Chapter 14

DUN RINGILL CASTLE - MARCH 1, 1385

M oira lingered outside the forgotten door and listened for footsteps. From the floor below, the sounds of a visitor arriving in the chief's solar promised a few minutes of respite away from being the center of Niall's attention. The man's pinched nasal voice conversed with Niall's deep, excoriating grunts, then muffled and faded away. When all grew quiet she lifted the latch and slipped into her only refuge at Dun Ringill.

A bright stream of sunlight cut through the darkness, illuminating the swirls of dust as she cracked the warped window shutters. With plain, unadorned walls and a noticeable lack of furnishings, the inside of the small chamber in Dun Ringill's garret looked nothing like the solar of a laird's favored son. The only indication that a boy of princely French and Isles nobility had once lived here was the ivory blanket that adorned the bed, a warrior hand-stitched at its center and fleurs-de-lis? 1 around the edge.

Moira settled beside a shelf of books positioned near the bed, resting her cheek against the soft ivory blanket. Pulling out her favorite volume, Cantilène de sainte Eulalie ,? 2 she opened the cracked leather cover and ran her fingers over a neat, looping signature, Blanche d'Audrehem. Written beneath in the blotchy, unsteady hand of a young boy— Léonid Cormac MacKinnon.

Her fingers found the weight of the gold chain, and she pulled it free from the light blue silk of her gown. Eyes shut, she relived the last moments of their time together—Léo's soft French spoken beside her ear, his promise that she was his chosen, that he wanted her whole heart. Dreaming, her mind transported her from her own gloomy prison and to the moment he'd taken her in his arms. So frail and vulnerable, and yet for a moment, it was as if he was the man she'd first met. It had been the most transformative moment of her life—the moment she'd felt like his Aileen.

A tear formed in her eye, and just this once, she let it fall down her cheek. Would he ever be freed? It had been six long months, and still there had been no opening in the Wolf's tactics for a rescue.

The door burst open and she had only enough time to shove the book beneath the bed.

Malvina stood sour-faced in the doorway. "What are you doing up here?"

Tossing the necklace back inside the high neck of her gown, she got to her feet and met Malvina's once-pretty, but now pinched face . Iain's voice rang through her head— tha' wooman's meaner'n a wee yappy dug. Looks like wan too.

"What are you smirking for, you fool?"

Moira straightened her face into an empty expression.

"Is there a reason you've found your way up to an old servant's chamber?"

This wasn't a servant's chamber. She knew whose it was, and why Malvina hated it. Head swimming with thoughts of Léo, Moira tried her best to look ignorant and shrugged her shoulders, then gestured fingers walking across her palm.

"See that you keep your wandering to the lower floors. Niall is looking for you. Gordon MacMorran is here."

The weight of the chain grew heavier around her neck and her heart leapt. Gordon MacMorran was the former chief steward of the MacKinnons' fields and granaries, but more important to Moira, he was a guard at Cràdh. Niall banished him there as punishment for under-harvesting the year the MacLeans had reaped a double harvest.

Malvina took her by the elbow and yanked her out of the room. "Then why aren't you putting a move on? Get downstairs! Niall needs your support. Selfish girl. Nobody would know where you are if weren't for Ardis."

Moira cringed. It was because of Ardis that Niall had been waiting for her the night she returned from Dunvegan and nearly attacked her. She had only managed to survive by throwing herself into his arms and kissing him.

Niall had been so pleased by her sudden thaw that he'd forgotten his anger completely, relieved her of her duties as chambermaid, moved her into Elspeth's auld room, and given her a new wardrobe. But the thing she valued most, freedom—the ability to leave Dun Ringill as she wished without having to sneak about—he still withheld. As long as she refused him entry to her room and bed he dangled it over her head. Last night, he'd knocked and whispered at her door for hours, and then began shouting. After five long months as his leman, she wasn't sure how much longer she could keep him at bay.

Trudging down the musty stairs toward Niall's room, she steeled herself for his comments, his leers, and the lie she was living by allowing the man who murdered her parents to make advances toward her.

Malvina's bony fingers closed around her arm. "Need I remind you not to embarrass Niall like you did with the Wolf?"

She need not. Though it was not her fault that the Wolf didn't believe that she was mute and made her demonstrate she could not speak by reciting a rasping version of the Lord's prayer when he visited last month. The worst part was that she had so embarrassed Niall that she had been hurried from the room by Malvina and hadn't been able to glean one piece of information about their plans to reorganize their forces.

Malvina made a punctuated knock on the door to the solar and pulled Moira after her. Niall sat beside the fire, his belly lopping over his leather belt and sweat beading on his thinning hairline. Across from him, Gordon, with his pointed face and unbound, messy hair sat sipping a finger of whisky.

"Ah here she is. Gordon, let me introduce you to my leman, Mistress Moira Allen."

Stepping between Moira and Gordon, Malvina held up her hands in a cautionary gesture. "Before you engage her, please understand that she is merely a pretty face. Unable to speak, but we think quite able to understand some words."

Foolish woman. In her haste to keep Moira from speaking, she'd made the inadvertent mistake of making her seem stupid. An asset, as far as she was concerned, a belief that would—God willing—lead one of these fools to loosen their tongues about something useful concerning the prison.

Dropping her eyes and affecting her most demure pose, Moira glided across the room and sat down beside Niall on the bench. Repulsion slithered up her arm as he took her hand in his sweaty one.

"A beauty. I recall her occasional visits to Cràdh with—" Gordon remembered with whom he was talking and cleared his throat in the crystal as he brought the whisky to his lips.

Niall's voice ground out. "Yes."

Father. Her insides clenched. If he could see her now, he would be horribly ashamed.

"Let's get down to it, shall we?" Gordon said, swirling his whisky in the light and turning the conversation away from Niall's last victim. "Is there a reason you've summoned me here, my Laird?"

Niall shifted on the wooden bench, his too-tight leather trews squeaking under his wide bottom. "You'll doubtless have heard about the failed assault on the Duart MacLeans a few months ago and the terrible losses our guard has suffered as a result."

Gordon made a confirmational sound in his throat, but did not speak.

"We've been struggling to keep patrol numbers up around Pabay, and the Kyle, and to the south near Eigg. There is a distinct need for qualified administrative guards to relieve battle-seasoned guards from their domestic responsibilities."

Gordon edged forward in his chair, a flicker of excitement lighting over his face.

"I've summoned you here to test if you are still capable of overseeing the granaries so that I can send Dougal MacKinnon back on patrol around Loch Hourn. The numbers in that area are particularly weak; the Wolf could use the support. We believe the Beithir may be using that as a point of entry for his raids on Drumin Castle."

Careful to keep her expression vacant, her heart drummed. Rock . David MacKenzie had successfully reived one hundred horses from the Wolf's Glenlivet estate and scattered five hundred head of cattle. His warriors had carried away everything that wasn't nailed down, leaving the mark of the Shield—the Beithir monster—etched in the front door of the keep.

Gordon drained his glass and held it out to her. "More, wench."

Niall dropped his voice, his tone brooking no argument. "Watch your words, MacMorran."

Moira smiled and rose, fighting the urge to slug Gordon in his toady face. At least he provided her an opportunity to let go of Niall's sweating hand.

Her fingers wrapped around the extended crystal cup, and Gordon held on, his eyes dropping to her chest. "My apologies, Mistress Allen."

Donkey. She plucked the glass from his hand, dipping into a pleasing curtsy and pretending to accept his apology.

Malvina cleared her throat and inclined her head toward the decanter on Niall's desk. Moira struggled not to roll her eyes and made for the corner of the room to retrieve the man's whisky. Never suited for the life of a domestic anything, it took her only four seconds before she fumbled the decanter, the expensive crystal banging against the silver tray.

Malvina made a frustrated sound. "Moira, please."

Tightening her hold, she lifted the heavy decanter and adjusted the tray. A piece of vellum concealed beneath the silver stuck out. Her heart caught in her throat. A map. Unfastening the cork from the decanter, she lifted it and gave the tray a little shove with the crystal vessel.

Moira studied the drawing as quickly as she could. The southwestern coast of Skye. Loch Eisort, the Point of Sleat, ten, twenty, thirty …her hands poured a slow trickle of whisky. Thirty tent groups. An unmarked, ominous blob positioned on the Sleat surrounded by the Wolf's forces. A note scrawled across the bottom of the page written in Niall's tight script. Dunvegan Castle—summer assault.

"What think you, MacMorran? Are you up to the task of overseeing this year's harvest?"

Moira was horrified and elated at the same time. They were preparing for another attack on an Isles clan. This time the MacLeods. She bit her tongue to keep from smiling. Tonight was Saturday. Calum would be waiting in the wood and she would finally have information to pass on. Perhaps he would allow her to help spy…

"I think Léonid was correct."

Her heart skittered to a stop and she stood frozen for a few moments, then managed to turn back to Gordon.

Niall's voice became warning. "What do you mean?"

"Did you know your brother had a gift for prophecy and dream interpretation?"

Moira's hands threatened to shake, but she squeezed the crystal and walked with slow, deliberate steps back to Gordon and handed him the whisky.

Like an angry bear, Niall's expression transformed into a snarl. Calmly, she took his hand in hers as she sat back down, then ran it sensually up his arm and began to stroke the bulge of fat over his bicep. Sickness curled in her stomach. She'd never been so bold before, but she was desperate to hear the rest of Gordon's information.

Gordon swallowed, but managed to continue. "I-I had a dream of barley plants multiplying in your fields, and my hands ground your grain, making a loaf of blessed bread for your consumption. Léonid prophesied that before the beginning of the harvest you would restore me to my previous duties with the granaries."

Niall visibly relaxed as she massaged his earlobe. "I seem to recall my brother had very vivid dreams as a child."

Malvina gave a bitter laugh. "Fantasies, you mean."

Niall lifted Moira's hand and noisily kissed it, a thin string of spittle extending from his lips to the back of her hand. "Did Léo tell you about his reoccurring dream, MacMorran?"

"No. He wasn't interested in anything but my dreams, Laird. I would be remiss in my duties as guard to neglect telling you that he has been trading his skills for foretelling the future for more food. I tested his abilities, and then had him flogged of course." Niall's face again became thunderous.

The despicable, horrible snake. He was betraying Léo to increase his credibility. Summoning all her feminine charm, she leaned closer into Niall, motioning her eyes shutting and her head on a pillow, then inclined her fingers softly toward Niall's sweating head, mouthing the words. Your dream, love. It was the first time she'd used an endearment and it cost her conscience.

Niall raised an eyebrow and kissed her hand again. "Ah yes. The dream."

Gordon took a befuddled sip of whisky, his eyes darting between Moira and Niall, then straightened in his chair. "A dream? Perhaps…your brother…that is half-brother…"

Niall ran a finger along Moira's jaw. Repulsed, she kept her eyes soft, hoping that she looked beguiling and not disgusted. "None of my servants have been able to relieve my troubled mind. For three weeks I've woken up several times, unable to sleep. Moira has been kind enough to visit my chamber and relieve my worries." Niall gave Gordon a meaningful look and the two men burst into bawdy laughter.

Worm. She had done no such thing. He'd told her of his dreams at breakfast in between belches and threats to the terrified servants in the midst of a foul mood.

She pointed from Niall to Gordon, and braced as she mouthed the name of the man he hated. Léonid.

Niall's fingers traveled along her collarbone and then up, pausing, his thumb poised over her throat, his fingers tightening along the back of her neck. "The nightmare has woken me several times. I believe it may be significant."

His hand tightened, his eyes searched her own. One squeeze, one hint of the truth, and she was done for. Léo's frightened cry as Father had been run through echoed through her mind, and she steeled herself, lifting her chin, refusing to be scared of him. Then remembering who was in control, she smoothed her hand over Niall's, leaned into him and kissed him. He returned her kiss with slobbering enthusiasm. Nausea seized her, but she remained steadfast. She would do whatever it took to make him seek out Léo.

He broke the kiss, resting his sweating forehead on hers. "Yes, my love. Perhaps I should."

On the shoreline outside the Aird of Sleat, Calum handed her a black knit cap. Are you sure you want to do this?

After months of practice, his signs had become almost as fluent as the rest of the team, though he still needed her to sign slowly.

Aye . She pointed to the trees. I'll stay in the branches. They will never see me .

He frowned. I don't like the idea of you jumping through the trees in darkness.

She pointed to the full moon in the midnight sky. It's high. I can see everything.

Calum relented. All right. I still don't like it.

I'll be back in one hour. If I'm not, sail to Dunvegan.

Signing ABSOLUTELY NOT with big gestures, he crossed his arms, then pointed at the ground. I'm waiting for you to get back .

Stubborn man. With an even bigger and more annoyed gesture she signed back, FINE.

She held out her hands and he secured the leather strips around her palms.

Do not take risks.

Calm down, Lightning. It's merely a look around.

Calum rolled his eyes. Fine .

She rolled her eyes back. Fine.

Winking at him, she pulled the black knit cap over her bright hair and climbed the rocky hillside. It took her fifteen minutes of walking before she began to pick up signs of the encampment, but as she neared the edge of the wood, dots of campfires came into view.

Climbing the ancient bark of a tall fir tree, she quickly advanced to sixty feet. Scanning the ground below, she paused when she spotted her first tent group. She waited for her eyes to adjust to the firelight. Two tent groups. No, three.

Sticking to the branches of the pines and avoiding the bare branches of the hardwood trees, she leapt around the perimeter of the encampment. A shadow rose in the center of the rows of tents. She couldn't make out what it was.

Biting her lip, she studied the tents, weighing the risk of getting closer for a better look. No movement stirred among the encampment. She needed to see what the massive shadow was.

Moira took a deep breath. Lord, give me strength.

The night was cold and cloudless, and she lingered, waiting for the night watch to move toward the other side of the camp. When they turned, she lowered herself down, one branch to another. Ten feet from the ground she dropped, landing in the soft soil without a sound.

Careful to avoid branches and leaves, she moved through the grass, slipping among the tents. A breeze whipped around the forest, the sound of flapping canvas disguising the sound of her footsteps. She passed the first ring of tents. The second. The third.

By the sliver of crescent moonlight, the shadow morphed in front of her and began to take shape. It was enormous. Four wheels. Wood that jutted upward into a slope. An impossibly long wooden arm. With horror she realized what she was looking at, what the blob on Niall's map was.

The flap of the tent closest to her swung back and she dived under the structure, sheltering behind a wheel.

Half-asleep, a man wandered out of his tent and right for her. The sound of leather on leather met her ears and then moving water. A puddle spread toward her and she scrambled backward. Saints. Why were men so disgusting?

The man finished relieving himself with a yawn and wandered back inside the tent, pulling the flap closed.

Not wasting another minute, she sprinted through the camp, weaving between the tents and up into the safety of the trees. Not slowing, she leapt from tree to tree, back over the ridge line and through the thick forest. Wood gave way to moors. She dropped to her feet.

Breath catching in her throat, she tucked her hands close to her as Calum taught her and shortened her strides, picking up speed, savoring the feeling of the earth pounding away from her feet. A thrill raced through her muscles as she pushed herself to her physical limit. Thighs burning she climbed the final hill, pushing her speed.

Joy radiated over her. After long months of waiting, today she had gathered several important pieces of information, helping the MacLeods—and Léo. God had given her the opening. The things that evil men did existed far below the heights the bird in her heart could fly.

She flew over the precipice of the moor and down the beach toward the boat. Excitement filled her heart and she launched into a cartwheel, landing on her feet and then flipped backward.

Calum spotted her coming and ran to her side. "Saints, Birdy. You terrified me bursting over the hill like that. I thought someone was chasing you."

She laughed and bent backwards walking her hands toward earth and pulling her feet over and over again.

"All right, all right. You're excited. What did you see?"

Shaking her head, she caught her breath, then signed— T-R-E-B-U-C-H-E-T .? 3