D
uncan kicked furiously at the rat crawling toward his foot. Frustration burned through
him. God help him, he had failed on a grand scale. While the safety of his clansmen,
including his son, his chieftain, and his best friends, depended upon him, Duncan
was in the dungeon of Trotternish Castle chained to the goddamned wall like an animal.
“Arrgh!” He jerked the chain again, though it served no purpose but to cause the chain
to bite into his bloody wrists.
He tried to guess how long he had been in this godforsaken hole. Judging from the
quiet above him, it was night again. That meant Alex would be in his boat, watching
for the signal and waiting for the rope that would never be dropped.
Duncan leaned his head back against the wall to keep the blood from running into his
eyes. The beatings were getting fiercer, but he’d suffered worse. Though he was chained,
the men seemed afraid to get close enough to do him serious harm.
The silence was broken by the echo of boots on the stone steps on the other side of
the iron grate. Only one man this time, so he was braver than the others. Duncan got
to his feet. He would be prepared if the guard gave him the slightest chance to overpower
him.
When the man reached the bottom step, the light from the torch he carried shone on
his face—and Duncan saw that it was Erik. Rage roared in his ears.
Erik waited to speak until he unlocked the iron grate door and stepped inside. Unfortunately,
Duncan’s chains were not long enough for him to reach Erik.
“You can save us both trouble and tell me now what I want to know,” Erik said. “Or
ye can wait for me to bring the lad down here.”
An unfamiliar jolt of fear went through Duncan.
No, Erik could not know about Ragnall.
“What lad?” Duncan attempted an indifferent tone, though his heart was pounding so
hard Erik could probably hear it.
“I’m talking about your son,” Erik said. “Ragnall.”
Erik paced in front of Duncan, just beyond his reach. A few inches closer, and Duncan
would wrap his chain around Erik’s throat and strangle the life out of him.
“He’s just a bairn,” Erik said. “Don’t make me hurt him.”
“You wouldn’t.” Duncan forced himself to speak calmly. “Your chieftain undertook a
solemn duty to protect him.”
“His duty is to the MacQuillans,” Erik said. “But Ragnall is not a MacQuillan, is
he?”
“What man can truly know if a child is his?” Duncan shrugged. “The MacQuillans believe
Ragnall is their chieftain’s son, as does Alastair MacLeod, and that’s what matters.”
“’Tis true that my chieftain feels an obligation to the lad.” Erik folded his arms
and shook his head. “But there are so many ways a child can have an accident. And
if it should look suspicious, I can blame Hugh Dubh. The fool as much as told my chieftain
that he wants Ragnall dead.”
Duncan believed Erik was capable of harming a child, and he knew for certain that
Hugh was. Together, they were like a two-headed viper.
“If ye want to save your son, ye must tell me the things I need to know.”
God have mercy on me.
To buy time, Duncan said, “I was to report on any weaknesses I saw, that is all.”
“Perhaps that was your task the first time ye entered my castle,” Erik said, then
he ticked his questions off on his fingers. “For what purpose did your chieftain send
ye here a second time? How does he plan to attack me? And where does he have his men
waiting now?”
Duncan tried desperately to think of lies that Erik would find convincing. And yet,
he knew it would make no difference. Erik could not be trusted to keep his word. Even
if Duncan was fool enough to tell Erik the truth and sacrifice the others, Erik would
not spare Ragnall.
Duncan met the hard stare of his enemy and considered telling him that he was his
son. He had envisioned telling Erik after he took this castle from him—and while he
held a blade to Erik’s throat. Confessing the truth as a plea for sympathy while he
was humbled in chains was the last thing Duncan wanted to do.
He doubted that Erik would believe him. And if he did, Duncan had no illusion that
Erik would spare him. But the question Duncan had to ask himself was whether there
was a chance that the truth could move this coldhearted man to save his grandson.
“Think on it tonight,” Erik said. “I’ll come back in the morning with the lad, and
then we’ll see what ye have to say.”
* * *
“One of the small boats the young lads use for fishing is missing from the shore,”
Tait reported. “I expect that’s what Rhona and Fergus took.”
“They’ll be moving slow in that,” Niall said. “Still, they’re half a day ahead. And
worse, I don’t know which way they went.”
“I hate sending ye on a goose chase,” Ilysa said. “Go see Teàrlag first. She may be
able to tell ye where Rhona and Fergus have gone—and why.”
“But Connor said no one was to leave,” Tait said.
“He didn’t mean me and Niall,” Moira said, not bothering to hide her impatience. “We’re
not spies.”
“We?” Niall said, cocking an eyebrow. “Duncan and Connor will both have my head if
I take ye with me to chase after Rhona and Fergus.”
“We’re only going to Teàrlag’s now,” Moira said and headed for the door.
“Take Sàr with ye,” Ilysa called after them.
It was growing dark when Moira and Niall reached the cove below Teàrlag’s cottage.
Moira followed Niall up the steps of the steep cliff to the ancient cottage. Niall
managed surprisingly well, using his stick for a cane, but Moira slipped several times.
Finally, she reached the top—and nearly plunged to the sea below when a voice came
out of the darkness.
“About time ye came!”
Moira squinted into near darkness and saw the old seer standing above her on the top
step.
“Hello, Teàrlag. It’s me, Moira. Niall’s here as well.”
“I know who ye are.” Teàrlag turned around and walked off toward her cottage, mumbling,
“Ungrateful lass.”
Moira followed her inside with Niall, hoping she would be welcome. Niall had told
her on the sail over that Teàrlag had left her cottage for the first time in many
years to give a prediction about Moira and to urge Duncan to leave for Ireland without
delay.
“Leave your beast outside. I don’t want him frightening my cow,” Teàrlag said as she
shuffled to her small table and lit the lamp.
There was no room in the tiny cottage for Sàr in any case.
“I’m sorry I haven’t come to thank ye.” Moira set the basket of food they had brought
on the small table and gingerly took the stool across from Teàrlag.
The seer had looked older than the mist for as long as Moira could remember. Except
for shrinking a bit more, she had not changed much.
“I knew that blood in my vision wasn’t yours.” Teàrlag’s shoulders rose and fell as
she made a sound that could only be called a cackle. “But I knew ye needed help, and
it did get that big lad in his boat.”
Only Teàrlag would call Duncan “that big lad.” Moira was relieved that the old seer
appeared to have accepted her apology. Teàrlag was not above threatening to curse
someone for what she deemed a lack of courtesy.
“I suppose you’ve come to ask me about that troublesome lass, Rhona,” Teàrlag said
as she peered into the food basket—which was probably what had gained Moira forgiveness.
“Couldn’t Ilysa tell ye?”
Moira turned and raised her eyebrows at Niall, who had joined them at the tiny table.
“Ilysa’s been learning the Old Ways from Teàrlag,” Niall whispered, his knees bumping
hers as he leaned forward. “Some say she’s developed The Sight.”
Calm, circumspect Ilysa is a seer?
Moira could not imagine her weaving back and forth and waving her arms like Teàrlag
did when she had a vision. But then, Teàrlag did make the most of her gift.
“The Sight comes and goes with Ilysa,” Teàrlag said, shaking her head. “She lacks
faith in herself.”
Not something Teàrlag suffered.
“Can ye tell us why Rhona and Fergus left the castle?” Niall asked. “Are they a danger
to the clan?”
“Rhona is not the danger,” Teàrlag said. “But there is a danger to our returning warriors,
and Rhona knows what it is.”
“We must find her then,” Moira said. “Do you know where she and Fergus are?”
Teàrlag rolled her eyes back and made a strange humming noise as she swayed in her
seat. After a time, she stopped and blinked several times.
“Well?” Niall asked.
“I can’t see their destination,” Teàrlag said. “But they’re sailing south along the
coast of Sleat toward the point of the peninsula.”
“Is there anything else ye can tell us?” Moira asked.
“Rhona has vengeance in her heart,” Teàrlag said. “And she is looking for Hugh Dubh.”
A
sound pricked Duncan’s ears.
Footsteps?
They sounded too light, and no torchlight shone on the stairs.
Clink, clink.
Duncan heard a key turning in the lock, followed by the slow
creak
of the iron door swinging open. Perhaps the guards had returned for another attempt
to beat the plans for the attack out of him, though they should know by now that it
was hopeless. A few men could not be broken, and Duncan was one of them. He did not
take special pride in it, but he knew it to be true nonetheless. He closed his eyes
for a moment, steeling himself to bear the pain to come.
“He’s in here!”
Duncan’s eyes flew open at the unexpected sound of a little girl’s high-pitched voice.
It was so black in the dungeon he could not see anything.
“Hush!”
That was Ragnall’s voice this time. Duncan thought he must be having a waking dream,
as men do when they’re beaten and kept in darkness, but then he sensed someone standing
next to him.
“Ragnall?” he asked.
“We brought a mallet for the chains,” Ragnall said.
“That was my idea,” the girl said.
Duncan felt laughter bubbling inside him, like a madman. Surely, God was having a
joke with him—or giving the famed warrior a lesson in humility—by sending two bairns
to rescue him.
He took the mallet from Ragnall’s hand and felt for the chain that shackled his legs
to the wall. Then he slammed the mallet against the chain again and again until one
of the links broke. He did the same with the chain that held his arms to the wall,
and he was free.
“We must be very quiet as we go up,” Duncan warned the children. “Ragnall, you’ll
come with me. Sarah, we’ll see ye safely to your bedchamber door first. Where is it?”
Sarah had been permitted to sit at the high table with Ragnall, and she appeared to
have free run of the castle and time to play. That meant she was from a highborn family
and would sleep in one of the bedchambers, rather than in the hall or the kitchens.
She was probably being fostered here like Ragnall.
“I’m not going to bed,” Sarah said. “I’m staying with you and Ragnall.”
“There will be trouble tonight, and ye must be safe in your bed with your clanswomen,”
Duncan said. “Now, which bedchamber is it?”
“I’m not telling.”
Ach, she was stubborn enough to be a MacDonald lass. “Ragnall, where is it? ’Tis far
too dangerous for her to come with us.”
“Two floors above the hall,” Ragnall said.
Sarah made a sound like a growl, which Duncan ignored. With that settled, he led the
pair through the iron-barred door, up a set of steep stone steps, and along a narrow
passageway. At the end of it, light shone around the edges of the low wooden door
that led into the undercroft. Duncan put his ear to the door. It must be late indeed,
for there were no voices or sounds of clanking pots coming from the kitchens.
“Where are ye taking Ragnall?” Sarah asked.
“To his mother,” Duncan whispered, using up the last of his patience. “Now hush, Sarah.
Not another word—unless ye
want
to see me back in that dungeon.”
Duncan opened the door and made sure no one was in sight, then the three of them walked
on silent feet past the kitchen and up the stairs that led to upper floors of the
keep. Duncan heard the snores and snorts of the sleeping men as they passed the entrance
to the hall and continued up the stairs.
Duncan patted Sarah’s head and left her outside the door of the bedchamber she likely
shared with several clanswomen. He was relieved to have that task done. Now he could
go to the tower room. He hoped her family would not punish her too severely when they
learned Sarah had helped them—but then, they would never know unless she confessed,
which seemed unlikely.
Duncan took Ragnall’s hand and hurried back down to the ground floor, all the while
praying that the guards had already made their last check on their prisoner for the
night. He half expected to hear shouts and see men come running at him from all directions.
Very carefully, he eased open the door that led into the building adjoining the keep.
The MacLeods expected no threat from within, so this inside door was unguarded. He
and Ragnall crept up the stairs to the large room where he had found the children
playing with wooden swords.
It was empty, as he had expected. He had learned that this was where Alastair MacLeod
slept when he came to the castle. If the ghost existed, apparently she was gracious
enough to stay in her tower and not disturb the chieftain’s sleep.
Before opening the door at the far end of the room, Duncan checked to see that the
bit of twig he had stuck in it the day he arrived was undisturbed. Relief surged through
him when he found that it was still there. No one had entered the turret room after
he was here.
As soon as he closed the door behind them, Duncan dropped to his knees to retrieve
the rope, flint, and rush lamp he had hidden under the narrow bed. Then he opened
the shutters, and prayed that Alex was still waiting for the signal.
“If the guards chance to see a light that comes and goes,” he told Ragnall as he lit
the lamp, “they’ll believe it’s the ghost.” Or so he hoped.
He held the lamp to the window, counted to a hundred, then closed the shutter. Then
he did it all again three more times.
“Are ye taking me to my mother now?” Ragnall asked.
“The other MacDonald warriors and I must first take this castle from the MacLeods,”
Duncan said, crouching down to rest his hands on his son’s shoulders. “Ye must wait
here for me until the fighting is over. You’re not afraid of the ghost, are ye?”
Ragnall shook his head. Since most of the castle folk were afraid to enter the turret
room, Ragnall should be safe here.
“As soon as we have secured the castle, I’ll come back for ye,” Duncan said. “You’ll
be on the first boat sailing back to Dunscaith.”
Duncan tied one end of the rope around the leg of the bed, and then he leaned out
the window to drop the rope. The sound of the surf crashing on the rocks fifty yards
below filled his ears as he watched the rope disappear into the darkness. The blackness
of the sea below was broken only by whitecaps.
Duncan stayed at the window, waiting. He was hours late with the signal. The others
could have assumed things had gone awry—which they had for a time—and left.
Come on, Alex.
After what seemed like a long while, Duncan saw the shadow of a boat below him. From
the way it was gliding impossibly close to the cliff, that had to be Alex. Duncan
shook the rope to make it easier for the men in the boat to see it. A moment later
he felt the rope grow taut.
“They’re here,” Duncan said, turning to nod at Ragnall.
Alex was the first on the rope, his fair hair visible even in the dead of night. It
was a long climb, and the wind was blowing hard. When Alex was a few yards away and
close enough to hear him, Duncan made the soft sound of a dove to let him know it
was safe.
When Alex finally reached the top, Duncan took his hand and pulled him through the
small window. Then he jerked the rope to signal for the next man to start up. Duncan
could not find a single rope long enough to scale the cliff, so he had tied three
together. Because the knots made it weaker, the men were climbing one at a time to
be sure the rope would hold their weight.
When Alex saw Ragnall, his eyes widened; then he glanced at Duncan and raised an eyebrow.
Duncan ignored the question.
“I’m Alex MacDonald, your mother’s cousin,” Alex said.
Ragnall examined Alex but said nothing in reply.
“The lad is spare with words and smiles.” Alex rubbed the back of his neck. “Reminds
me of someone…”
Duncan gave him a look meant to end the conversation. Alex was a good friend, but
he never knew when to be quiet.
Alex turned his back on Ragnall and said in a low voice, “Have ye told the lad?”
Duncan shook his head. “That’s for his mother to tell him.”
“It won’t wait. You’d best tell him before someone else remarks upon it.” Alex glanced
over his shoulder at Ragnall. “They will, ye know.”
Duncan did not respond, but he considered Alex’s advice as he helped the next man
through the window. The tiny room was soon cramped with MacDonald warriors, so he
lifted Ragnall to stand on the bed.
When the last man was up the rope, Alex shook it again to signal to the men remaining
in the boat to leave. “I hope to hell they don’t scrape my galley against the cliff.”
“There are half a dozen guards at the gate and another half dozen patrolling the walls,”
Duncan said, imparting the critical information quickly. “They don’t sleep, so we
must be cautious.”
“All right,” Alex said, and the others nodded.
“These MacLeod warriors are well trained,” Duncan continued. “We’ll wait for Connor
and Ian at the gate. If something’s happened and they don’t come, we can escape that
way. No sense dying for nothing.”
Duncan, however, would have to return here first for Ragnall.
“I need a moment with the lad,” Duncan said to Alex. “Take the men into the room just
below.”
“Be quick,” Alex said as he led the others out.
Duncan put his hands on Ragnall’s narrow shoulders.
“Are you my blood relation as well?” Ragnall asked.
Duncan met his son’s direct gaze and promised himself he would never lie to him. “Sean
was not your father,” he said. “I am.”
Ragnall blinked several times, then gave him a slow nod.
“I did not know it myself until a short time ago,” Duncan said, and he hoped that
one day both Ragnall and Moira could forgive him for their years with Sean. “I’m very
glad to be your father.”
Alex leaned his head in from the next room. “Duncan, we must go!”
What does a man say to his son when he is going into battle? Duncan never had a father
to show him.
“I must leave ye now to fight for the good of the clan,” Duncan said. “I do it for
you, for your mother, and for all the members of our clan.”
Ach, what a trite and useless thing to say to a six-year-old lad. Duncan felt wholly
inadequate, but he did not know what else to say.
“My mother says that is what a man of honor does,” Ragnall said.
“Your mother has taught ye well,” Duncan said, and for the first time thought of how
hard it must have been for Moira to raise Ragnall under Sean’s roof. “I’ll return
for ye as soon as I can.”
“Be careful,” Ragnall said.
Duncan ruffled his son’s hair. “I’ll make quick work of these MacLeods and be back
before ye know it.”
Ragnall surprised him then by throwing his arms around Duncan’s neck. As Duncan held
his son, he realized how much he already cared for this child, blood of his blood,
begat of a young love. Duncan had put his life in danger for others a thousand times
because that was what honor and duty required. But he knew with absolute certainty
that there was nothing he would not do to protect this child.