Chapter 39
Duncan tore at his hair. Where could Erik have taken Ragnall? MacDonald warriors were guarding the gate so he could not get out that way. Erik could have taken Ragnall over the wall. It was a long drop, but that’s how many of the others were escaping.
From the corner of his eye as he left the turret room, he saw the rope they had left hanging out the window. Something bothered him. He started down the three steps to the other room, then halted abruptly and looked back. The rope was taut.
“No!” he shouted and ran to the window.
The wet wind lashed at his face as he leaned out, trying to see down the rope through the darkness. A rush of terror went through him as he imagined Ragnall falling down, down the side of the cliff into the black swells far below.
Then, finally, he spotted what he was looking for—a movement halfway down the cliff. In the darkness, he could barely make out a shape against the black rock. He could not tell if it was one person or two.
Duncan climbed out the window and started down. Moving dangerously fast, he let the rope slide through his hands as he rappelled off the wet, slippery side of the cliff with his feet.
He felt the rope strain under his hands and hoped to God the knots would hold under the weight of the three of them.
“Don’t come any closer,” Erik shouted when Duncan was fifteen feet above them, “or I’ll drop the lad.”
“You do that, and your life is over,” Duncan shouted back. “Are ye all right, Ragnall?”
“I’m scared!”
Lord help him. Duncan was close enough now to see that Ragnall was on Erik’s back and holding on to Erik’s neck—which meant he did not have a hand on the rope.
“I’ll let ye go, Erik,” Duncan shouted. “Just let me have the boy.”
Erik continued climbing down the rope. Soon he would be near enough to the water to risk dropping. It was not far to shore for a grown man who was a strong swimmer. But in this rough sea, a boy would never make it. And if Ragnall fell, it was far from certain that Duncan could find him in the water before his son disappeared under the black swells of the sea.
He thought of Moira’s suffering if he failed to save their son—and knew he simply could not fail.
“Let him go, Erik,” Duncan said over the wind as he closed the distance between them. “He’s just a wee lad, an innocent.”
“There are no innocents!” Erik shouted.
“I can’t grab you and also save the boy,” Duncan shouted. “Let me take him, and you can escape.”
“How do I know ye will choose his life over taking mine?” Erik shouted back as he continued climbing downward.
“He’s my son!” Anguish tore at Duncan’s heart.
Duncan was nearly close enough now to grab hold of Ragnall. He stretched his arm out, praying Erik would not pitch the boy into the sea before Duncan’s fingers grasped Ragnall’s shirt.
Erik released one hand from the rope to swipe at Duncan’s arm with his dirk. As Erik’s body swung to the side, Ragnall cried out. Duncan’s heart stopped as his son was rammed against the sheer rock cliff.
“Hold on, Ragnall!” Duncan shouted.
In one motion Duncan kicked Erik’s face with his boot and swept down to catch Ragnall by the back of his shirt. He felt the shirt ripping as he jerked the boy up. Before it gave way, he caught his son’s small body between himself and the rope.
“I have ye.” Duncan held his son against his chest and gasped for air.
“Arrgh!” Erik started up the rope, swiping his dagger at Duncan’s legs.
Why in the hell wasn’t Erik going down the rope and escaping with his life while he had the chance? Erik was coming at him like a madman. Duncan kicked him in the head, hard enough to stun him. This time, Erik dropped like a stone. The sound of the splash was lost in the wind and the roar in Duncan’s ears.
Duncan feared Ragnall’s thin arms might be too tired to hold on to Duncan’s neck—and he just did not want to let go of him—so he started climbing up the rope one-handed. It was slow going, hauling the two of them up with one arm, then wrapping his feet in the rope to give him the leverage to push up and grasp the rope higher again.
Duncan’s hand slipped on the rope. Ragnall screamed as they dropped a foot before Duncan could brace his feet and stop their downward slide.
“It’s all right,” he said. “It’s all right.”
Damn it. His hand was wet with blood. Erik’s blade must have sliced his arm. Now every time Duncan moved up, he had to stop and wipe the blood on his shirt so he could grip the rope again.
Duncan was breathing hard when he finally reached the top and heaved himself up to the window. The light from the lamp still burned in the turret room with a welcoming glow. When he looked down to lift Ragnall inside, he saw that the boy’s eyes were squeezed shut and his fingers were latched on to Duncan’s shirt like barnacles on to a rock.
“You can let go now, son,” Duncan said. “We made it.”
* * *
Erik fixed his gaze on the castle he had lost while Hugh’s boat carried him farther and farther away. As he watched the castle’s outline disappear against the dawn light, he thought of all the wasted years. He had devoted himself, utterly and completely, sacrificing all else to his goal of rising from his poor beginnings to the exalted position of keeper of one of his clan’s strongholds.
In one night, that damned Duncan MacDonald had ruined everything. Erik had escaped with his life and nothing else. After losing Trotternish Castle, he would never have the respect of his chieftain or clan again.
It did not improve Erik’s mood to know that he had the slippery devil standing next to him to thank for his escape. He was tempted to kill Hugh Dubh for that black favor.
“You’ll want revenge.” Hugh said.
“Revenge,” Erik repeated, and the word tasted sweet on his tongue.
“I know how ye can get it,” Hugh said.
A new purpose took root in the ashes of his ruin. Erik would pursue it as ruthlessly as he had pursued his ambition to rise in his clan.
He would destroy Duncan MacDonald and everyone he cared about.
Chapter 40
Moira was not in the best of moods. She was unaccustomed to sleeping with cows, and Teàrlag’s had mooed half the night. Then black rain clouds had blown in as they sailed out from her cottage this morning. After searching the coastline for hours, they had not seen a sign of the missing pair or the boat they had stolen.
Moira was frozen and drenched. At least the rain was washing the smell of cow off her. And she was learning to sail.
“The weather is getting worse,” Niall said, watching the sky to the west. “Perhaps we should turn back.”
“No.”
“Then watch for a fire along the shore,” Niall said with a sigh in his voice. “They’re in that small boat. They will have gone ashore to wait for the weather to clear.”
Two hours later, they were nearing the point of the peninsula, and the storm was blowing full force.
“Teàrlag must have been wrong about them sailing south,” Niall said. “We should head back to Dunscaith.”
“Just a bit longer.” Moira wiped the rain from her eyes as she searched the shore. “Niall! Look there, is that a fire?”
The column of smoke was barely distinguishable through the rain and gray light of the winter afternoon.
“Aye, it is,” Niall said. “Let me talk to Fergus when we land. He and I are near in age, and we trained together.”
As Niall brought the boat into shore, Moira could make out two figures huddled together under a plaid by the fire. Relief flooded through her. They had found Fergus and Rhona at last.
“Fergus!” Niall shouted. “It’s me, Niall!”
Rhona and Fergus got to their feet and appeared to be arguing. But then, Fergus put his arm around Rhona and waved back at Niall.
As soon as the galley scraped bottom, Moira jumped out into the rough surf. Though Duncan’s boat was a s
mall galley, it was a struggle for just the two of them to pull it in because of Niall’s injured leg. As Moira tugged it in, she turned her head to glance up at Fergus by the fire, hoping he would lend a hand.
Just when she looked, Fergus crumpled to the sand. Then Rhona took off at a dead run. Moira’s mind felt slow as she tried to comprehend what had just happened on the beach. All she knew for certain was that she did not want Rhona to get away.
“Sàr, get her!” she shouted.
The wolfhound leaped into the water with a great splash and then loped like a deer across the beach in the direction Rhona had gone. As soon as they had the boat safely on the shore, Moira scrambled up to Fergus, who was still lying prone next to the fire.
Niall joined her and fell to his knees on the other side of the moaning man. When he saw the blood pouring from Fergus’s throat, he pressed his hand against the wound.
“Fergus, what happened?” Niall asked.
“She stabbed me,” Fergus said, his eyes wide with incomprehension. “Why would she do that? She said she loved me.”
Niall met Moira’s eyes, and she could see that he thought Fergus could not be saved. Though Niall was only seventeen, he was an experienced warrior and had seen death often enough to know.
A mix of sorrow and rage swamped Moira. She took Fergus’s hand and held it to her cheek. Such a waste of a young man’s life!
“Can ye tell us where Rhona was taking ye?” she asked in a soft voice.
“She said she had never sailed past Castle Maol before,” Fergus said in a fading voice.
Moira and Niall exchanged another look. Castle Maol was the stronghold of the MacKinnons, who were close allies of the MacLeods.
“Rhona begged me to take her.” Fergus’s voice was so weak now that Moira had to lean close to hear him. “I knew we weren’t supposed to leave Dunscaith, but she said…”
Tears blurred Moira’s vision as she watched the light leave Fergus’s eyes.
“I never would have believed Rhona was capable of this,” Moira said, wiping her nose on her sleeve.
“I wonder what is at Castle Maol,” Niall said, “that Rhona believes is worth murder.”
A burst of barks and a woman’s screams filled the air.
“I intend to find out,” Moira said and leaped to her feet.
“Wait for me.” Niall grimaced as he struggled to stand. “She’s dangerous.”
Moira took Niall’s arm and helped him up. Together they followed the barks and shrieks over the rough ground toward the thick shrubs that grew near the shore. When they broke through the tangle of brush, Moira saw that Sàr had Rhona backed up against a boulder. The wolfhound was so tall that his snapping jaws were level with Rhona’s chest, and he clearly had the woman terrified.
“Sàr, by me!” Moira shouted.
When Moira took hold of the wolfhound’s rope collar, he moved back, but a low growl still rumbled in his throat.
“We should let the wolfhound rip ye apart with his teeth after what ye did to Fergus,” Niall said.
Rhona looked Niall up and down with a sneer on her face. “Ye don’t have it in ye to kill a woman.”
“I do,” Moira said, barely containing her rage.
Rhona met Moira’s gaze, and her sneer faded. “Duncan always underestimated how tough ye are.”
“Tell me why ye were headed to Castle Maol,” Moira said.
“I was going to visit some acquaintances,” Rhona said.
“You’re not some Lowland noblewoman who ‘visits acquaintances,’” Moira said, taking a step toward her. “I know you’ve been spying for my uncle Hugh because I saw ye with him.”
That revelation appeared to startle Rhona.
“’Tis all your fault,” Rhona said. “If ye hadn’t left your husband and taken Duncan away from me, I never would have gone back to Hugh.”
“You’ve never had a shred of loyalty,” Moira said, and suddenly she knew what Rhona had done seven years ago. “It was you who told my father about Duncan and me, wasn’t it?”
Rhona laughed. “So ye finally figured that out?”
“What information did ye give Hugh?”
“There wasn’t much I could tell him except that Duncan had disappeared again,” Rhona said with a shrug. “Hugh already knew that Connor was getting the men and galleys ready to set sail. He figured they were going to attack Trotternish Castle and said he was leaving to warn the MacLeods.”
“I understand how you could betray me,” Moira said. “But how could ye betray your clan—and murder poor Fergus? He thought you loved him.”
“Love?” Rhona scoffed. “That’s not what men want.”
“So what did you want from Hugh?” Moira asked. “He must have promised ye something.”
“When Hugh becomes chieftain, he’s going to make me mistress of Dunscaith,” Rhona said, lifting her chin. “Perhaps I’ll let ye be my maid.”
“You’re a fool if ye believe Hugh would do that,” Moira said.
“If Hugh has gone to Trotternish,” Niall said, “why were you going to Castle Maol?”
Rhona looked back and forth between Niall and Moira. Clearly, this was the one question she did not want to answer.
“I will do whatever I must to protect this clan.” Moira pulled out her dirk. “Duncan taught me how to kill a man with this. If ye have a heart, I imagine it’s in the same place.”
“Ye can’t stop Hugh with just the two of ye,” Rhona said, but her eyes were fixed on Moira’s dirk.
“Tell us now!” Moira demanded and took a step forward with Sàr.
Rhona held her hands up. “Keep that beast away from me!”
“If ye want to live,” Moira said, “you’d best tell me quick what I want to know.”
“Hugh said that Connor’s forces would be greatly weakened after the battle for Trotternish Castle, whether they won or lost,” Rhona said, her gaze shifting between Moira’s blade and Sàr’s teeth. “He plans to lie in wait for them north of Castle Maol and ambush them as they sail home.”
Castle Maol overlooked the narrow strait between Skye and the mainland. The MacDonald boats would have to sail through it to return home from Trotternish.
“And I felt sorry for ye because I thought ye truly cared for Duncan,” Moira said. “You’d have him killed, along with all our men.”
“Hugh says he only wants Connor,” Rhona said. “He promised me he won’t harm Duncan.”
“And ye believed him?” Moira asked, her voice rising high in disbelief. “You and Hugh deserve each other. You’re both liars, traitors, and murderers.”
“We should bury Fergus before we leave,” Niall said, then tilted his head toward Rhona. “But what do we do with her?”
* * *
“This is a great day for the MacDonalds of Sleat!” Connor shouted as he stood before all the men in the hall, flanked by Duncan, Ian, and Alex. “Thanks to Duncan Ruadh Mòr, the finest captain of the guard any chieftain ever had, we have taken this castle that was stolen from us.”
The MacDonald warriors raised their fists, and the floor vibrated with their shouts. “Duncan Ruadh! Duncan Ruadh!”
Duncan raised his claymore to acknowledge their cheers. He felt gratified that they had taken the castle with so little loss of life, but the close call with Ragnall still weighed heavily on him.
“Our former MacLeod guests have kindly left our kitchens well-stocked,” Connor called out. “So today we feast on MacLeod hare, pork, and mutton.”
“I’m looking forward to finding out if MacLeod whiskey is as good as they say,” Alex said, causing a round of laughter.
The day was young, but the men had been up all night with the attack and were starving. While the others enjoyed their celebration fueled by victory, trays laden with roasted meats, and whiskey that was as fine as the MacLeods claimed, Connor signaled to Ian, Alex, and Duncan to follow him out of the hall.
On his way, Duncan stopped to speak to Sarah, who sat at the end of one of the benches eatin
g.
“Why did ye not leave with the others?” he asked as he knelt beside her.
Connor had kept the captured MacLeod warriors as hostages, but he had allowed the servants and all the women and children to gather their belongings and leave the castle. Duncan was annoyed with himself for not noticing that the child had been left behind.
“I want to stay here with Ragnall,” she said, swinging her legs. Sarah was so small that her feet did not touch the floor. “How long will he be asleep?”
“Ragnall is tired after…what happened,” Duncan said. “You should be with your own clan.”
Sarah shrugged, apparently unconcerned about being stranded in a roomful of warriors from her enemy clan. Duncan sighed. It would not be easy returning her to the MacLeods now. She would probably have to remain here until a deal was made for the hostages.
“Tormond.” Duncan waved over a young warrior who had half a dozen younger sisters at home. “You’ll look after Sarah until we get some of our own women here.”
When Tormond looked as if he would complain, Duncan gave him a hard look, and the young man closed his mouth.
Duncan went up the stairs and found Connor, Ian, and Alex in deep discussion in the chamber that had been Erik’s a few hours earlier.
“I’ve decided to remain here and make Trotternish Castle my home,” Connor said as Duncan was lowering himself into the empty chair at the small table.
Duncan sat down hard. “Stay here? Why?”
“By making this the chieftain’s castle, I’m sending a message to the MacLeods, the Crown, and our own people that I mean to hold this castle—and to take all of Trotternish Peninsula back for our clan,” Connor said.
“That will make the MacLeods all the more determined to retake this castle,” Ian said.
“Let the MacLeods come,” Connor said. “I will not hide from this fight or let others stand before me. I am chieftain, and I’ve made my decision.”
Duncan saw that it was no use pointing out the risk to Connor’s safety. From their faces, he could tell that Ian and Alex had already made the argument and lost.
“Duncan, I need you to take charge of Dunscaith,” Connor said.
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