”

  “She was telling him that Ragnall is your son, not Sean’s,” Connor said. “She asked him to share that news with the MacQuillans so they would not demand the lad’s return after we bring him home to Dunscaith.”

  Duncan’s chest felt tight. While he did not regret carrying her off to her bedchamber, he felt like an ass for shouting at her.

  “We should go,” Alex called to them. When Duncan and Connor returned to the boat, Alex said, “After your display in the hall, Duncan, a few of us laid wagers on when you and Moira would wed.”

  “You what?” Duncan asked.

  “Don’t give me that surly look,” Alex said. “I seem to recall you were the one taking wagers before I wed.”

  Duncan had collected a fine bag of coins from it, too.

  “Your chieftain wagered a silver coin on your marriage taking place in three weeks,” Connor said, draping his arm around Duncan’s shoulder. “A wise man would remember that.”

  “We’ll see you and Ian at the gates of Trotternish Castle in four days,” Duncan said to Connor and climbed into the boat.

  “We’ll take the MacLeods by land and by sea,” Connor called out to them, and they raised their fists and echoed back the MacDonald clan motto.

  “Air muir ’s air tìr!” By land and by sea!

  * * *

  “We’re a couple of miles from Trotternish Castle now,” Alex alerted Duncan.

  They had made good time and arrived in less than two full days.

  “Bring us to shore,” Duncan said, “and I’ll walk the rest of the way.”

  A misty rain was falling and the afternoon light was fading, which was good, because everything depended upon no one seeing a MacDonald galley full of warriors land. When Connor and Ian arrived with their galleys, they would take the greater caution of staying out to sea until it was full dark.

  “Quiet, lads,” Alex said as he guided the galley toward a stretch of beach with no cottages in sight.

  The soft, regular splash of their oars was the only sound the men made as the boat approached the shore. As one, they lifted their oars, and Duncan felt the soft scrape of the hull on the rocks as they glided in.

  “Two nights from now, after the household has gone to bed, I’ll signal from the tower window if it is safe to proceed,” Duncan told Alex, though they had gone over this a dozen times before.

  “I’ll be waiting,” Alex said. “When I see the signal, I’ll send a man to tell Ian and Connor to have their men ready.”

  The plan was for Duncan to drop a rope from the tower room. After Alex and a handful of his men climbed up, they would make their way to the castle’s gate, subdue the guards, and let their main force in through the gate.

  “I hope ye haven’t grown too weak from your lax training to climb the rope,” Duncan chided him.

  Alex just laughed.

  “If the sea is rough,” Duncan said more seriously, “it will be difficult to bring your boat close enough to the cliff to reach the rope.”

  “Ach, I could do it with my eyes closed,” Alex said. In the dark of night, it would be much the same as doing it blind, but no one was a better sailor than Alex.

  “By then, the castle folk should be accustomed to seeing me and won’t be watching me closely.” Or so Duncan hoped.

  “I’d wager that a few of the women will still be eyeing ye,” Alex said with amusement in his voice. “You’re usually blind to the lasses’ attention, but ye ought to be mindful of it this time. I advise ye to pick one of them when ye first arrive, and that will discourage the others.”

  “I’ll be wed soon,” Duncan said, offended.

  “I’m no saying ye need to bed the lass,” Alex said. “Just flirt with her—make the others believe she’s the one ye want so they don’t follow ye about.”

  “I’ll make certain no one follows me,” Duncan said and changed the subject. “With any luck, we’ll surround the MacLeods while they’re still sleeping in the hall, and the fighting will be over quickly.”

  “We can hope,” Alex said, sounding doubtful. “Otherwise, this is bound to be bloody.”

  “Remember,” Duncan said, gripping Alex’s arm, “the keeper of the castle is mine.”

  “And you remember,” Alex said, “that MacLeod hostages are more valuable to us than dead MacLeods.”

  Not this one. Duncan picked up the bag that held his pipes and prepared to drop over the side of the boat into the shallows.

  “It will all go as smooth as cream down a cat’s throat,” Alex said, which they both knew for a lie, and put his hand on Duncan’s shoulder. “All the same, you’ll be alone in there, my friend, so be careful.”

  Chapter 34

  Moira 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 w
hen 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.

  Chapter 35

  With 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.”