A thighearna bheannaichte! Blessed Lord!
“Don’t jump, I’ll come get ye,” Duncan called, and he trotted back to lift Ragnall out of the boat.
Moira’s knees felt weak as Duncan brought her son to her. Finally, she had Ragnall in her arms.
“Duncan brought ye safe to me,” she said as she held him close. “I missed ye so much!”
“We should go,” Ian said after a moment.
“You and you,” Duncan said, pointing to two warriors. “Stay and protect them with your lives.”
Duncan ruffled Ragnall’s hair, then swept Moira into one more kiss.
Moira held her son’s hand as she watched Duncan lead the MacDonald warriors up the hill. They reminded her of the wolves, running silent and swift through the trees.
Please God, watch over my love. Watch over them all.
* * *
Erik smiled to himself. The big, red-haired warrior had embraced Moira MacDonald as if she were his own bit of heaven. Finally, Erik’s luck had turned.
Ach, revenge would be sweet, indeed.
Chapter 43
Duncan ran through the trees, leaping over rocks and fallen logs, with Ian right behind him, until he neared the place where Moira said Hugh’s men were camped. After waiting for the other men to catch up, he signaled for them to be cautious, then crept forward. Hugh’s pirates were vile, but Duncan did not make the mistake of underestimating their fighting skills.
As soon as he spied the enemy camp, he waved at the men to spread out through the trees. They moved forward in silence, forming a net through which none of their enemy could pass.
Duncan exchanged glances with Ian. When Ian nodded, Duncan raised his claymore high over his head. When he brought it down, the MacDonalds stormed the camp shouting their battle cry, “Fraoch Eilean!”
The pirates scrambled for their weapons. Duncan swung his claymore in swift, powerful strokes and cut them down as they came at him in twos and threes.
While he fought, Duncan noticed a group of men who neither looked nor fought like pirates and worked his way toward them. He knocked the sword out of the hands of one of them and pinned him to the ground.
“Who are ye?” Duncan shouted in the man’s face. “A MacKinnon or a MacLeod?”
“I’m a MacLeod.”
“Who brought ye here?” Duncan demanded.
“Erik, the keeper of Trotternish Castle.”
Erik is here. As soon as Duncan heard of Hugh’s ambush, he should have known Erik would be part of it. He was not one to accept defeat lightly.
Anxiety balled in his stomach as he scanned the chaotic battle around him and did not see Erik. Although scores of men were in the camp, Duncan would see him if he were here. Erik was a man who stood out and gave orders.
Duncan gripped the front of the MacLeod warrior’s shirt. “Where is Erik?”
In the distance, he saw movement on the shore. True to their reputation for avoiding capture, some of the pirates were running for their boats now that the outcome of the battle was clear. And first among them was Hugh Dubh.
Duncan roared in frustration as he watched Hugh pushing off in his galley. When he turned his attention back to the MacLeod warrior whose chest he was sitting on, the man had terror in his eyes.
“I don’t know where Erik went,” the man said. “He went up the hill through the trees like he was stalking a doe.”
Duncan’s heart stuttered in his chest.
“Ian!” he shouted as he jumped to his feet. “I’m going back to our boats. Moira and Ragnall are in danger!”
Ian looked up from where he was tying a pirate’s hands while resting his knee on the man’s back. “Go! I’ll come as soon as I can!”
Duncan was already running. He jumped over a pair of men grappling on the ground and shoved a couple of others out of his way as he left the camp.
Duncan’s heart seemed to pound in time to his steps as he raced the half mile back to where he had left Moira and Ragnall. Though he had chosen two of his best warriors to guard them, he could not shake the feeling that he had left them exposed and vulnerable. As he ran, he prayed to every saint he could think of to protect them, and then he called on the faeries as well.
* * *
Erik was a patient man. He waited until he was certain the MacDonald warriors would have reached the point and be engaged in battle so that they would not hear any screams or shouts for help.
He fixed his gaze on the dark-haired lass and her son, who sat on a blanket leaning into each other and talking. Duncan MacDonald had made a grave mistake. Such a fine warrior should know that attachments to women and children make a man vulnerable. Erik would see to it that Duncan paid dearly for his weakness.
All the MacDonalds would pay. Erik would use the beautiful, dark-haired lass and her son to get back what belonged to him. And then he’d kill them slowly so that the knowledge of how they died would torture Duncan MacDonald for the rest of his days.
* * *
Moira sighed with happiness and smiled down at her son as she brushed his unruly red locks back from his forehead.
“I can’t wait to see Sàr again,” Ragnall said and rested his head against her.
“I brought him here with me,” she said. “He must have run off chasing a deer, but he’ll be back soon.”
In all the excitement, she had not noticed that the wolfhound had disappeared. That was odd. Though Sàr frequently went off alone, he had a keen sense of danger. She was surprised he had left her side with the pirates nearby.
“Get behind us!”
The shout of one of their guards startled Moira. She spun around and gasped when she saw a tall, heavily muscled warrior coming toward them with his claymore in his hands. The strange warrior carried himself like a man who was a formidable fighter and knew it. Though his hair was graying, his stomach was flat and the corded muscles of his arms and neck flexed as he swung the claymore from side to side.
But it was not his size that made Moira’s mouth go dry so much as his eyes. They were hard and cold—and exactly as she imagined Duncan’s looked when he fought an enemy. He held her gaze, as if the two warriors who stood between them were of no concern to him. Moira pulled her son closer.
“That’s Erik MacLeod,” Ragnall said under his breath.
Duncan’s father.
Erik moved so quickly that Moira did not even see his blade strike one of their guards, but suddenly the MacDonald warrior crumpled at her feet. When she looked down at his empty eyes and saw the blood seeping between his lips, she finally screamed.
The other guard was engaged in a desperate fight with Erik. Fear and panic gripped Moira, for she could foresee the outcome. Erik fought with a strength and easy agility that she recognized. It was obvious that Duncan’s natural skills as a warrior had come from his father.
The clank of swords meeting rang through the air as Erik forced the MacDonald warrior back and back again. For a moment it looked as though the MacDonald warrior had the better of Erik when Erik failed to block his sword. But Erik dropped low, letting his opponent’s blade slice through the empty air above him. Then Erik sprang to his feet and sank the blade of his dirk under the man’s breastbone.
Erik took his time wiping his blade on the shirt of the brave warrior he had just killed. Then he lifted his gaze to her. Moira’s blood froze at the smile of satisfaction in his eyes.
She pushed Ragnall behind her.
Chapter 44
Erik laughed to himself when the MacDonald lass pulled her dirk. She looked even prettier up close.
“Where’s your protector now?” he taunted her.
“Duncan is fighting the murdering scum you’re traveling with,” Moira said, her eyes spitting fire. “I suggest ye leave before he comes back.”
Erik chuckled again. She was a hot-blooded one.
“The murdering scum serve a purpose,” Erik said, resting his hands on his belt. “They’ll keep the MacDonalds busy while we disappear in one of their boats
.”
“We’re not going anywhere with ye,” Moira said.
The lad had his arms around his mother’s waist and peeked out from behind her to shout, “Ye touch us, and my father will kick ye in the head again!”
The little shite. Erik did not appreciate being reminded of that kick. He had blacked out and might have drowned if the freezing water had not jarred him awake. Erik felt better when he thought of how easy it would be to control the mother once he got his hands on the brat.
“Without us, ye have a chance of escaping,” Moira said.
“You can climb into the boat or I can toss ye into it,” Erik said. “Makes no difference to me.”
“If ye think you can take us and get away, then ye don’t know Duncan,” Moira said. “He’s relentless. He’d follow ye to the gates of hell to get us back.”
“The man does have a weakness for ye, I’ll grant ye that.” Erik was counting on it. “Would ye care to make a wager on whether he’ll give up Trotternish Castle to see ye alive again?”
“Ye can’t ask him to choose between his duty to the clan and to us,” Moira said, her eyes going wide with indignation.
The lass was amusing.
“I can do what I damned well want to,” Erik said. “We’ll find out soon enough which is more important to Duncan—you and the boy, or his ambition.”
Erik considered whether to kick the dirk from the lass’s hand. Ach, he’d just grab it.
“Ye don’t know who Duncan is, do ye?” Moira said, as Erik took a step toward her, and the gleam in her eye stopped him. “He didn’t tell ye.”
“I know who he is,” Erik said and spit on the ground. “He’s the MacDonald who stole Trotternish Castle from me.”
“He’s more than that to you.” Moira paused. “He’s your son.”
Erik was a trained warrior and hid his reaction, but he felt as if he had been punched in the gut.
“You’re lying,” he said.
“Ye stole his mother from the beach near Dunscaith Castle,” Moira said. “Her father was a MacDonald, but her grandfather on her mother’s side was a MacCrimmon piper.”
How did she know about the MacCrimmon piper’s granddaughter? That was years and years ago. Was it possible that what she said was true? No. And even if it was, what difference did it make?
“That lass caused me a good deal of trouble,” Erik said between his teeth. “Unfortunately for you, I don’t share Duncan’s weakness for lovers or kin.”
“Duncan is your son!” Moira’s violet eyes were intent on his, as if she thought she could make Erik believe that her words changed everything. But she was wrong.
“A man can always have another son,” Erik said. “A castle is considerably harder to come by.”
* * *
At last, Duncan saw the opening in the trees that led to the cove where he had left Moira and Ragnall. He pulled his claymore from the scabbard on his back.
He burst out of the trees at a full run—then came to a dead halt at the sight that met him on the beach. The two warriors he had left behind lay sprawled on the ground in the awkward positions of the dead. Moira and Ragnall stood alone on the shore with the man who had killed the two guards.
Duncan had found Erik MacLeod.
Moira and Ragnall were backed up against the side of one of the galleys and facing Erik, who stood a few short feet away from them with his back to Duncan. Since Erik had not killed them yet, Duncan assumed Erik meant to take them hostage. Duncan was too far away—he had to be cautious. If Erik saw him, he might well decide to kill them to make a quick escape before Duncan could reach them.
Ducking low, Duncan worked his way through the shrubs and tall grass that grew above the rocky shore until he was as close to the three on the beach as he could get without being seen.
Moira was speaking to Erik. Hopefully, she was trying to keep him calm. Duncan inched forward on his elbows through the tall grass. He wanted to hear what they were saying to better judge when to make his move.
“You disgust me!” Moira said. “You’re every bit as worthless as those pirates.”
Duncan could not risk waiting. Damn, Erik was too close to Moira and Ragnall. He would have to move very fast, or Erik could grab one of them to use as a shield.
“Duncan will send you straight to hell where you belong!” Moira shouted.
The instant Erik started forward, cocking his arm to strike her, Duncan sprang to his feet. He heard Moira shriek and Ragnall shout as he hurtled through the air. He and Erik crashed to the ground. Before Erik had time to stick his dirk in Duncan’s side, he rolled off Erik and onto his feet.
“Get up!” Duncan roared as he stood over his enemy. “We’re going to finish this now.”
Erik got to his feet slowly and, keeping his eyes fixed on Duncan, picked up his claymore.
“Moira told me you’re the son of that troublesome lass I took from the beach that day,” Erik said as they began circling each other. “She was a pretty thing, fair and slight as a faery child.”
Duncan swung so hard that when their swords met, the force of it vibrated up his arms.
“I enjoyed bedding her for a time,” Erik said. “But she grew tiresome.”
“My mother was a good woman.” Duncan swung his claymore, but Erik met his blade again. “You will pay with your life for the shame and misery ye brought her.”
Duncan was constrained by how close they were to Moira and Ragnall. As he and Erik clanked swords, he tried to ease Erik farther and farther away from them so that he could fight without caution.
“Ye knew she was with child when ye sent her to the MacCrimmons, didn’t ye?” Duncan said.
“It could have been anyone’s,” Erik said.
Duncan knew Erik was trying to goad him into making a mistake. But Duncan’s anger was like his sword—cold and hard and deadly.
“Your mother was weak,” Erik said. “I didn’t expect her to give me a son worth claiming.”
“The only good deed you ever did was not claiming me.”
Duncan knew that now. Having no father had given him a kind of freedom. As a lad, he had looked around him, at the good men and the bad among his clansmen, and made a choice about the kind of man he wanted to be.
“If I’d known ye would take after me, I would have claimed you,” Erik said.
“I don’t take after you in any way that matters.”
Duncan struck again and again, keeping one eye on Moira and Ragnall, who were caught between their swinging swords and the side of the galley.
“You’re the warrior ye are because ye have my blood,” Erik said, and then grunted with the effort of swinging his sword toward Duncan’s thigh.
Duncan blocked the swing and forced Erik back another step. Finally Duncan had enough distance from Moira and Ragnall to fight without worrying about them being harmed in the fray. He whirled and dodged, striking again and again in an uncontained fury.
Then Duncan came straight at Erik. Back and forth, back and forth, he swung his two-handed sword in deadly arcs. Though his opponent met each swing, Duncan was forcing him to step back and back again.
Erik was strong, but he was tiring under the onslaught of Duncan’s relentless blade. Duncan sensed the end of their battle drawing near. And for the first time, he wondered if he could kill his father. Aye, he would strike him dead without remorse if he needed to.
Erik deserved no mercy. But if Duncan could simply disarm him, he would.
Erik attempted to strike Duncan across the chest, and they crossed swords, arms straining and faces inches apart. As they leaned into each other, they were so close that Duncan could see the drips of sweat on Erik’s brow.
“You’re a MacLeod,” Erik said, his face and neck muscles straining with the effort of holding his sword against Duncan’s. “Claim your heritage and Trotternish Castle for the MacLeods!”
“I will live and die as a MacDonald,” Duncan said between his teeth and shoved Erik back with his sword.
; “So be it,” Erik said.
Duncan swung his sword with all his might toward Erik’s side. But Erik was quick for his years and at the last moment ducked under Duncan’s moving blade. Duncan knew what Erik was going to do next before Erik did. Mercy was no longer a choice. When Erik sprang back up with his dirk, Duncan’s was already in his hand, ready to plunge into Erik’s throat.
But just as Duncan was about to strike, he caught a glimpse of movement from the corner of his eye. It was Ragnall, and he was running straight for Erik.
Everything happened so fast that Duncan acted on pure instinct. He lunged for his son and caught him midair as Ragnall launched himself on Erik. After rolling on the ground with him, Duncan sprang to his feet, placing himself between Ragnall and where Erik had been the moment before. He managed to do it all without either of them being caught by Erik’s blade.
But his enemy had also moved quickly.
Erik held Moira against him, and his blade was at her throat. Duncan died a thousand deaths as he saw the fear in her eyes.
“Ye hurt her,” Duncan said, “and I’ll kill ye before ye take your next breath.”
“I believe I have the upper hand here, and I’m taking her with me,” Erik said as he dragged her toward the boat. “Make one move I don’t like, and I’ll slice the lass’s throat.”
“Don’t take the coward’s way out,” Duncan said. “Fight me.”
“There was a time when I could have taken ye,” Erik said. “But I don’t need to fight ye now that I have her.”
“Do ye care nothing for your own life?” Duncan asked. “If ye take her, I will track ye down and kill ye. Ye could never have taken me in your prime, and ye surely can’t now.”
Duncan held himself back, every muscle taut with the need to murder this man who dared threaten the woman he loved. But Erik was using Moira’s body as a shield, and his blade was a hairbreadth from her ivory neck.
“Ye set your sights even higher than I did, crawling into bed with your chieftain’s only daughter and getting her with child,” Erik said. “Shame it didn’t lead to the advantageous marriage ye hoped, but it was a grand scheme. Perhaps I’ll try it myself. “
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