The image of Dunscaith, sitting on its rock island with the sea and mountains behind it, came into Duncan’s head. It was the castle where Scáthach, the mythical warrior queen, had her legendary school for heroes. There was no place on earth Duncan loved more.
“’Tis an honor beyond me,” Duncan said.
“No, ’tis an honor you deserve,” Connor said.
“I swear to you,” Duncan said, thumping his fist against his chest, “no one will take Dunscaith from our clan so long as I am keeper.”
“There is one condition,” Connor said raising his finger. “Ye must marry my sister in a fortnight, and I’ll return to Dunscaith then to make sure ye do.”
Relief and joy spread through Duncan. If he could give Moira Dunscaith, she would never leave him.
“If Moira gives ye any trouble about it, you can tell her that I command it,” Connor said.
“You tell Moira that, and I’ll wager she won’t wed ye for another six months, no matter how much she wants to,” Alex said, and the others laughed.
“I fear it would work against me,” Duncan agreed.
“Let’s set sail for home,” Ian said, putting his hand on Duncan’s shoulder. “The defense of the Sleat Peninsula depends on us—and I miss my wife.”
Chapter 41
Erik glared at Hugh’s men. Their drunkenness and lack of discipline—which began with Hugh himself—disgusted him.
“Don’t mix with them,” Erik said, returning his attention to the dozen MacLeod warriors still under his command. While most of his men had been at Trotternish Castle at the time of the attack, Erik had kept a smaller group in a former MacDonald settlement on the east coast of Trotternish Peninsula to maintain control there. It had been an easy matter to collect the men on the way to this end of the island.
Despite Hugh’s slovenly ways, Erik had to admire the man’s cleverness. His plan to ambush the MacDonalds as they sailed through this narrow strait on their route home was brilliant. After taking the MacDonalds by surprise and killing their chieftain, they would sail around the Sleat Peninsula and take Dunscaith Castle.
Hugh was an untrustworthy snake, but then, so was Erik.
After they took Dunscaith, he was going to kill Hugh and take control of the MacDonald stronghold himself. A dozen disciplined MacLeod warriors were worth fifty of Hugh’s men, who were clanless pirates. Once Hugh was dead, most of them would slither away.
By taking the legendary fortress of the MacDonald chieftains, Erik would redeem himself with his chieftain and his clan. And he would have his revenge as well. Hugh had told him that Duncan was likely to remain at Trotternish as its keeper, so Duncan would not die in the ambush.
Erik smiled to himself. The revenge he had planned would be far worse than death for Duncan MacDonald. When Erik took Dunscaith Castle, he was going to cut off Moira MacDonald’s head and have it dumped at the gate of Trotternish Castle.
* * *
“There’s Castle Maol, up ahead.” Niall pointed with one hand while he held the rudder with the other.
Moira’s heart went to her throat as she looked at the MacKinnon stronghold, which stood on a headland overlooking the strait between the Isle of Skye and the mainland.
“The strait is so narrow that it makes a perfect place to trap our boats,” Moira said. “Perhaps we should have brought Rhona. She might have been able to show us where Hugh has set his ambush.”
They had left Rhona where they found her and pushed the little boat she stole out to sea.
“Well, I know I slept better when we camped last night not having to worry about her slitting my throat,” Niall said, sounding cheerful. “Besides that, she would have tried to cause trouble and alert Hugh once we got here.”
“You’re right,” Moira said. “We’re better off with her stranded miles away.”
“Our men won’t be expecting an attack from MacKinnon lands,” Niall said. “We had some trouble with the MacKinnons shortly after the four returned from France, but none since.”
“Will the MacKinnons let Hugh attack our boats from their lands?” Moira asked.
“The MacKinnons don’t want a clan war with us, but they’re not our friends,” Niall said. “They’ll turn a blind eye to Hugh’s boats and afterward pretend they didn’t know Hugh was there or why.”
Moira’s heart raced as their boat approached the MacKinnon castle. She half expected to hear the guards on the walls shout the alarm.
“You’ve heard of Saucy Mary?” Niall asked.
“Tell me about her.” Moira knew the tale, but she was grateful for the distraction.
“They say that Castle Maol was built in the old days by the Norse invaders, and it came to the MacKinnons through the marriage of their chieftain to a Norse princess, known as Saucy Mary. This princess and her MacKinnon husband exacted a toll from all the boats that passed through this strait. Some say they forced the toll by tying a line of boats together from Castle Maol to the mainland, while others say it was an iron chain. Either way, the sailors happily paid. When they gave up their coin, they would look up at the castle, and Saucy Mary would reward them by exposing her ample breasts.”
The humorous tale seemed in marked contrast to the dark and ominous keep standing guard over the strait.
“If the MacKinnons try to stop us,” Niall said, “you can distract them by doing what Saucy Mary did.”
“Saucy Mary mustn’t have minded getting her ample attributes wet,” Moira said and pulled her cloak over her head against the rain.
“Don’t tell Duncan I suggested that,” Niall said.
Moira was about to say that it was no one’s business but her own what she did—not that she wanted to expose her breasts to strangers—but she stopped herself. Duncan did not try to tell her what to do because he took pleasure in controlling her like Sean did, but because he wanted to protect her. Of course, that did not mean he was not misguided in his concern or that she would do as he wished.
Perhaps Moira could learn something from Saucy Mary. When Duncan found out what she was doing now, baring her breasts might not be a bad trick to distract him.
They were right beside the castle now, sailing mere yards from the walls of the formidable fortress. Moira held her breath. When they glided past without incident, she let it out and sent up a quick prayer of thanks. Then she looked up the coastline for Hugh’s boats.
“Where do ye suppose Hugh has set his ambush?” Moira asked. The strait was so narrow here that she could almost throw a stone from the boat and hit either side.
“That’s where I would be if I were Hugh.” Niall pointed to a tree-covered point that jutted out into the strait some distance ahead. “They could hide their boats on this side of the point where our galleys coming into the strait from the north would not see them and post lookouts on the other side to watch for our boats’ sails.”
Moira imagined a murderous spray of arrows launched from the trees pelting a passing boat at close range. Aye, the point was the perfect place for an ambush.
“Our problem now is that Hugh knows this little galley of Duncan’s,” Niall said.
It was an unusual boat, smaller than a war galley, and specially built for speed and maneuverability.
“Hugh’s men are probably waiting at the point now,” Moira said. “How do we get past them to warn our men before they sail into the ambush?”
“Either we wait until dark to sail by—”
“But it’s only morning,” Moira objected. “Tonight could be too late.”
“Or we go ashore here and circle behind Hugh’s men by foot,” Niall said. “We can climb that hill that rises behind the point and come out well up the shore, where we can watch for our boats and hail them.”
“That’s what we’ll have to do,” Moira said.
Niall steered their boat into a small cove. When he jumped out of the boat, Moira caught the grimace on his face and knew his leg was paining him. After they dragged the boat up under the shrubs to hide it, Niall sat do
wn on a rock.
“Let’s have a look at that leg.” Moira knelt beside him pushed his knee-length tunic up his thigh before he could object.
“It’s fine,” Niall said. “I just need to rest it a wee bit before we start up the hill.”
“Ach, blood is coming through the bandage.” Moira unwound the bandage and sucked in her breath when she saw the wound. “Oh, Niall. You’re not walking anywhere on this leg.”
The wound had broken open completely, and it looked bad.
“Just bind it up again,” Niall said, his eyes intent on hers. “We must warn our men of the ambush.”
“I can do it alone.” When Niall started to object, she said, “It’s a stroll through the woods—I’m not having ye die just to keep me company.”
“I’m going with ye,” Niall said and started to get up.
Moira put her hands on his shoulders. “I’ll be much faster without ye. If ye want to save the others, you’ll stay here.”
Chapter 42
Moira helped Niall make a lean-to using a blanket she found in the boat. The rain had eased to a drizzle, so it should serve well enough to keep him dry.
“I want ye to rest while I’m gone,” she said as she cut strips from her shift for a new bandage. “Ye should have told me the wound had reopened.”
She looked at his pale face and wondered how long he had been hiding it from her. Ach, men.
“We should sail past Hugh’s men tonight instead of you doing this alone,” Niall said, but they both knew that if all had gone well at Trotternish, their boats should be passing through the strait today.
“Don’t fret. ’Tis a wee walk through the woods, and I’ll have Sàr with me.” Moira brushed Niall’s hair back and kissed his forehead. “You’ve become a fine man, Niall MacDonald, and I’m proud to call you cousin.”
He was a worry to her, but there was no more she could do for him now. When she climbed out from under the shelter of the lean-to, Sàr was waiting for her. He gave her a forlorn look from beneath his shaggy brows. But when she whistled to him, he followed her up the hill.
Moira knew she was walking into danger. As she made her way up the steep hill through the trees, she thought about all the times she had stood on the beach in Ireland, longing to take her son home to her clan on Skye where they would be safe. Then she thought of the peril awaiting the returning warriors. If Hugh succeeded, her clan would be destroyed and none of them would be safe. Not Connor, not her cousins Ian, Alex, and Niall, not Duncan, and not her son.
Moira regretted so much. At long last, she and Duncan could have been together, if she had been able to forgive him for the past. She had been too bruised and too fearful to trust him. But when she remembered how he looked at her while he sang the song about his dark-haired love, she knew in her heart that he did truly love her. If she lived to see him again, she would not waste another day denying their bond.
Moira squeezed the hilt of her blade as she marched up the hill. She intended to live a long life with Duncan and Ragnall. When this was over, she was going to be the damned happiest woman in all of Scotland, and nothing and no one was going to stop her.
The sound of male voices brought her attention abruptly back to the present. She signaled to Sàr to stay close and be quiet. Then she crept a few paces down the hill to peer through an opening in the trees.
O shluagh! Hugh’s men were no more than thirty yards below her. They appeared to be enjoying themselves, throwing dice and drinking around campfires, as if they were celebrating a feast day instead of waiting to murder her kin. But then, Hugh’s pirates were rough, clanless men who raided the coasts and stole winter stores from poor folk whose children would go hungry. And woe to any women they caught.
Hugh had far more men than Moira expected, which made it all the more important that she not fail to warn her returning clansmen.
Moira climbed higher up the hill to make a wider circle around their camp. When she was above the trees, she scanned the sea to the north. Far out on the horizon, the sky had cleared, and streaks of sunlight shone on the sails of three galleys. They were too far away for Moira to recognize them, and yet she knew they were the MacDonald boats returning from Trotternish.
Down in the trees, the men would not be able to see the galleys yet, but it would not be long before their lookouts spotted them. Moira’s heart pounded. She had to get to the shore north of the ambush in time to signal her brother’s boats.
She ran as fast as she could across the side of the hill with Sàr on her heels. Her lungs hurt, and her breath came in deep gasps, but she kept running. She flicked her gaze back and forth between Hugh’s camp and the arriving boats, trying to judge how soon she dared to drop down to the shore. She had to go down soon enough to warn the MacDonald boats but not so soon that Hugh’s men could reach her and haul her away before she gave the warning.
* * *
Erik had not risen from nothing by being slack. While Hugh relied on a couple of lookouts to watch the passage into the straits—and threw dice and drank with the rest of his men—Erik remained vigilant to every sound around him.
That was why he was the only one who saw the dark-haired lass slipping through the trees high above them. A shiver went up his back when he saw the beast following on her heels. For a moment he thought the hounds from hell were coming for him, but it was only one of those giant dogs from Ireland.
The woman was probably a local lass on an errand. But there was an urgency in her step that made him suspicious. And that dog was all wrong. A warrior who ignored his instincts did not live long, so he followed her. He did not owe his men an explanation and gave them none.
After the lass went above the tree line, she began running. Erik ran on a parallel path below her, keeping in the trees. After half a mile through rough terrain, in which she did not slacken her pace, she dropped down through the trees. He hid behind a boulder so she would not see him.
A low growl snapped Erik’s attention away from her. As he turned, he picked up a large rock. The dog was ten feet from him, with his teeth bared. Before it could spring on him, Erik hurled the rock. It hit the dog between the eyes and dropped the animal to the ground.
As one of the greatest MacLeod warriors who ever lived, it was not Erik’s fate to be killed by a damned dog, no matter how large.
He turned back in time to see the lass run by him as she came down the hill—and he caught his breath. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her eyes were an unusual violet color, her lips were full and red, and her hair was black as midnight. It was a testament to the startling beauty of her face that he was able to take his eyes off her voluptuous curves.
She continued past him and did not slow to a walk until she reached the shore. Despite her dirty gown, this was no farmer’s daughter. She held herself with the self-assurance of a princess. Erik would wager his life that this lass was close kin to a chieftain. Very close kin—a wife, a sister, or a daughter. And usually, if a woman was one, she was all three.
So what was this gorgeous, highborn lass doing here? When he followed her gaze and saw the three MacDonald war galleys sailing into the strait, he knew at once who she was. The MacDonald chieftain had no wife. This had to be his sister, Moira MacDonald, a lass famed throughout the isles for her beauty.
Erik almost regretted that he was going to slit her throat.
* * *
Moira climbed up on a rock and waved her arms. The galleys were only fifty yards away. The wind filled their sails, and they were moving fast. She glanced over her shoulder. She thought she had come far enough that Hugh’s men could not see her, but she could not be sure.
Were the MacDonald men blind? She was beginning to wonder if she would have to show her breasts like Saucy Mary to get their attention, when the first boat finally veered toward her. As it drew close to shore, she saw that the man standing in the bow was not her brother or Ian. It was Duncan!
Joy filled her heart as Duncan sprang over the side of the galley. W
hile he ran toward her through the surf, she jumped off the rock and, clutching her skirts in her hands, raced across the beach to meet him. When they collided, she leaped into his arms, and he lifted her off her feet in a crushing embrace.
“What in God’s name are ye doing here?” Duncan asked as he squeezed the life out of her.
Then he kissed her, and everything felt right again. The beach, the pirates, all her fears and worries faded away, and she felt safe and loved.
“Are you two ever going to stop?”
When they reluctantly broke the kiss, Moira saw that Ian was standing beside them and that the two other boats had come to shore.
“Now then,” Ian said, folding his arms, “perhaps Moira can enlighten us regarding how in the hell she came to be here—and why.”
“Niall and I came to warn ye that you’re sailing into a trap,” Moira said. “Hugh has his men hidden just ahead on that point, waiting to ambush ye.”
While Moira went on to explain about Niall, it occurred to her that Duncan would not be returning home unless they had lost the battle for Trotternish Castle. Ach, poor Duncan. He would lay all the blame for the loss on himself.
Then she noticed that one of the galleys was missing. Dear God, how many of their men had perished? Moira looked for her brother among the MacDonald warriors who were now crowding the beach. Tears sprang to her eyes when she did not see him.
“Where is Connor?” She could not make herself ask if her brother had been killed. “Is he hurt?”
“Connor is safe and well,” Duncan said, squeezing her shoulders. “I’ll tell ye all about what happened after we deal with Hugh and his pirates.”
“Is there anything else ye can tell us about this ambush?” Ian said to her.
Moira told them quickly exactly where she had seen Hugh’s men camped and how many she guessed were there.
“Mother!”
Time stopped when Moira heard her son’s voice calling to her. When she turned, she saw Ragnall’s bright copper head leaning over the side of the boat Duncan had sailed in on.
The Warrior Page 24
