Chapter 15

CRàDH PRISON - MARCH 2, 1385

T hrough the bars of his cell, Gillie MacKinnon clung to Léo and Eoghan. "God bless you, both. God bless you."

After days of waiting, word about the health of Gillie's daughter had arrived with the supply ship. Thanks to Ursula MacFadyen's skill and devotion, she had pulled through her difficult recovery from childbirth at last. Léo thought of Théa, and understood Gillie's deep relief.

Léo read the reply from Murdoch. "If there's anything that changes in the next week, Ursula will send word. If we don't hear anything that means all is well."

Gillie wiped his white-whiskered cheeks. Eoghan passed a sweet berry tart through the bars. "From Dunvegan. They thought you might be wanting a little something to celebrate the occasion."

The old man wasted no time in taking a large bite out of the tart, his eyes rolling back in his head. "Saints."

The three men chuckled.

The door at the end of the hall opened. "Léo, Eoghan." Mowbray's face was hard. "Gordon has returned."

Gillie spoke through his stuffed mouth. "Prayin' for you. "

Léo straightened his spine not trusting Gordon any more than he would an adder.

Eoghan rested a hand on his shoulder. "If things go wrong we can take him. Give me a sign and I'll help you take him down."

After months of eating and training in the wake of Moira's departure, Léo was almost as hale as he had been before entering Cràdh, but he had no interest in murdering a man. "I don't think it will come to that, Irlandais."

Eoghan pushed the door to the south tower open and dropped his voice. "Wink or something if you change your mind."

Mowbray's tower room was larger than their own and faced the shores of Skye. Besides a large and comfortable-looking bed and proper hearth, the room had a massive window that faced the island. Though nothing could be distinguished in the dark of night, Léo still squinted against the blackness, trying to make out Moira and Father Allen's cottage on the shore.

Gordon rose from his seat before the fire and put out a hand. "Léo."

Léo looked at his yellowed hand, its long fingers and pointing nails. Was this a good sign? He took it.

"Have a seat."

Eoghan, Mowbray, and he took up chairs across from Gordon and looked at him with expectation. Gordon did not speak.

After several moments of awkwardly staring, Léo gripped the arm of the chair and broke the silence. "How was your stay at Dun Ringill?"

A wide smile spread across Gordon's face like the morning sun embracing the hills of his pronounced cheeks. "Everything you predicted has come to pass. I'll be leaving in July to resume my auld duties on Skye."

A bit of relief eased the tension in Léo's neck and shoulders. "Congratulations. Though I assure you, I didn't predict anything. I only listened for God to give meaning to the pieces of what he gave to you."

Gordon waved a dismissive hand through the air. "Bosh. Your brother was most impressed by your ability."

Never once in Leo's thirty-two years had Niall ever been an encourager of his dreams or their meanings. The last time Niall had heard one of his dreams his parents had died, and the following week he'd been dumped in France. A sick pit formed in his stomach. Neither Gordon nor Niall could be trusted. If Gordon had informed Niall of his interpretation, it was likely to save his own hide. "Oh?"

"Yes. He's asked me to bring you to Dun Ringill when I return to duty in July so that you may interpret a troublesome dream he's been having. As a prisoner of course. Not a guest."

A stunned stupor hardened over him. Both he and Eoghan spoke at the same time. "What?"

Gordon chuckled. "It's unusual, aye. Perhaps if you can do for him what you've done for me he will curtail your punishment."

Disbelief poured over him. July. Four months. Four months until he saw Moira. Four months to return to full strength. Four months until he returned to the halls of his childhood home and could facilitate the uprising.

Gordon waved a dismissive hand. "It seems he's been having a dream about a unicorn or some such thing."

Unicorn. A sign of power. Incredulity wormed through his attitude. Not that, God . He prayed for his brother's deliverance from evil every day, not a multiplication of power. "A sign of power."

Gordon's eyes widened and he leaned forward, rapt. "Power, you say?"

"Aye."

"I shall let the laird know when I return to Dun Ringill for the feast of Pentecost. I've been invited as his special guest." Gordon bounced with excitement. "I've been promised a village girl from Kilmarie. Although I doubt she will be as beautiful as the delicious wench your brother has for himself."

All vows to not harm Gordon vanished like warm breath on a cold night. Sudden red flooded Léo's vision and he almost came across the room and wrapped his hands around Gordon's scrawny throat.

Gordon stroked his beard, a look of desire on his face. "Moira Allen. Always had a soft spot for her. Should have gotten her in a cell while I had the chance."

Gritting his teeth, Léo breathed a seething breath and tried to control his murderous thoughts .

Mowbray took one look at Léo's face and narrowed his eyes. "How is Moira?"

"More attractive than she ever was here at Cràdh, to be sure. Of course a bit of coin and instruction in the ways of love will make for a biddable mare."

Léo tightened his grip on the arm of the chair. If Gordon said one more disgusting thing he would have the pleasure of squeezing the last breath from his bony neck. Eoghan would help him.

Mowbray sounded surprised. "She's happy at Dun Ringill?"

"Most happy from what I could ascertain. Couldn't keep her hands off Niall. No longer that unattractive streak of spirit."

The spirit that had saved him with its selflessness. No, Moira.

" Devoted to the laird's pleasure. Unlike his last leman. And unlike your mother was with your father."

The ugliest part of his childhood. His father loved his mother and yet made her betray her conscience, forcing her to endure the unspeakable, turning the light out in her eyes. The memory of Maman weeping in the room beside his in the dark of night made him sick.

"I'd say by appearances, Moira is enjoying her instruction. Allows him to stroke her openly, touches him as if he is her most beloved, kisses him like she craves him."

The arm of the chair gave a loud crack beneath the pulverizing grip of Léo's hand. Gut seizing, he struggled to hold onto its contents. No, Moira. No.

"I'm sure you'll see when we visit in July. Laird MacKinnon didn't allow her out of his sight."

Léo had known she might have been harmed, known she might have been used as his mother had been, but willing? Eager? Enjoying herself? What of their pledges to each other the last time he'd seen her? Without Moira, what did he have? Grief for what he'd lost inundated him.

The room closed in on him and he burst to his feet. Gordon jumped in his seat. "I thank you, MacMorran, for your kindness in helping me find approval with my brother. I will return to my room to ponder the meaning of the unicorn."

Gordon nodded with approval. "Yes, good to arrive prepared. "

He had to get out of here. Bursting through the door, he raced down the stairs and across the parapet.

Eoghan jogged after him. "Léo, wait!"

"Not now, Eoghan, leave me!"

Eoghan grabbed Léo's arm and he rounded, releasing a burst of angry French on his friend. Screaming words of frustration and total rage, fourteen months of anger spilled out on Eoghan. Léo gestured toward the tower, to the walls, in the direction of Dun Ringill, Father Allen's cottage. He motioned toward Gordon and the south tower and released an angry scream, his hands closing around his invisible throat, squeezing and screaming. When he'd finished he took a shuddering breath and bent forward over the parapet, watching the sea crash and break against the rocks. It hurt. And she'd hurt him.

Eoghan's arm came around his shoulders as hot tears of acute loss burst over Léo's face.

Unable to stop the intrusion of thoughts, he imagined Niall's hands on the woman he loved, and her willingness to be intimate with the man who had murdered her father. His stomach gave a violent clench and he vomited.

Eoghan patted his back. "Ah, mate. It's okay."

Sobs racked him. Why, God? Why did everyone he love abandon him?

"Mate. It's not so bad." Eoghan tightened his hold over his shoulders.

Léo lifted his face toward his friend and wiped his cheeks, a stormy wind cooling their heat. "How could she?"

Eoghan gave him a smirk. "Moira?"

Léo sucked in a painful breath, knowing he must sound unhinged. "Oui."

Eoghan shook his head. "I caught on when you nearly broke the arm off Mowbray's chair with your bare hand. You're in love with Father Allen's daughter?"

A fresh wave of nausea hit him and he retched over the side of the parapet again.

"Egh, mate. You've really lost your head. I'm tellin' ya, it's not that bad. Although I must say it is a bit of a relief to see you haven't turned into a fully canonized saint yet. You're so collected, I've wondered if it's true you're French apart from the funny way you pronounce ‘it'."

Léo burped and hung his head in the wind. "It. What? I say it."

Eoghan laughed. " ‘EEeet. I say eet.' Yes, and you have that French passion brewin' somewhere inside you too."

Léo wiped his eyes on the backs of his hands and pushed to standing.

Eoghan chuckled. "You're thinkin' Niall stole her from you? Moira didn't have a choice. She was forced to go to Dun Ringill. In the wake of her father's brutal death, I might add."

"I know."

Eoghan crossed his arms. "What then, you're angry that you get out of this place for a day or two? Angry you may have a chance to see the girl ya love in the flesh? Angry she's well? Angry you may be able—" he dropped his voice, "to escape?"

"I'm angry at everything."

Eoghan shook his head. "You're angry at God."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

"No—"

"You can say ‘non I'm nut' as many times as you want. You are. You're fed up. We all get that way here. Look, Moira's done what she needs to survive, Léo, just as we have."

Angry wind whipped over him, tangling his hair and his lingering feelings of love and devotion.

Eoghan continued. "I went away on campaign to Letterkenny five years ago. While I was gone my woman married another man. I thought she loved me and would wait for me. But I was gone for four years. What was she supposed to do? Wait forever? What could be done about it? Nothin'."

"Is this supposed to cheer me up?"

Eoghan chuckled and squinted into the brewing storm. "Yeah, Francach. That was a hopeless situation. This isn't. Don't take Gordon's word for anythin'. Trust there's more to it than what he's tellin' you. And even if it is true… your brother stole her away… steal her back and get out of Scotland . If I were Moira and had the choice between the man who killed me father, and a somewhat annoyin' but stupidly handsome Francach, it would be an easy choice."

"She's not his daughter."

Eoghan's brow furrowed. "What? Who?"

"Moira. She's not Father Allen's daughter. He told me as he lay dying. Made me promise to help her get away from Niall, to find her family. And…to love her." Guilt clenched his stomach. No matter how he felt about Niall and Moira, he had promised her father that he would help her. Perhaps if Moira heard the dying words of love Father Allen wanted to give her she would remember where her loyalties should lie.

Eoghan blew out a breath. "Does she know she's not his?"

He frowned. "I don't know."

"Whose is she, then?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. He didn't have a lot of time to fill in the gaps, Eoghan."

Eoghan made a face. "Fair enough. So you have a responsibility to him then? She's yours to care for. It's settled."

Léo's heart twisted. Like it or not, he wasn't done with Moira Allen.