Chapter 24

KYLEAKIN VILLAGE - SEPTEMBER 8, 1385

L éo's head rested in his hand and he yawned, watching as the last of the harvest was gathered from the arable fields in Kyleakin. It would be a long ride back to Dun Ringill, and the brown rouncey he'd been given, an animal he dubbed Thorny due to his disposition, wasn't much for long rides. Or being looked at. Or being talked to.

Yawning again, he touched the bridge of his nose and squeezed, trying to wake his vision up. For twenty-four days, in the predawn hours of the morning, he and Moira had worked on throws. Last night, they'd worked on throwing her to the branches of the trees, and his shoulders, back, and chest were more sore than they had ever been in his life.

The ice in her had not thawed in nearly a month. She'd been cordial, but instead of the flickers of affection she'd shown before, she'd given him only enough cooperation to complete the mission.

Wretched argument. Her rejection of his offer of care had wounded him, feeling like a rejection of him. True to the MacKinnon parts of himself, he lashed out and used her father's dying words to contradict her, and it rebounded spectacularly.

Instead of feeling triumphant, he'd known in one second that he'd made an irreparable mistake. Father Allen's words should have been delivered with the utmost care and consideration, and instead he'd weaponized them against his own daughter.

He hadn't thought far enough ahead to anticipate the pain in her eyes, the knife he'd driven into her heart. As she skewered him, pressing for the details, he could not bear to tell her that she was not his natural daughter. If she didn't know, it would be salt in the wound he'd given her.

Whatever trust she'd placed in him was once more extinguished. Any hint that perhaps she'd loved him dissolved, and now they were little more than battle partners, preparing for the maneuver ahead of them. A maneuver he wanted to call off. All he wanted was to return to France and hold his son, the only thing in his life that made any sense. But he couldn't.

He couldn't abandon his duty to Gillie and Eoghan and Mowbray. He couldn't look away as the people of his clan were mercilessly taxed and hunted by his brothers. He couldn't ignore the truth God was revealing to him, breaking his will. With or without Moira beside him, the mission must continue.

Unable to stifle his fatigue, he yawned again.

Gordon looked over at him in the saddle. "You've been yawning all day."

"Aye. Another sleepless night."

A wicked grin crossed his face. "Ardis and her many charms. I've seen the way she fawns over you and waits for you in the corridors." Léo grimaced. So had Moira.

Shame and regret took hold. It was his own fault. Ardis had pursued him in every quiet moment he had, encouraged by his own words at their initial meeting, and now his indebtedness to her for providing him cover for the night the siege engine was destroyed. Allowing her to take care of his needs and his room had been welcome, but her familiarity with her hands and words was beginning to become a problem. Unsure how to respond, he simply said, "No rest for me."

Gordon looked jealous. "I've been trying to convince Moira all week to let me in her room. Stupid wench won't budge. She doesn't know I've got Malvina's keys. In for a surprise tonight."

At once all longing for a night of undisturbed sleep fell away and he snapped to attention. His hands tightened around his reins and Thorny hobbled sideways and forward, unsettled by the tension in his body. He settled the sensitive horse next to Gordon's dappled palfrey. "You don't mean…"

Gordon shrugged. "I gave her a choice."

No matter how Léo tried, he could not train his face into anything other than anger. "Aye, and she's told you no. Stay away from her."

He barked with laughter. "She hasn't got the ability to tell me anything."

Bloodlust came over him hard and fast—a flicker of beastly anger so primitive he could only think in short bursts. Threat. Predator. Kill.

"The fact she hasn't opened the door is telling you something. No . Besides, what will Niall do? He doesn't tolerate insolence, ask Father Allen. I'm warning you. Stay away from her."

Gordon's narrow face lit with annoyance as if Léo was a midge flying around his face. "I don't need her to be interested."

At this Léo jerked, and Thorny began to buck. He settled the beast and pinned Gordon with a look of rage.

Gordon began to pick up on Léo's warning look. "How very funny that you, a man I saved from prison, is telling me to know my place. I have half a mind to inform Niall that you come and go as you please since he's been away. Of course, should you be willing to interpret another dream I've had—I might have a lapse in memory."

A laughable thought. Gordon was a miserable guard, and had no clue what had truly gone on in Cràdh, nor that he and Moira trained in nighttime hours. It was only in the interest of preserving the man's belief that he held something over Léo that he played into his threat.

Unable to disguise the edge in his voice, he pushed him. "What would you have me interpret? Go on."

Gordon's face twisted into something spiteful and he shifted in his saddle. "I'm within the laird's house, but I work in the kitchen. I'm preparing his food, and taking care of all his meals, and placing the food for him in baskets. In the first basket is food for the servants: the choicest meat, the freshest fruit, the best bread. In the second basket is food for the family—and they have the same: meat, fruit, and bread. But their food is covered with flies. In the third basket is food for the laird: pastries and tarts, baked goods. I stack the baskets and put them all on my head. Suddenly, the back door opens and an eagle swoops down, shooting fire from its mouth and singeing the basket of the laird. More birds rush in and together the birds eat what is meant for the laird."

A chill of foreboding crept along his neck. This wasn't just another dream about finding yourself in the market with no clothes on, or teeth falling out of your head. This was something else.

Gordon studied his face. "It means something?"

"Oui."

Excitement came over Gordon. "After your last interpretation, I thought it must. Both the laird and I dreamed of the eagle that breathes fire. There are many symbols in it."

Understanding filled Léo's heart and strengthened his spirit, but how would he tell Gordon? And how would Léo keep his little eagle safe when she despised him?

"The three baskets represent three weeks of your life. The food is the Lord's provision. The servants of the house and clan are being strengthened. The family is …" He gave his words careful consideration, knowing whatever he said may make it back to Malvina and Niall. "The family is being tested, and the flies represent…turmoil."

Turmoil in the form of spiritual sickness, a rotting of their souls.

"The food for the laird is the most refined, food that satisfies, brings pleasure."

Yet the laird was not who ate from the basket. So far he had given Gordon an honest, but cautious, interpretation.

"I knew it." Delight washed over Gordon and he threw a hand to his forehead in relief. Thorny skittered sideways. "I knew it meant something important."

Léo settled the skittish horse and brought him to a stand. "Yes. Very important."

"What do the birds mean?"

A picture of his Birdy flying through the air filled his heart with warmth. "Birds represent hopes. Birds that fly represent a pursuit of joy, harmony, and peace. A bird with fire represents a pursuit of passion."

But the fire was the eagle's, not Gordon's. Her passion for the mission, singeing the basket representing the laird's physical body. The other birds, their team, feasting from what was meant for Niall, now given to them.

"And why are the baskets on my head?"

He paused not knowing how to make it palatable. "In three weeks, these things will come to pass." Michaelmas. "And the birds eat from the baskets on your head because…" Gordon would die. "You are the harbinger of what will happen and your future will depend on it."

Gordon frowned. "What does that mean? Is that good?"

"God's plan is always good. Now, will you agree to keep your mouth shut and to leave Moira alone?"

Gordon adjusted himself in the saddle, a self-satisfied look on his face. "I'll keep my mouth shut."