Chapter 10

CRàDH PRISON - AUGUST 30, 1384

S unset burned across the open sea spending its last rays of brilliant daylight. Sitting on the stairs at the bottom of the tower with the door opened wide, Léo drank in the last glow of sun.

Desire to reclaim the role his father had given him had not increased by one measure in the passing weeks, despite Mowbray and Father Allen's daily pleas for revenge. Without Gabriel, without Moira, without purpose, all he could feel was tired. Emptied of physical strength, soul-wearied, he was fully dependent on the will of God. No cause but surviving until nightfall seemed important anymore.

It had been two months since he'd last seen Moira, since he'd lost himself in the scent of her skin. But nightly her still company beside him in the dream called him to remain hopeful that she would return soon. She was his only comfort now, as she had been in those long, terrible days after Pontvallain—her thoughts audible to his heart even though she did not speak. You are not alone .

Looking across the purple velvet skies, desperate now to see her again, he spoke a plea to the voice in his heart. "Moira."

Vitality draining away, certain his hope of seeing Gabriel was lost, he longed to see her and spend his last days learning the heart of the woman who had saved his life, who'd sewn the clothes on his back, put real food in his stomach, given him his son's face, and sailed across the Hebrides to try and help him.

What lay in that heart that she would save him, care for him, comfort him, and help him, when she didn't know him and he didn't know her? Daily he pondered over the mysteries in her character, looking ahead instead of behind, and God help him, he wanted more.

Craving a taste of hope, he dropped his voice and begged the unseen presence on which he'd come to depend. "Just a drop will suffice . "

Movement at the corner of his eye caught his attention and he peeled his eyes away from the sunset. His heart fell out of his chest. He blinked and rubbed his tired eyes, unable to believe that his answer had come so quickly. She was here.

Shakily, he got to his feet and took a step forward, almost forgetting himself and running to her on the parapet. From the prison, Father Allen waved to him, a knowing smile on his face, then disappeared inside, leaving them alone on the walls. The man was certainly up to something but Léo didn't care. All he wanted was Moira.

Rays of orange and purple illuminated the coils of her hair, beryl eyes glowing in the soft, sensual light. The flame of love that burned inside his chest blazed strong and bright, a splendor of fire that God had placed there only for her.

Awe filled his heart. Love. He loved her. Deeply.

Moira hurried inside the tower door and wrapped her arms around his slender body. The first embrace he'd had in almost a year. The affection caught him by surprise, but he clung to her, closing his eyes and wrapping his bony arms around her, gratitude refilling his lonely soul. I depend on You, God. For even this.

The smell of lavender and late summer clung to her, and he breathed her in. Goodness in a world of evil.

She pulled back from his embrace, smiled, and mouthed one word. What?

He was awestruck by her, and he struggled with his foggy brain not to blurt out his feelings then and there. "Nothing. I'm only relieved that you are back and safe."

Strength and joy radiated from her and he knew at once something good had happened to her. The joy emanating from her served to make her even more lovely, and make him more self-conscious. He looked down at his own wasted appearance, touching his fingers to his long hair and the beard disguising his face.

Moira giggled at him in silence, and he realized he had done nothing but gawp at her for several minutes. "How—how was your trip?"

She held out her left hand flat and motioned over it as if she were writing.

"Paper and quill?"

She nodded.

"I have some upstairs. Come." His hand found hers as if she were his own, and he led her up to his tower room.

Light in the small room was scarce, and he lit the rush light in the hearth before returning it to its stand. Locating a few pages of linen paper, he spread it across the desk with ink and quill, eager to hear her every thought.

Moira lingered in the doorway, eyeing him and then his bed. A flicker of honor shivered through him and he remembered himself, taking several proper steps away from it and moving toward the wall.

"I'll stand over here. You take the desk."

Stealing glances over her shoulder in a way that charmed him, she sat down and inked the quill, motioning him closer. He moved a bit closer and looked over her shoulder and watched as she wrote.

Gabriel is well. A missive arrived in Lochbuie two days ago that he is in good health and spirits, and he is thinking of, and speaking of, Papa every day. His mémé sends love from him, and from her as well. They know you will come as soon as you are able.

Tears of relief sprang to his eyes and he laughed and then snorted, trying to compose himself. He dropped to his knees beside the desk and kissed each of her cheeks. "Thank you, Moira. Thank you."

She blushed. It was nothing. We are friends.

The little word sliced through him. Friends. He blinked. "Oui. Friends."

Hector and Cara want you to know that your nephew, Eamon Léonid MacLean, is here, and missing you as well.

He pictured Hector holding his son, and his heart was glad. Cara had survived. Their baby was safe .

Margaret sends her deepest thanks, love, and prayers and told me to give you this ? —

Moira's arms came around his neck and held him close. Curls tickled his nose and he was nearly overcome with tears again. She pulled back and looked into his eyes, and for a long moment he thought of kissing her.

Clinging to honor, he cleared his throat. "I thought you would be back weeks ago with the priests. Then your father said you stayed behind. What made you extend your stay in Lochbuie?"

She licked her lips and picked up the quill. I stayed until a messenger arrived back from Calais. Ia— Chief MacLeod volunteered to take me home on his bìrlinn when we—when I was ready.

I-a. She had nearly written Iain's Christian name. When we. Jealousy scorched his good mood. "Did the boy have nothing better to do?"

Her eyes narrowed. I thought you would be pleased. He went out of his way to accommodate the messenger from France so you could have word from your son when I returned.

Léo felt himself growing hot. "Of course. I—I read that wrong." He changed the subject, endeavoring to disguise his jealousy. "How is Hector?"

Hector was happier than everyone put together that you are alive. They've had much success in containing threats to Skye and Lewis. He has been training the Shield against the Wolf.

"The Shield?"

Hector's new team to carry out missions against the Wolf—the Shield. Hector said you knew of his plan to form a fighting unit. Do you remember?

He nodded, a thrill going down his spine. Perhaps they could defeat the Wolf, and one day he would be free. Yet somehow Léo knew he would not live that long.

Hector says to tell you that you are still second-in-command and that he will come for you when the time is right, because ‘that is what brothers do.' You will be home with your son. He swears it. He wants you to know you are not abandoned .

Emotion clogged his throat again. If he could hold on, his brother would come.

Father says he told you of his plans. And I know—that you are Chief MacKinnon.

Léo looked into her sea-colored eyes and never had he cared less that he was chief. Could they escape together? Sail away from this rotten prison as Hector and Cara had sailed away from Lochindorb?

"I've heard the plan. I must confess I have no interest in it."

But your father wanted you to assume his place, didn't he?

He swallowed. "I know you want revenge for your mother's death, but good leaders are not born out of revenge."

Father wants revenge. I only want you to remain safe and to see your son again.

The sentence disarmed and surprised him. He paused for a few moments considering his answer to her question. "My father thought I cared for others in a way my brothers and sister couldn't. But I can be just as bitter and distrusting as they are."

She made a face and shook her head. Gabriel. Théa. Hector. Cara. Eamon. You have loved and cared for them, protected them when it mattered most.

"Oui, but Jesus did not rule my heart."

Her eyes met his. Does he now?

The answer surprised even him. "Jesus is all I have now. He does."

Moira's eyes traveled over the walls and ceiling and she appeared to weigh her thoughts. Her quill scratched slow across the page. Know that you have me as well.

The air grew thick, and he wished that it was one year ago and he could sweep her into his arms.

Her eyes lifted to his, her expression concerned. He read the next words she'd scrawled upon the page. I'm for you. Whether you choose to be Léo or you choose to be Chief MacKinnon. Whatever you decide to do, I am for it.

She touched his ribs through his baggy tunic and shook her head, tears appearing in her eyes.

The Shield is going to get food and supplies to you. Hector says you must get strong, and be ready. Don't lose hope. Her face looked fearful. Promise me you will take care of yourself. You look so different.

He tried to chuckle. "I promise. No woman would have me otherwise. I look like a starving urchin."

Breath burst over her lips and she slowly wrote. Léo's heart pounded as he read her next sentence. I'm certain there is at least one who would.

" Tu m'as manqué. " The words tumbled out of him in an artless rush of French, months of isolation robbing him of any leftover charm.

What does that mean?

He leaned closer. "I've missed you."

She swallowed and wrote a shaky line of script. I've missed you every day. I like when you speak French. Would you teach me if I came to visit you once a week?

Fires of hope licked up his chest and he dug deep, finding remnants of the man he used to be. "Oui—yes. If it meant seeing you more. You may have to come more often than once a week, though. I have many things I'd like to say."

The upturned corners of her lips paid him a curious smile as she wrote. Such as?

Words from his native tongue came to mind, and he murmured them. " Ton c?ur est plus précieux que de l'or. "

The enchanting smile touched the curve of her lips. What does that mean?

He took the quill, brushing his fingers over hers. Your heart is more precious than gold.

Radiant blush spilled over her cheeks and across the bridge of her nose, and he was powerfully overcome with the need to revisit their first kiss in sober mind—to press the feeling into his soul. Something flickered in her expression, and she mouthed the word gold.

Moira eased the gold chain over her head, holding it out to him. His hands wrapped around hers and he lifted it back over her head, liking the way his chain of honor adorned her slender neck.

Her mouth formed a word. Yours.

"For you. Keep it."

Moira's eyes widened, and she shook her head, taking the quill back from him. I have nothing to give you in exchange .

Pretending they were in Calais, among the arbors of his home, he took her cheek in his palm, losing himself in the deep oceans of her eyes. "Wear it for me, as the one I've chosen. Donne-moi ton c?ur ."

The ripe peach of her lips formed slow words. What does that mean?

He dropped his mouth near her ear and whispered his request. "Give me your heart."

Moira's eyes flew to his own, before writing with a slow hand. You have my heart. 'Tis always been more yours than mine.

A chill of gooseflesh frosted across her neck and she turned her face toward his.

Unable to stop himself, he leaned forward, his lips beginning to explore the features of the countenance he had dreamed of for months. He kissed her forehead, the freckle that lay beside her eye, the tip of her nose. His hands brushed over her soft, wild curls. Breath panted from her silken lips and he touched one with his thumb.

The seas in her eyes swept over his own and he felt himself come back to life. Locking eyes with her, he hovered his mouth above hers, testing to see if she approved. Slowly, she nodded, and he brought his lips gently to hers, giving her a reverent kiss. He backed away.

Her eyes held him steady, filling with affection. She nodded again. Heart pounding, he closed his eyes and again touched his lips to hers, drinking her in like life itself. Her hands came to his whiskered face, and with the warmth of her breath and the softness of her mouth, she deepened the kiss.

Flying. He was flying. It had been so long since he'd felt a woman's love, so long since he'd given his own heart, so long since he'd shared kisses like this. Except this was something else. Something stronger. Something better.

Her arms wrapped around his neck and he rose, pulling her to her feet and tightening his arms around her with the remnants of his strength. The weight of her in his arms filled his barren heart and made him feel like a man again. Finding himself, he dropped kisses along her jaw and found the place beneath her ear, and she leaned into his mouth—lavender flooding his senses. His rough hands spanned her small waist, holding onto her for dear life .

Unable to stop himself, he whispered against her ear his confession of love. " Mon c?ur t'appartient. Je t'aime plus que la vie…"

The endearment caused her to startle. Her palms came to his hollow chest and pushed away. She slid one finger down another and mouthed a word. Can't.

The word broke through his conscience. He stepped backward, honor returning, and was swarmed with heavy guilt for crossing a line he shouldn't cross. He was a prisoner. He'd just claimed her as his own and then kissed her in the way he would a wife. He had no right. "I'm sorry. Moira, I'm sorry…I shouldn't have?—"

Hurt rushed into her eyes.

Before he could explain, the door below crashed open. "Léo! Niall!"

Mowbray ran up the stairs. "Niall is here. He wants to see you."

Two guards rushed through the door and took him by each arm, spiriting him down the stairs and across the parapet. Down two flights of stairs he went, mind boggling from bliss to sheer terror as they bundled him back into his former cell.

Léo landed in the sour rushes, the walls closing in on him, panic rising in his chest as the door drew shut.

Niall's voice became audible seconds later. "Moira Allen. Just as I thought."

Léo rushed to the door and tried to hear through the shut slat.

Father Allen's voice rose. "She's helping me do the cooking today, Laird MacKinnon."

"Open the door, Mowbray."

The lock clanked and the door opened, and Léo found himself face to face with the man who had taken everything from him.

Niall looked at him with deep approval. "Eight months of confinement and you're a shadow of the man you were."

It was true, and the evidence of his starvation and torment brought Niall joy. Léo's voice broke. "Brother."

Niall held his nose, the stench of body odor and despair still thick in the air though Léo had not lived in the cell in more than a month.

Still spinning from the sudden shift from joy to despair, Léo felt aggravated by his brother's mere presence. "Why are you here?"

"I've had word that Father Allen has been paying you more attention than his allowed weekly visits. I wanted to see for myself if you were persuading him to bend the rules for your own benefit. I must admit, you look starved. And yet I find Father Allen and his daughter just outside your door on a Thursday, not the usual day of your visit. Come in here, Father." Niall crossed his arms and motioned his personal guard into the cramped cell.

Father Allen took hesitant steps into the room, worry creasing his face as he looked at the guard.

"You too, Moira."

Moira drew her shoulders back and entered, looking more brave than Léo felt.

Niall circled Moira like a vulture. "I thought the church gave your father strict instruction to visit only once a week?"

Father Allen's lips tightened together. "Aye."

"Yet your boat is seen here every day for the past two months. Why? Perhaps Mowbray can explain."

Mowbray's expression remained impassive. "He's helping manage the prisoners below, the ones who are on the brink of insanity. It's difficult to make the prospect of work at Cràdh appealing. With Father Allen's help the conditions have improved. The guards work harder."

Seeming disappointed that he'd lost another opportunity to torment someone, Niall took a few steps back, continuing to eye Moira lecherously. "I suppose that I will allow. Thank you for explaining."

Niall's eyes traveled over the battered straw mat, the stagnant rushes, the ticks on the wall marking time, and finally over Léo's own withered frame. "I take my leave. Good work, Mowbray. I knew you would be the perfect choice as keeper here."

Relief began to unwind from Léo's shoulders, but at the last moment before leaving, Niall turned, then snapped his fingers beside his head. "One more thing. Take her."

Guards stepped forward and seized Moira by each arm. Soundless screams more terrifying than anything Léo had ever heard in battle issued from her mouth.

Instinct kicked in. Rushing forward, Léo drove his shoulder into the gut of the guard and scrambled for his sword. For seconds, they grappled, but strength was rapidly departing from him as quick as it had come. Horror filled his chest. He couldn't protect her. Stars burst over his vision as a blow collided with his face, and then another, and then another. He hit the ground.

Niall cackled. "No use trying to be noble. You're as weak as a kitten."

Moira's legs kicked out and a guard struck her across the face, a splatter of blood racing up the wall behind her. Tears rushed from her eyes as she swayed, her arms trying to reach for her father.

Léo was desperate, helpless to avenge her as he struggled beneath the guard on the floor. "Leave her! I'll give you anything you ask. My entire treasury, my home, my life. Please, leave her."

Niall laughed, stroking Moira's pale cheek. "You wouldn't survive the journey, brother. Besides, I'm positive Moira will give me anything I ask. Her obedience will be a safeguard to protect her father from certain death. As memory serves me, the Allens owe me a leman." Saliva flooded Léo's mouth and nausea heaved his stomach.

From nowhere, and with the strength of a much younger man, Father Allen leapt onto Niall, punching him hard across the face. A tooth skittered across the floor as Niall's head whipped backward.

Léo knew what was coming before it happened. "NO!"

There was a brief flash of firelight on metal.

"NO!" Léo's scream filled the room and set off a chorus of agitated screams down the prison corridor. In seconds, the fight was over. Sword drawn, hand on the old man's shoulder, Niall's blade ran through Father Allen's gut.

A horrible rasp leapt from Moira's throat as she clawed toward him. Niall withdrew his sword and pushed Father Allen over.

Léo squirmed beneath the guard, trying to shift him off. "NO!"

Moira's mouth screamed soundless words. No. Father. No . Tears gushed over her cheeks and she gasped for breath. The guard released another violent blow to her face and she wobbled before collapsing beside her father, unconscious.

Please God, give me Your strength. Léo pushed against the ground with all his might and shifted the guard on his back. The guard's knee collided with the back of his head and stars again filled his vision. From his horizontal position on the floor he registered Moira being lifted and carried out the door. The guard moved off his back.

Niall crouched and cocked his head, looking in Leo's eye. "See you in hell, brother."

When the door shut, Léo shook the stars from his vision and belly crawled across the floor. Father Allen blinked tears away from his eyes, his hands clutching at his abdomen. Léo lifted his hands and examined the wound. He wouldn't survive.

Rolling to his side, he gathered the priest into his arms, finding only strength enough to hold the man and give him comfort.

Father Allen trembled, his breath becoming shallow. "Please, Chief MacKinnon. Take care of my Moira. H-help…"

Léo's arms tightened around him to ease the death rattle. "Help her?"

"Help her find her family. Fight for her. Love her."

Grief crashed over Léo. Without the man he would have gone crazy. Without him he would have died. Without his daughter he may have lost reason to hope. "I do love her. But I'm in prison, Father. I'm not the man I used to be."

Blood appeared at Father Allen's lips but he smiled. "Who could help but love her? I've loved her since the day I found her. T-tell her I loved her like she was my own. And she was…my own… heart." The death struggle began. "God bless you, Chief MacKinnon. Serve ye the Lord Christ…He will reveal the way to go."

Léo's last thread of sanity weaved within the words of the psalm he'd memorized that morning, and somehow he managed to speak them to comfort his only friend.

"The Lord ruleth me: and I shall want nothing. He hath set me in a place of pasture. He hath brought me up, on the water of refreshment: He hath converted my soul. He hath led me on the paths of justice, for his own name's sake. For though I should walk in the midst of the shadow of death, I will fear no evils, for thou art with me."

Father Allen's trembling began to subside and he relaxed in Leo's arms, his beating heart beginning to slow. "Jesus?" The name issued from his lips like a question.

Léo's left hand smoothed the white hair at the priest's temple like a newborn babe. "Thy rod and thy staff, they have comforted me. Thou hast prepared a table before me against them that afflict me. Thou hast anointed my head with oil; and my chalice which inebriateth me, how goodly is it."

The room, which stank of woodsmoke, soiled body, and blood, was filled with a fresh scent, sweeter than honeysuckle. An aroma of life.

Father Allen's eyes began to droop and he gripped Leo's hand tight. "Jesus?"

Struggling against sobs, Leo continued. "And t-thy mercy will follow me all the d-days of my life. And that I may dwell in the house of the Lord unto length of days."

Father Allen's chest lifted and he released his final breath. "Jesus." The name no longer a question, but sight.

… Alone . He was alone. Grief and hopelessness oppressed him. His only friend was dead, and his only hope, the love of his heart, was gone. Shuddering sobs racked his body. The aroma of life grew. "Please don't leave me here, Lord. You promised you would not leave. You promised…You promised."

I'm here, Léo. I'm here.

The door crashed open and Mowbray sank to his knees beside Father Allen. "Is he?"

Léo choked, still holding onto his friend. "Gone."

Mowbray helped Léo sit up, easing Father Allen from his arms. "What is that smell? It smells like flowers."

"Jesus."

Mowbray squinted his eyes at him and examined the back of Léo's head.

"I'm not touched…" Léo tightened his hand over Father Allen's one last time then rose, inhaling the sweet aroma of Christ, his strength, his power, his justice.

Tu tiens mon avenir.

"…I am ready to fight."