M
oira blinked against the sting in her eyes at her fist sight of Dunscaith Castle sitting
majestically on its rock island off the headland. As they sailed nearer, the rain
cleared, revealing the green hills behind the castle and the purple mountains across
the bay to the northwest.
“I’d forgotten how beautiful it is,” she said. Growing up, Moira had taken both the
beauty of her home and her happiness for granted.
“Aye, ’tis a lovely sight,” Duncan said, standing beside her. “And Dunscaith is a
strong fortress as well.”
It had been easy to be fearless here.
The guards standing on the castle wall recognized Duncan’s boat and waved. Moira waved
back with both arms. At long last, she was coming home. If only Ragnall were here
with her, all would be well.
“Once I have my son safely behind the walls of Dunscaith,” she said, “he’ll never
be in danger again.”
“Ragnall has MacDonald blood in him,” Niall said from behind her, where he was sitting
with his injured leg propped up. “Once he’s grown, he’ll not be content to hide behind
walls when it’s time to fight.”
Moira was not going to think about that now.
“It looks as though the whole household is coming out to greet us,” Duncan said.
A steady stream of people were crossing the narrow bridge slung between Dunscaith
and the main island and coming down to the shore. Moira’s heart beat fast as she tried
to pick out her brother. Connor was chieftain now, so perhaps he would wait to greet
her formally in the hall.
Despite Duncan’s explanation for Connor’s failure to visit her, Moira felt uneasy
about whether he would be pleased to see her.
“Moira!”
She heard someone call her name, and then she saw Connor running into the surf to
meet the boat with his black hair blowing behind him. When he reached it, he held
out his arms to her. Laughing, she jumped down and threw her arms around his neck.
She thought of her beloved father and older brother Ragnall, who were not here, and
held on more tightly to Connor as he carried her to the beach.
“Welcome home,” Connor said and gave her a broad smile as he set her on her feet.
They held each other’s hands and leaned back to gaze at each other. Connor looked
much the same, lean and hard-muscled, but his face had sharper angles and the lankiness
of his youth had given way to a powerful presence.
“’Tis good to have ye back,” Connor said, and he seemed genuinely happy to see her.
“I’ll never leave again,” she told him. “Never.”
Connor raised an eyebrow, but then his gaze shifted to something behind her.
“Is that a horse or a dog with Duncan?” he asked with a laugh in his voice.
Moira turned and saw that Sàr, the traitor, had remained at Duncan’s side in the boat.
“That’s my son’s wolfhound.”
“Is Niall hurt?” Connor asked as Duncan helped Niall off the boat.
“Aye,” she said. “He would have died if not for Duncan.”
“Duncan is the best man to have with ye when trouble comes,” Connor said and ran off
to help him with Niall.
Moira proceeded to greet everyone who had come down to the shore to welcome her. From
the way they stared at her, she must have changed more than she realized. But the
women gave her affectionate smiles as Moira exclaimed over all the new babes and the
children grown up in her absence.
After some time, a brisk young woman in an ugly brown gown took her arm. “Ye must
be weary from your journey,” the young woman said. “Would ye like to go inside now?”
“Do I know ye?” Moira asked.
“I expect ye don’t recognize me because I was only eleven the last time ye saw me,”
the young woman said with a warm smile. “I’m Ilysa, Duncan’s sister.”
It was hard to believe this wisp of a lass was Duncan’s sister.
“I’m sure we can find one of your old gowns for ye to change into,” Ilysa said.
Moira looked down at the bedraggled garment she had worn through the disasters of
the last several days and laughed. No wonder everyone had stared at her. “A fresh
gown and a bath would be lovely.”
* * *
Duncan watched as their clansmen surrounded Moira, welcoming their returning princess
home. She had always been a favorite. Smiles and bursts of laughter followed her as
she worked her way slowly through the crowd. Moira spoke to each one, doing her duty
as a member of the chieftain’s family without making anyone feel that was why she
did it.
Sàr whined beside him.
“No need to fret,” Duncan said and patted the dog’s head. “She’s safe now.”
Duncan wondered if he had brought her to safety only to lose her. Now that they were
back among their clan, their time at the MacCrimmons seemed a world away. Perhaps
if Moira had given herself to him wholly, Duncan would know she wanted more than to
forget Sean for a few days. He had been patient, waiting for her to tell him she was
ready.
She never did.
Connor signaled to Duncan, Niall, and Ian to remain on the beach while the others
drifted back to the castle. Duncan watched Moira’s back as she and his sister walked
arm in arm up the hill to the castle’s bridge.
“’Tis safer to talk here,” Connor said when the beach was empty except for the four
of them. “The walls of Dunscaith have ears.”
“You and Moira both look like hell,” Ian said to Niall, who had his arm slung over
Ian’s shoulder to take the weight off his injured leg. “But I can tell somebody fed
ye well.”
“That would be Caitlin MacCrimmon,” Niall said in a wistful voice. “I’m in love with
her.”
This was a fairly common ailment for Niall, so they ignored the remark and went on
to discuss serious matters.
“I want to know why my sister has come home without her husband,” Connor said, “and
how she and Niall came to be injured.”
Connor’s expression grew darker and darker as Duncan told him of Sean MacQuillan’s
mistreatment of Moira and how Sean had died.
“There will be hell to pay for it, but ye did well to bring her home,” Connor said.
Duncan then gave a brief account of the storm and their stay with the MacCrimmons—leaving
out the parts that he and Moira spent naked. He gave Niall a hard look to encourage
him to keep his mouth shut about them sharing a cottage.
“Did ye learn anything about the MacLeods from the MacCrimmons?” Connor asked.
“I did,” Niall piped up. “The lasses who visited Caitlin’s cottage—that’s where I
stayed because she’s a healer—were loose-tongued about the MacLeods.”
Duncan felt Connor’s gaze on him and feared he was about to ask where he and Moira
had slept. Fortunately, Niall kept talking.
“They heard that the MacLeod chieftain left Dunvegan with a dozen of his war galleys,”
Niall said. “They didn’t believe he was going to his fortress on the isle of Harris,
because he left his wife and daughters behind.”
“People will say anything to my charming brother,” Ian said. “Especially twittering
lasses.”
“I wonder where the MacLeod was going with so many war galleys,” Connor said, narrowing
his eyes. “If he was attacking us, he would already be here.”
“If ever there was a time for us to try to take Trotternish,” Duncan said, “’tis now,
while Alastair MacLeod and hundreds of his warriors are away causing trouble for some
other clan.”
The others were quiet for a long moment as they considered his suggestion.
“We must take the castle first,” Ian said. “Without it, we have no hope of taking
the peninsula—or of holding it once we do.”
“I agree,” Connor said. “We’ve all been inside the castle, but we know nothing about
how many men the MacLeods have there, how well trained they are, or what sort of man
commands them. We could have a bloodbath going in blind.”
“Shame we don’t have spies there,” Ian said. “That’s one lesson we could learn from
Hugh.”
“Aye,” Connor said. “What I wouldn’t give to know if the MacLeods had shored up that
weak wall my father never had repaired.”
Niall had been glancing at Duncan ever since Connor had mentioned the keeper of the
castle. Duncan hesitated to tell what he knew, but he was already keeping one secret
from Connor and did not wish to keep another.
“I know something about Trotternish Castle,” Duncan said.
“What is that?” Connor asked.
“The keeper is my father.”
* * *
Moira stood in the center of her old bedchamber and turned slowly in a circle. “’Tis
almost as I left it, except that there are no gowns strewn across the bed and the
bed curtains are a bit faded.”
It was odd to find her old chamber had changed so little when she could hardly remember
the lass she had been when she lived here.
Moira smiled at Ilysa when she noticed the branch of holly in a jug on the side table.
“This must be your doing.”
“’Tis hard to come by anything in bloom this time of year, so I thought the holly
berries would brighten the room,” Ilysa said and dropped her gaze to her feet. “Connor
never mentions the flowers I put out on the tables and in his chamber in summer, but
I think he appreciates them all the same.”
Moira doubted it. “The holly is lovely.”
“I’ve been managing the castle household for Connor as he had no one else to do it,”
Ilysa said with a slight quiver in her voice. “I hope you’ll find everything in good
order.”
“I’m certain you’ve done a fine job.”
“When you’re planning the menus with the cooks,” Ilysa hurried on before Moira could
say more, “Connor doesn’t care at all for goose liver, though he’d never say so. He’s
never one to complain.”
Ach, no. Did the poor lass fancy herself in love with Connor? That would never do.
Even if Ilysa caught Connor’s eye—which seemed unlikely in that old woman’s cap and
ill-fitting brown gown—Connor would never act on it. Her father had no such scruples
when it came to women, but Connor would never dally with his best friend’s sister.
And when he wed, he would put duty first and make an alliance for the clan.
“I should warn ye that Tait is the orneriest of the guards,” Ilysa rattled on, “but
he’s always the first to lend a hand when ye need it. And then there’s…” Ilysa stopped
speaking and clasped her hands together. “I’m sorry. I’m sure ye don’t need my advice.”
Clearly, these responsibilities had become very important to Ilysa.
“Good heavens,” Moira said. “I hope Connor doesn’t expect me to manage his household
for him.”
“Ye don’t wish to?” Ilysa asked, her eyes going impossibly wide.
“Would ye mind doing it awhile longer?” Moira asked. “I’m so distracted with worry
over my son that it would be an unwelcome burden to me.”
“I’d be happy to,” Ilysa said.
“Duncan told me ye lost your husband at Flodden,” Moira said. “You’re so young. Surely
ye will want to marry again and set up your own household before long.”
Ilysa dropped her gaze to the floor again and shook her head.
“Well, Connor
is
bound to marry soon—he should have already,” Moira said in a soft voice and touched
the younger woman’s arm. “Ye do know that when Connor weds, his wife will take over
these duties?”
“Of course,” Ilysa said.
Connor had always been tediously responsible. In fact, Moira suspected the only reason
Connor had waited this long to wed was that the time was not yet ripe to make the
best match possible.
How different she and Connor had been as children. Moira had rushed headlong into
things, letting her heart lead her wherever it would, while Connor thought things
through. Living with Sean had taught Moira to be cautious and calculating like her
brother.
Moira could not help Ilysa win Connor, but there were plenty of fine warriors in the
castle. Ilysa was a pale thing, but she had a pretty face. If only she didn’t wear
the drabbest colors and loose gowns that did nothing to flatter her slender figure.
Intent on giving Ilysa some pointers, Moira pulled her over to the standing mirror,
a gift her father had brought all the way from Edinburgh for her.
“God have mercy!” Moira cried when she caught her own reflection in the mirror. “Look
at me!”
“Is your face as painful as it looks?” Ilysa asked, scrunching her delicate brows
together.
“Painful? It’s hideous!” Her face was a misshapen mass of bruises, ranging in color
from purple to a sickly greenish yellow. And her gown looked even worse than she had
imagined.
Moira sat down on the nearby bench with a thump. Ach, she must have looked even worse
before. She thought of all the hours she’d spent with Duncan. Especially the hours
in bed. In the afternoon, when it was light.
Moira did not pretend she didn’t know she was beautiful. Men had lusted after her
since she was thirteen, so she was well aware it was her looks that drew them to her.
But despite how revolting she looked now, Duncan had wanted her. In truth, no one
had ever made her feel more beautiful—not even Duncan himself when she was seventeen
and the prettiest she would ever be. She was touched by it. Did it mean he truly cared
for her?
Moira was not sure, but she suddenly wanted to see Duncan. It seemed as if it had
been hours since she was standing beside him on the boat.
“Ah, here’s your bath,” Ilysa said, waving in the servants carrying the washtub and
buckets of hot water. “Before I leave ye, I’ll lay out a few of your old gowns for
you to try.”
Moira hurried through her bath and, with the servants’ help, squeezed into an old
velvet gown in a midnight-blue that matched her eyes. After searching the hall for
Duncan, she went out into the courtyard to look for him. She found Connor instead.
“Ye look a wee bit better,” Connor said with a smile and kissed her cheek.
“Where is Duncan?” Moira asked.
“He’s gone home,” Conner said.
“To his mother’s cottage?” They had always called it a cottage, though it was just
two rooms built against the outer wall of the castle.