Moon Shadows

by Nora Roberts

  “How can you be certain of that?”

  “I can see it in his eyes, Father. And in the hard line of his mouth whenever he speaks of them. He warned me to keep close to our fortress in the days to come, for he fears that Rothwick grows bolder and closer each day.”

  The old man shifted uncomfortably, pulling away. “I’ve lain abed too long. It is time for me to rise up and assume my place as protector of my home and family.”

  Alana lay a hand on his arm. “Your health is no longer robust. I can manage, Father.”

  “I have no doubt you can manage most things, my child. If a strong will were all that was needed, I’d have no fear. But Highlanders with a stronger will than yours have found themselves at the point of Rothwick’s sword.” He sighed. “I know you mean well, but war is the business of men.”

  “And ’tis women who must reap what their men sow.”

  He gave her a long, steady look. “I am not as ignorant of the situation as you may think. Brin has told me of the widows and orphans who have been given refuge within our walls. You make me proud, Alana.”

  She lowered her head. “Thank you, Father. And I’m sorry that I haven’t taken you into my confidence. I didn’t want to add to your burden.”

  He cleared his throat. “Send Lochaber to my chambers on the morrow.”

  She arched a brow. “For what reason?”

  “ ’Tis customary for a laird to discuss his battle plans with his man-at-arms before the enemy is at the door.” Seeing the doubt in her eyes he closed a hand over hers and squeezed. “I know I’ve failed you in the past, Alana, but . . .”

  She stopped him with a finger over his mouth. “Don’t ever think that, Father. There was a time when you were the finest warrior in the Highlands. But even the laird of lairds cannot fight the ravages of time.”

  He sighed. A long deep sigh that seemed to come from the depths of his soul. “No matter. You will send Lochaber to me on the morrow.”

  She nodded and kissed her father’s cheek before returning to her chambers. But instead of lying on her pallet, she began to pace. The Dark Angel had been right. She couldn’t leave their protection in the hands of old men who could barely lift their heads from their pallets, and lads who, just yesterday, were playing games in the meadow. But could she do better? At least her father and old Lochaber had tasted battle. They knew what to expect. And the lads, though inexperienced, had the agility of youth. She had barely enough strength to lift a sword, let alone wield it in battle. Still, she had to come up with some means of defense for those in her care.

  On the morrow she would gather the women around to plan what they would do in the event of an attack. Those women too fearful to face actual battle would be made responsible for the safety of the children. Perhaps they could plan an escape route to the Lowlands. The rest would discuss ways to compensate for their size and lack of strength by finding places of concealment until the warriors were gone.

  If they had learned anything from the Dark Angel, it was this: One person, staying the course, could make a difference.

  She paused at her window and looked down at the land, silvered with dew in the moonlight. Despite the blood that had been shed in recent years, she loved this land with all her heart and soul. She would do whatever was necessary to keep it, and the people she loved, free of Rothwick’s tyranny.

  Seeing a slight movement beside the wall that encircled the fortress, she hurriedly snuffed out her candle. With her chambers in darkness she dropped to her knees before peering over the windowsill. For a moment the shadows seemed to blend together, and she began to berate herself for her foolishness. Just then the shadows separated, and she realized that someone was moving stealthily just inside the wall.

  She thought about waking the lads, Ingram, Jeremy, and Dudley. There was safety in numbers. Or was there? One clumsy misstep by a sleepy lad and their quarry would be alerted to their presence. She could lead unsuspecting lads to their death.

  Thinking better of it, she decided to go alone, hoping surprise would give her the advantage.

  She snatched up a knife and crept down the stairs.

  ROYCE took another turn around the fortress. Assured that there were no intruders, he wrapped an animal hide around himself for warmth and settled on the ground with his back to the wall. He was close enough to the gate that he would hear it open. With his senses finely tuned to the sounds of the night, he had no doubt he would detect any attempt by an intruder to scale the wall.

  He had just closed his eyes when he heard the slight movement of the door that led from the refectory. Surely the cook wouldn’t be out and about at this late hour.

  Through narrowed eyes he watched as a slim figure stepped into the moonlight, glancing about furtively.

  He recognized the woman Alana. Did she foolishly think to make her way about the countryside in the dark? And for what purpose?

  From his place of concealment he watched and waited. When she was close enough to overpower, he sprang up.

  She whirled and brought her hand in a quick arc. Before she could plunge her knife, strong fingers closed around her wrist in a viselike grip and her weapon dropped harmlessly to the ground.

  “You!” The word came out in a whoosh of air. “I saw you from my balcony and thought you were one of Rothwick’s warriors, come to do harm.”

  Anger had him dragging her close, until she could feel the sting of his hot breath on her temple. “If I’d been one of Rothwick’s men, you would already be dead. Why would you foolishly leave the safety of your fortress to face danger alone?”

  Stung by his temper, she lifted her head in a haughty gesture. “I feared waking the others.”

  “Save your fear for what really matters.” Now that he was touching her, he felt again the wave of intense heat he’d felt the first time he’d been this close to her, in the forest. Only now he knew how silken her hair felt. And found himself absorbing the wonder of the body pressed to his. All those soft curves fit so perfectly against him.

  Would her lips taste as sweet as her breath? It reminded him of the sweetest of summer nectar. The need to taste her became almost overwhelming.

  “Sir, why do you sneak into our fortress under cover of darkness?”

  Up close, her green eyes, blazing with anger, were like sparks from a fire. Just looking into them had his lips curving into a hint of a smile. “I feared the very thing I have now discovered to be true. Without a protector, the lot of you are unlikely to survive.”

  “Are you saying you’ve now decided to be that protector? Earlier you said you are but one man.”

  “One man, it would seem, is better than a handful of foolish women and lads who think themselves capable of taking on an army.”

  “Foolish women?” Mistaking the intensity of his gaze for anger, she lifted her chin in a manner worthy of a queen. “You will unhand me at once.”

  His smile grew, even while his fingers tightened on her upper arms. “And if I choose not to? What will you do then? Wither me with a look, as you do the lads in your care?”

  “You would mock me?” She tried to draw back, but the hands holding her were stronger than any she’d ever known.

  His voice softened. Deepened with feeling. “I would never mock you, my lady.”

  She sensed a sudden tension in him, as though he were holding himself together by a tenuous thread.

  His gaze moved from her eyes to her mouth, and in that instant she could feel the heat as surely as if his mouth were already upon hers.

  She became aware of him in a way she’d never been aware of any other man. The smoldering look in his eyes had her heart pounding with sudden wariness. But though she tried, she found she couldn’t look away from him.

  “Sir . . .”

  “It’s Royce.” He hadn’t meant to say that name. In fact, he hadn’t thought about his given name for many years now. It had been important to his survival to think of himself as more animal than man. But now, right this moment, nothing seemed impor
tant except the woman who was playing such havoc with his mind and body.

  Though he didn’t move, the fierce, hungry look in his eyes had everything changing between them.

  She could feel the tightly controlled passion that seemed to pulse through him, and from him to her, like waves of heat. The mere touch of his hands on her arms was turning her blood to molten liquid, searing her flesh until it felt damp with sheen.

  He lowered his head, but instead of kissing her, he pressed his face to her hair and breathed her in as an animal might.

  It was, for Alana, the most purely sensual thing she’d ever endured. Far more potent than any kiss.

  She was reminded of the way he’d touched her hair in the forest. With a sense of wonderment as simple as any child’s. But this was no lad. This was a man.

  The press of his face to her hair was sending heat spiraling through her with such force, she wondered that her bones didn’t simply melt.

  “Royce . . .”

  Hearing his name on her lips he lifted his head, and the look in his eyes was one of such darkness, she felt a tiny thread of fear.

  With her hands against his shoulders she tried to push away. “You must let me go.”

  “I cannot. A moment more.” His voice was so rough, she went very still, thinking him angry.

  He tangled his hands in her hair and drew her head back, staring into her eyes with such intensity, it had her poor heart pounding in her temples.

  His eyes darkened, and she realized that it wasn’t anger he was feeling, but something far different. That knowledge frightened her even while it excited her.

  As he continued staring into her eyes, a new and different sort of fear jolted through her. It wasn’t fear of this stranger, but rather a fear of her response to him. Never before had a man’s mere touch awakened such needs in her. Needs so potent, so primitive, she was actually trembling.

  Alana felt the quick, sharp tug of desire. Needs warred within her. The desperate need to have his hands on her. To feel his mouth on hers.

  The direction of her thoughts shook her to the core. Where had such things come from? Never before had a man made her feel this way. There was something about him, something so barely civilized, something that was not repellant, but rather highly erotic. Unlike the Highlanders who considered stolen kisses and courtship a game, the intensity burning through this man told her that courtship with him would be much more than a game. It would be all-consuming.

  From the dark look in his eyes, his needs, like hers, were real and raw and heartfelt. And at the moment, desperate for satisfaction.

  If he kissed her, she knew she would be lost.

  Despite the almost overpowering assault to her senses, she managed to find a moment of sanity amid the madness. “You must release me. Please,” she added to soften her plea. Even to her own ears the word sounded breathless.

  He lowered his hands to his sides and took a step back.

  She sucked in a quick breath, filling her lungs. “I must return to the fortress.”

  Though his breathing was strained, he gave a nod of his head. “I’ll walk with you as far as the door.”

  Once there, she paused, her hand on the knob. “Will you come inside?”

  She saw the hunger in his eyes and knew the answer even before he gave a quick shake of his head.

  She drew in a ragged breath. “I’ll say good night, then.”

  “Good night, my lady.”

  He stood perfectly still as she stepped inside and closed the door. When her footfall faded, he pressed his forehead to the door, wondering at the way his heartbeat still thundered.

  It had been a mistake to touch her. One simple touch had unleashed a floodgate, until he’d wanted more. He’d wanted all. And still did, if truth be told.

  He’d never believed that any passion could be stronger than the one that had nurtured him all these long years. But the need for justice was nothing compared to the need he’d experienced just now. He’d thought about ignoring the right or wrong of it and simply taking what he wanted, without regard to the consequences.

  Taking a deep, steadying breath, he began to walk the perimeter of the fortress. His legs, he noted, were trembling.

  There was no point in trying to sleep this night. Not while the feel of her slender body pressed to his was still causing an ache to his loins, and the smell of her still filled his lungs, taunting him with every step.

  Chapter 5

  “IF ye’ll fetch the others, my lady, I’m about to set the food on the table.” Old Brin lifted bread from the hearth, filling a basket, before slicing the last of the fowl she’d roasted on a spit over the fire.

  “There will be one more, Brin.” Alana removed the apron that covered her gown, carefully avoiding the old woman’s eyes. “The Dark Angel came to our fortress last night.”

  “And how would ye know that?”

  “I saw movement by the wall and went out to investigate.”

  The cook’s head came up sharply. “Alone?”

  “Aye. I was reluctant to wake the others.”

  “Not a wise thing, m’lady, in times like these. Ye’d do well to remember that there’s safety in numbers.”

  “Now you sound like the Dark Angel.”

  “He’d not be one to mince words. He scolded ye for yer foolishness, I’ll warrant.” The old woman was peering at her a little too closely.

  Alana felt her cheeks grow warm. “He did. And said that he plans to remain here as our protector.”

  “Praise heaven.” The old woman touched a hand to her heart. “Now we’ll have nothing to fear from Laird Rothwick’s warriors.”

  “He’s but one man, Brin.”

  “Aye. But what a man. If I were a lass again . . .” The old woman stopped and gave a girlish laugh. “Perhaps ye’d summon our protector to come in now and break his fast.”

  Alana stepped outside and looked around cautiously. She’d been putting off the moment when she would have to face Royce again. She had spent a long, distressing night thinking about their encounter, and the strange feelings he’d stirred in her. Perhaps she’d imagined it. Hadn’t her father always said she’d been a fanciful child? Or perhaps it was just the magic of the moment. A man, a woman, and the cover of darkness. Surely that was it. In the clear light of day he would seem like other men. No more, no less. And certainly not some mythical soul walking the earth in the guise of a man, slaying entire armies one at a time, and leaving all women who got too close trembling at his mere touch.

  She walked the perimeter of the wall and was forced to swallow a bitter disappointment at not finding him. Had he changed his mind and returned to the cover of the forest? Worse, had he been found by Rothwick’s men and taken captive?

  She was just turning back toward the fortress when she saw a blur of movement in the stream. While she watched, the man she’d been searching for rose up from the water and began to walk to shore. Though she knew she was intruding on his privacy, she simply could not turn away from the sight of that magnificent body, sheeting water with each step. If she’d thought him impressive clothed in animal skins, he was even more impressive in the flesh. His shoulders as wide as a crossbow, and his hair-roughened chest rippling with muscles. As he strode through the shallows her gaze was drawn to his muscular thighs, each one bigger around than her waist, and those long, long legs, making him stand a head taller than most Highlanders. She had never seen a more perfect warrior.

  He turned away, lifting a fur from the ground and draping it at his waist before closing a hand around the long black hair streaming down his back. As he tied it with a strip of hide, she caught sight of the wicked scar that had, until that moment, been hidden from her view.

  The skin between his shoulder blades was rough and puckered, as though it had been ripped open by an angry claw and left exposed until it had healed with ropes of twisted, knotted seams. Each time he flexed his arms, fitting them into the fur tunic, the scar stretched and tightened, looking as raw as if it
were freshly carved into his flesh.

  When at last he turned and caught sight of her, she had to fight for composure.

  He took a moment to strap on his sword and tuck a dirk at his waist and another in his boot before striding closer. “Good morrow, my lady.”

  He was staring at her with the same intensity that had made her feel so uncomfortable the previous night.

  There was the merest hint of a smile in his eyes. “Had I known you were here, I could have waited for you to join me. Though I doubt you came here just to watch me bathe.”

  She felt the rush of heat and hated that her cheeks were betraying her “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to intrude. We are ready to break our fast, and we would welcome you at our table.”

  She turned away and he easily matched his strides to hers, walking so close beside her, she could feel the brush of his arm on hers. It only added to her discomfort.

  “Did you see any of Rothwick’s warriors during the night?”

  He gave a quick shake of his head. “I heard horses and knew they were close. But though they followed the curve of the wall, they made no attempt to breach it.”

  “How can you know that for a fact?”

  He arched a brow. “I remained on my side of the wall and matched their movements. It was easy enough to do because they made no effort to conceal themselves, thinking they were alone in the darkness. If they had slowed, or paused, or tried to scale the wall, they would have tasted my welcome with both sword and knife.”

  “The element of surprise much like that which I’d attempted last night.”

  At her words he paused. This time he did smile, and she was amazed at how it transformed him. For the first time, there was something besides pain in his eyes. Eyes that actually sparkled with humor.

  “The difference, my lady, is that I never revealed myself to my opponent.” His smile grew. “Whereas you walked so close, I could hear you breathe.” He reached out a finger and tipped up her chin, staring down into her eyes, watching them widen at the boldness of his touch. His voice lowered, softened. “Just as I can hear you breathe now.”