Chapter 23

ALBHAINN POND - AUGUST 15, 1385

M ore speed. I need more speed!

Léo growled in frustration. "I cannot give you more speed without killing you! Do you want to break your neck?"

Moira raked her fingers through her hair, yanking it into a knot on the top of her head and winding a leather tie around it. He was thwarting her every move. Never again. Once their mission was over, she would never work with a partner, ever again.

Standing with her ankles to the back of a knee-high rock, she moved through her part of their lift.

"Your shoulders aren't rolled back enough."

Killing her. He was killing her. My shoulders are fine.

" They're not. You're angling too far forward which is stifling your pop off my wrists."

It's your tunic! I keep catching my hands in the sleeves.

Face drawn tight he ripped the tunic off, balled it up, and chucked it over her head.

Vision red, she wrested the tunic from her face and threw it with force into the pond .

He erupted in a stream of angry French. " Tu te fous de moi? êtes-tu un enfant?"

Pleased, she watched him wade into the murky water after his tunic, muttering. She turned and continued to practice her sequence begrudgingly holding her shoulders farther back.

The success of the mission would depend on her ability to get enough height in the lift, and so far he'd managed to throw her into his face, to the side, and over his shoulders, but had not been able to throw her high enough to grab the top of an obstacle.

Stalking out of the lake, Léo tossed his sopping tunic on the ground. He crouched and held his hands in front of him circling her invisible hips. Concentrating, he ran through his portion of the sequence. The same frustration she'd had for the last two hours with his execution surfaced and she got his attention.

Drive through your legs faster and burst upward. You're not giving me enough power.

He wiped a hand over his face. "It needs to be as controlled as possible. We'll have a limited amount of space. If I throw you too high I am afraid I'll lose control and throw you into something, or won't be able to catch you."

You need to trust that I know what I'm doing. Give me the power and I will control it. Stop being such a donkey.

He strode toward his wadded-up tunic, picked it up, and wrung the water from it. "We're done here."

Léo, wait . She tried to grab for his arm but he yanked it away, walking back toward the tunnel. Running after him, she tried to get in front of him, struggling to sign as she jogged. So you say we're done and we're done? You decide what I do and how I do it…

Jaw set, eyes fixed ahead, he trudged through the tall grass. She jogged ahead of him. Will you stop?

Diverting his eyes, he refused to read what she was saying, proving that if he chose, he could shut her out. She stopped and she watched him stomp away. Curling in on herself, she released a silent scream, cursing her useless throat. She deserved a say. Anger mounting, her chest heaving, she targeted his back and ran.

In seconds, she crossed the field between them and launched herself onto his back. Arms windmilling, he squawked as she took him face first into a mud puddle. Her feeling of triumph lasted only moments before he bucked her over his powerful shoulders, flipping her into the mud and pinning her to the ground. She kicked against him, but legs of iron and hands of bronze held her fast.

His teeth gritted and his eyebrows formed two perfect arches over his umber eyes. "Arrêt. Stop this, Moira."

She stilled, fuming with rage, unable to bring her hands up to sign to him. Unable to speak. Her mouth formed the words with measured rage. Let. Me. Go.

Mud dripped from a wavy clump of his hair and hit her mouth. "Not if you're going to call me names and attack me. You need to learn to control yourself. This is exactly what I am talking about."

Frustration cramped her chest, and to her horror, wetness formed in her eyes. The sting of inadequacy burned through her and a teardrop escaped from the corner of her eye. At once, his expression became soft and he let go of her arms, rolling off her.

Cold mud clung to her back, shoulders, and hair, but she did not get up. Instead, she brought a hand to her face and wiped the stray tear, feeling the streak of mud along her cheek she left behind. Defeated, she squashed her tears. As she'd learned twenty-seven years earlier, no amount of tears would restore her voice.

Embarrassed that she'd let her emotions run away from her, she looked at him, finding a piteous look in his eyes, making everything feel worse.

I'm sorry, she signed quickly.

His voice was tender. "I'm sorry, too."

She nodded in acknowledgment and got to her feet, heading toward the tunnel.

"Moira, wait."

She stopped.

"Let's give it another go."

Outside of the prison, they could do nothing but argue. The storm and sunshine of their relationship weighed heavy on her. Would they ever find what they had shared for a few fleeting days during the darkest time of their lives?

"Moira, please. Trust me." Those eyes. The pleading look in them.

The craving for him overtook her need for self-preservation and she returned to her position. Behind her she felt him crouch. One—she rocked. Two—she lifted to her toes. Three—she dropped her knees. Firm hands settled on her hips and held her tight. Four—she forced the ground away from her in a powerful thrust of speed. The potent force that he'd been holding back surged from his arms and launched her toward the sky. Sailing upward, she traveled several feet over him bringing her hands up in a grab, before beginning to sink. The palms of his hands caught the balls of her feet, his index fingers stabilizing her heels, and he held her aloft.

They'd done it .

He gave her a bounce, then caught her hips and lowered her to the ground. Throwing her arms around his shoulders, she squeezed him, burying her face in his neck. After trying for hours, arguing like two cats in a sack, they'd finally done it. A smell of earth drew her in, and she rested her face against his muddy hair, tightly shutting her eyes.

"Are you smelling me ?"

Silent laughter bubbled from her as she dropped out of his arms and they stared at each other.

Fatigue set in, and her limbs felt heavy. It was time for bed. I'm tired.

He nodded and picked up the sodden, muddy tunic. They walked back toward the tunnel, crickets singing through the forest and dawn mist beginning to curl around them.

"You were right. You knew how far to push yourself. I'm—I'm sorry again."

They stopped in front of the tunnel opening and she picked up her pink leine pulling it over her muddy head, suddenly self-conscious in her hose.

He took her hand. "I should have looked at you and listened to what you were trying to say to me. Can you forgive me, Moira?"

Heart rattled, secrets straining against the chains—she didn't want to hide herself away. Her heart begged her to sign the words. In her mind she rehearsed them— Aileen. Call me Aileen. I want you to know who I really am.

His palm cradled her cheek .

I'm…I'm…

He studied her hands, waiting for her to finish. "I'm?"

I'm not…

Her heart longed to say I'm not Moira Allen. I'm Aileen… Aileen from the sea. I don't know who I am or where I come from, but I know I'm not Moira Allen. I'm someone else.

"I'm not?" His eyes moved from her frozen fingers to her teary eyes, confusion drenching his features.

How could she betray her father? Betray the name he'd given her? What right did she have to deny him after all he'd done to love and provide for her?

She gave a defeated sigh and sat down on the ground, tucking her head against her knees and succumbing to the emotion that she struggled to keep at bay for a year. Sobs overtook her and she felt herself being pulled into the safety of his chest.

"I'm sorry, Moira, I'm sorry."

Hot tears rolled down her cheeks. I'm not Moira. Unable to bring herself to sign the words she shook her head and looked up into his eyes and signed through shuddering sobs. It. Isn't. You.

He gently brushed her tears away. "What is it?"

Everything. Being here. Being someone I'm not, all the time.

The lines above his right eyebrow deepened. "I didn't know it weighed on you so heavily. You're doing so well, you've done so much to save our cause. To help me."

The tears wouldn't slow, no matter how hard she tried to stamp them out. Longing for Father's guidance seized her so hard she lost her breath against the grief.

Strong arms tightened around her and his hand smoothed her hair away from her muddy, wet face, then held her to him. For long minutes she cried. Cried for her father, for her mother, and for the family she knew could be out there, somewhere, going on without her, but whom she was helpless to reach. Would she never know family and belonging again?

The tone of his voice was rich and deep as he whispered against her ear. "Mon amour, please… you are breaking my heart. Let me take you to Dunvegan. Come with me. You're more valuable to me than becoming chief."

She wrapped her arms tight around his neck, unable to stifle her grief or love for him. She shook her head no.

"Yes. You've done so much. Enough. Let me take care of you."

Heart cramping, she released his neck and brushed the tears away from her eyes. I don't need you to take care of me.

His arms fell away from her. "Your father didn't agree."

Disbelief that his tone had turned hard so quickly and shock at his words shot through her. What do you mean?

His expression looked conflicted. "Nothing."

Father had discussed her with him? And he would dare withhold that from her? My father discussed my safety with you? When?

He blew out a breath. "The night he died."

Sadness and grief stung, but her dominant emotion was fire-breathing anger. Why didn't you tell me, Léo?

Guilt swamped his features and he swallowed. "You're right, I should have told you. But I didn't know how to tell you, I wasn't certain if you knew…"

Knew what? What did he say?

Glass shone in his brown eyes and he blinked. "He told me to take care of you. To watch over you. To fight for you."

So great was the pain within her heart that she clutched her chest, fearing it would burst open.

"He said he loved you like you were his own…" He stopped, his eyes searching, cheeks twitching. "You were his own heart."

A sob of incredulity escaped from her mouth and pierced the night with a coarse rasp.

"His last thoughts and words were only of you, Moira, he loved you so much. He knew I could keep you safe. He wanted me to help you."

Anger at the whole miserable MacKinnon family coursed through her and she shoved him away. I don't want your help! For weeks you've had opportunities to tell me and you didn't. These were my father's words to me, he trusted you to give them to me. What else did he tell you?

A look of unmistakable guilt lived in his eyes, and her blood boiled. What? What else did he tell you ?

He couldn't look at her. He was unwilling to tell her everything her father had told him. She got off his lap and he got to his feet following her. "Moira…Moira…please, calm down."

Regret for getting tangled in him swamped her. Had she not been at the prison for Léo that night, Father would still be alive. His arms reached for her and she shoved him away again.

You have no right to keep his dying words from me. Why do you feel the need to control everything? I'm so tired of everyone assuming what I am, and who I am, what's good for me, and what I need without bothering to listen to my words. And I don't, Léo—I don't need you. I don't want you. And now I don't trust you. I'll figure this out on my own.

She made for the opening of the tunnel and he tried to stop her. Don't follow me!

" Moira, please…"

Out of my way. I have a mission to complete.

" Moira!"

She rounded on him, rage exploding. Stop calling me Moira!

He took a giant step away from her, tears filling his eyes as he cocked his head to the side, trying to understand her meaning.

Grief clogging her chest, she turned and jumped into the tunnel opening.