The Warrior

by Margaret Mallory

  “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 herrin
g 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.

  Chapter 36

  Duncan kicked furiously at the rat crawling toward his foot. Frustration burned through him. God help him, he had failed on a grand scale. While the safety of his clansmen, including his son, his chieftain, and his best friends, depended upon him, Duncan was in the dungeon of Trotternish Castle chained to the goddamned wall like an animal.

  “Arrgh!” He jerked the chain again, though it served no purpose but to cause the chain to bite into his bloody wrists.

  He tried to guess how long he had been in this godforsaken hole. Judging from the quiet above him, it was night again. That meant Alex would be in his boat, watching for the signal and waiting for the rope that would never be dropped.

  Duncan leaned his head back against the wall to keep the blood from running into his eyes. The beatings were getting fiercer, but he’d suffered worse. Though he was chained, the men seemed afraid to get close enough to do him serious harm.

  The silence was broken by the echo of boots on the stone steps on the other side of the iron grate. Only one man this time, so he was braver than the others. Duncan got to his feet. He would be prepared if the guard gave him the slightest chance to overpower him.

  When the man reached the bottom step, the light from the torch he carried shone on his face—and Duncan saw that it was Erik. Rage roared in his ears.

  Erik waited to speak until he unlocked the iron grate door and stepped inside. Unfortunately, Duncan’s chains were not long enough for him to reach Erik.

  “You can save us both trouble and tell me now what I want to know,” Erik said. “Or ye can wait for me to bring the lad down here.”

  An unfamiliar jolt of fear went through Duncan. No, Erik could not know about Ragnall.

  “What lad?” Duncan attempted an indifferent tone, though his heart was pounding so hard Erik could probably hear it.

  “I’m talking about your son,” Erik said. “Ragnall.”

  Erik paced in front of Duncan, just beyond his reach. A few inches closer, and Duncan would wrap his chain around Erik’s throat and strangle the life out of him.

  “He’s just a bairn,” Erik said. “Don’t make me hurt him.”

  “You wouldn’t.” Duncan forced himself to speak calmly. “Your chieftain undertook a solemn duty to protect him.”

  “His duty is to the MacQuillans,” Erik said. “But Ragnall is not a MacQuillan, is he?”

  “What man can truly know if a child is his?” Duncan shrugged. “The MacQuillans believe Ragnall is their chieftain’s son, as does Alastair MacLeod, and that’s what matters.”

  “’Tis true that my chieftain feels an obligation to the lad.” Erik folded his arms and shook his head. “But there are so many ways a child can have an accident. And if it should look suspicious, I can blame Hugh Dubh. The fool as much as told my chieftain that he wants Ragnall dead.”

  Duncan believed Erik was capable of harming a child, and he knew for certain that Hugh was. Together, they were like a two-headed viper.

  “If ye want to save your son, ye must tell me the things I need to know.”

  God have mercy on me. To buy time, Duncan said, “I was to report on any weaknesses I saw, that is all.”

  “Perhaps that was your task the first time ye entered my castle,” Erik said, then he ticked his questions off on his fingers. “For what purpose did your chieftain send ye here a second time? How does he plan to attack me? And where does he have his men waiting now?”

  Duncan tried desperately to think of lies that Erik would find convincing. And yet, he knew it would make no difference. Erik could not be trusted to keep his word. Even if Duncan was fool enough to tell Erik the truth and sacrifice the others, Erik would not spare Ragnall.

  Duncan met the hard stare of his enemy and considered telling him that he was his son. He had envisioned telling Erik after he took this castle from him—and while he held a blade to Erik’s throat. Confessing the truth as a plea for sympathy while he was humbled in chains was the last thing Duncan wanted to do.

  He doubted that Erik would believe him. And if he did, Duncan had no illusion that Erik would spare him. But the question Duncan had to ask himself was whether there was a chance that the truth could move this coldhearted man to save his grandson.

  “Think on it tonight,” Erik said. “I’ll come back in the morning with the lad, and then we’ll see what ye have to say.”

  * * *

  “One of the small boats the young lads use for fishing is missing from the shore,” Tait reported. “I expect that’s what Rhona and Fergus took.”

  “They’ll be moving slow in that,” Niall said. “Still, they’re half a day ahead. And worse, I don’t know which way they went.”

  “I hate sending ye on a goose chase,” Ilysa said. “Go see Teàrlag first. She may be able to tell ye where Rhona and Fergus have gone—and why.”

  “But Connor said no one was to leave,” Tait said.

  “He didn’t mean me and Niall,” Moira said, not bothering to hide her impatience. “We’re not spies.”

  “We?” Niall said, cocking an eyebrow. “Duncan and Connor will both have my head if I take ye with me to chase after Rhona and Fergus.”

  “We’re only going to Teàrlag’s now,” Moira said and headed for the door.

  “Take Sàr with ye,” Ilysa called after them.

  It was growing dark when Moira and Niall reached the cove below Teàrlag’s cottage. Moira followed Niall up the steps of the steep cliff to the ancient cottage. Niall managed surprisingly well, using his stick for a cane, but Moira slipped several times. Finally, she reached the top—and nearly plunged to the sea below when a voice came out of the darkness.

  “About time ye came!”

  Moira squinted into near darkness and saw the old seer standing above her on the top step.

  “Hello, Teàrlag. It’s me, Moira. Niall’s here as well.”

  “I know who ye are.” Teàrlag turned around and walked off toward her cottage, mumbling, “Ungrateful lass.”

  Moira followed her inside with Niall, hoping she would be welcome. Niall had told her on the sail over that Teàrlag had left her cottage for the first time in many years to give a prediction about Moira and to urge Duncan to leave for Ireland without delay.

  “Leave your beast outside. I don’t want him frightening my cow,” Teàrlag said as she shuffled to her small table and lit the lamp.

  There was no room in the tiny cottage for Sàr in any case.

  “I’m sorry I haven’t come to thank ye.” Moira set the basket of food they had brought on the small table and gingerly took the stool across from Teàrlag.

  The seer had looked older than the mist for as long as Moira could remember. Except for shrinking a bit more, she had not changed much.

  “I knew that blood in my vision wasn’t yours.” Teàrlag’s shoulders rose and fell as she made a sound that could only be called a cackle. “But I knew ye needed help, and it did get that big lad in his boat.”

  Only Teàrlag would call Duncan “that big lad.” Moira was relieved that the old seer appeared to have accepted her apology. Teàrlag was not above threatening to curse someone for what she deemed a lack of courtesy.

  “I suppose you’ve come to ask me about that troublesome lass, Rhona,” Teàrlag said as she peered into the food basket—which was probably what had gained Moira forgiveness. “Couldn’t Ilysa tell ye?”

  Moira turned and raised her eyebrows at Niall, who had joined them at the tiny table.

  “Ilysa’s been learning the Old Ways from Teàrlag,” Niall whispered, his knees bumping hers as he leaned forward. “Some say she’s developed The Sight.”

  Calm, circumspect Ilysa is a seer? Moira could not imagine her weaving back and forth and waving her ar
ms like Teàrlag did when she had a vision. But then, Teàrlag did make the most of her gift.

  “The Sight comes and goes with Ilysa,” Teàrlag said, shaking her head. “She lacks faith in herself.”

  Not something Teàrlag suffered.

  “Can ye tell us why Rhona and Fergus left the castle?” Niall asked. “Are they a danger to the clan?”

  “Rhona is not the danger,” Teàrlag said. “But there is a danger to our returning warriors, and Rhona knows what it is.”

  “We must find her then,” Moira said. “Do you know where she and Fergus are?”

  Teàrlag rolled her eyes back and made a strange humming noise as she swayed in her seat. After a time, she stopped and blinked several times.

  “Well?” Niall asked.

  “I can’t see their destination,” Teàrlag said. “But they’re sailing south along the coast of Sleat toward the point of the peninsula.”

  “Is there anything else ye can tell us?” Moira asked.

  “Rhona has vengeance in her heart,” Teàrlag said. “And she is looking for Hugh Dubh.”

  Chapter 37

  A sound pricked Duncan’s ears. Footsteps? They sounded too light, and no torchlight shone on the stairs.

  Clink, clink. Duncan heard a key turning in the lock, followed by the slow creak of the iron door swinging open. Perhaps the guards had returned for another attempt to beat the plans for the attack out of him, though they should know by now that it was hopeless. A few men could not be broken, and Duncan was one of them. He did not take special pride in it, but he knew it to be true nonetheless. He closed his eyes for a moment, steeling himself to bear the pain to come.

  “He’s in here!”

  Duncan’s eyes flew open at the unexpected sound of a little girl’s high-pitched voice. It was so black in the dungeon he could not see anything.

  “Hush!”

  That was Ragnall’s voice this time. Duncan thought he must be having a waking dream, as men do when they’re beaten and kept in darkness, but then he sensed someone standing next to him.