Chapter 25

DUN RINGILL CASTLE - SEPTEMBER 8, 1385

E lspeth MacKinnon's chamber was overwarm and overdecorated, not unlike the woman herself. It was so full of objects, murals, textiles, and furs, there was not a sliver of empty space for the eye to rest. Which was why, on this unseasonably warm September evening, Moira pulled the table and chair beside the window and sketched the moonlit loch below, longing to connect to the truest parts of herself, not the role she played as leman.

Beneath a charcoal sky, she sketched a radiant white moon dappled with pock marks and shadow. Moonbeams reached over the rippling sea loch and trees stood still in the sultry air. Dragging her fingers over the ripples of the water, she blurred the dark, creating depth and shadow.

A bead of sweat slid down her neck and she twisted her hair up, sticking a gaudy pin through the messy curls. A pitiful breeze puffed through the window from the nearly-still loch, providing little relief. The strap of her chemise fell down her shoulder and she pulled it up, scratching a tickle along her bare arm.

Just as she touched her charcoal to paper again, two hands closed around her mouth and her neck, ripping her backward over the chair and pushing her to the ground. A scream rent through her throat but only a rasping gurgle came out .

A nasal laugh. "Can't scream."

Her hands snaked up between Gordon's and forced his arms apart, breaking his grip on her throat. Slithering across the floor, she scrambled out from under him, but he held onto her leg and jerked her down, pulling her across the room toward the bed.

Panic overwhelmed her as she held her chemise to her body, and her mind went blank. Bony hands grabbed her arms and dug into her armpits as he tossed her upon the bed kicking and gasping. Much stronger than he looked, Gordon leaned his weight over her and held her body down, grabbing at her chemise.

Fear charged through her, and she screamed Léo's name…but no sound came out. Frightened, she realized with a sick feeling she would have to stop him alone.

Training kicking in, her hand went to her hair and she pulled the pin, then swooped it through the air and it sank into his chest. He arched backward, yelping in pain, before removing it as if it were nothing.

He crashed back on top of her, his disgusting mouth covering her own, his hands slithering up her chemise as she tried to force him off. Panic overwhelmed her as she tried to scream again, tears flooding her eyes as her mind went blank.

Please God, give me a voice. "Léo…" the weak scream was nothing more than a bare hiss. "Léo…"

In a violent shatter, the latch blew off the dry-rotted doorframe and the door burst apart, wood flying everywhere and scraping heavily across the floor. A dark shadow charged through the room and ripped Gordon off her, throwing him across the room like a rag doll. He tumbled across a table sending dozens of gaudy objects sailing in all directions. Scrambling backward, Moira fell off the bed and collided with Ardis's legs.

In the dim glow of her rushlight, Léo's face burned with white-hot fury, and for the first time she glimpsed the lethal warrior that had survived years of nonstop battle. Vengeance masked his features and he shot forward like a predatory beast, dipping away from Gordon's attempt to swing at him, and picking him up with a feral war cry, slamming him to the floor. Stunned, Gordon sprawled.

Léo was over him in an instant, a storm of blows raining down upon Gordon's rat-like face. Léo's voice was murderous as his fist came down again and again, Gordon's face disintegrating beneath his huge fist. "I warned you to stay away from her?—"

Gordon beat at Leo's sinewy arms, and two large, battle-tested hands clenched Gordon's throat, a look of savagery in Léo's eyes.

Ardis rushed forward. "You'll go back to prison!"

Blood from the impotent wound Moira had inflicted trickled against Léo's fingers as he shook Gordon's head. "You'll stay away from her or I'll destroy you. You think my brothers are to be feared? Do you feel how close you are to death? Do you realize which brother you should be cowering from?" Gordon nodded, face purple.

Moira could do naught but shake on the floor, slack-jawed. Father had been right.

Léo held Gordon tight to the floor, his eyes burning with anger. "Our bargaining days are done. You will never say another disgusting thing about her. You will never show her anything but groveling respect?—"

Isobel wandered into the room, dressed for bed, a long white braid over her shoulder, a candle in her hand. "Oh my stars, Léo."

Léo's hand tightened over Gordon's throat. "I found him trying to violate Mademoiselle Allen. He has Malvina's keys."

Ardis pulled on the thick muscle of his arm. "Léo, let go, they'll send you back to Cràdh or to your death."

Gordon's eyelids flickered and Léo shook him, shouting into his purple face. "You will never harm a hair on her head. You will never look at her again—and if you do, I will be right behind you, ready to end you. Do you understand, you spineless, gutless worm?"

Losing consciousness, Gordon gave the barest of nods. Growling, Léo let go of his neck and Gordon coughed and gasped.

Léo sat on top of him, searching his clothing. Finding Malvina's keys, he tossed them to Isobel. "Keep those until Michaelmas."

Isobel crouched and picked the keys up off the floor, her face full of shock. Grabbing a plaid from the chair, she crouched beside Moira, covering her shoulders. "Are you hale, dearie?"

Moira knit her shaking hands in the ivory plaid, leaving streaks of black from her charcoaled fingers. She shook her head back and forth. No. She wasn't.

Léo nodded his head to Ardis. "Come with me, hold your candle, we'll take him to the stables. He's not safe to allow under the same roof as you." His protection of Ardis made jealous, unreasonable remorse clamp over her.

He hoisted a bleeding and bruised Gordon off the floor and hefted him over his shoulder, heading down the hall. Ardis looked at her and gave her a lurid smile before following him.

Isobel's soft wrinkled hand grasped hers. "I don't know about you, but I could use a wee dram."

Trembling, Moira nodded and Isobel helped her up. "Come on." On shaking legs, she followed Isobel out of the room and down the hallway.

What a warrior she made. She hadn't heard the door, hadn't had her guard up, hadn't been expecting the attack, hadn't been wearing her dagger. If she crumbled as she had tonight during their mission next week, she would die.

As they crossed into the night-cloaked kitchen, her trembling gave way to full body shaking and she longed for Léo, for the refuge of his arms as they held her up, broke her fall, supported, and guided her. Tears stung her eyes, realizing that she needed him to steady her and hating that she did. He'd saved her. She hadn't been able to do it herself.

Isobel put cups and a bottle of uisge-beatha on the table and motioned her to sit. Rattling the chair across the stone floor, Moira wobbled into it and brushed a tear away.

Pouring a trickle into the bottom of a cup, Isobel took a drink, then passed it to her. The warm burn of good uisge-beatha lit up her throat, and after a few moments, the ends of her tense muscles.

Isobel gave a small hiccough. "Dinnae ken wha' the man is thinkin'. Niall will murder him when he hears. S'pose I dinnae have tae tell you that."

Moira shook her head, weary at once of her role at Dun Ringill.

"Léo may still do it for Niall. I've never seen him that way. It's obvious he?—"

The kitchen door opened and Isobel stopped speaking, winking at Moira, then handing Léo and Ardis each a tiny glass with a minuscule trickle of the brown liquid. "Have a dram."

Léo put the cup aside and sat next to Moira, his eyes full of fear. "Are you—did he?—?"

Moira shook her head adamantly, longing to sign to him.

His eyes traveled over the bruises appearing on her arms. "I—I thought I was too late."

Ardis downed the whisky and put her cup down in front of Moira. "Lucky for you Léo was taking me upstairs and we passed by your room and heard scuffles. You shouldnae have encouraged Gordon with your stares. I suppose you cannae help it—you're softheaded."

A click of noise emitted from Léo's throat, anger returning to his features.

Rolling her eyes, Moira cocked her head and signed, knowing that of all her enemies at Dun Ringill, Ardis she could handle alone. Shut up, you stupid cow.

Léo snorted and coughed.

"What does that mean, eejit?"

Isobel cleared her throat and turned to the shelf, lifting a cloth from a bowl. "Give it a rest, Ardis, and help me wi' this cake."

Ardis retrieved four bowls and laid them out, each one banging against the wooden table. When everyone had a seat, Isobel dished out a small cake to each one of them, but only Ardis and Isobel ate.

Isobel smoothed her curled hands over the battered wood of the table. "The question is, are we to send for Malvina, or is it safer if we have somethin' to hold over his head to keep him on the straight and narrow until the laird returns?"

Ardis spoke through a full mouth. "Send for Malvina."

Léo's bronze eyes set with flint. "I believe it's best to wait until the laird returns. The threat of going to Niall is the only thing that will put fear into Gordon. He wants to preserve his job and his position, not to mention his life. Malvina doesn't care about a common leman. Bringing her back now will only make our lives more difficult."

Isobel nodded. "I believe you're right. In the meantime, Moira, we'll have the door repaired. You can stay with me until it's done. Don't let Gordon get you alone. Perhaps you can stick by me during the day. "

"I'll keep an eye out for her as well." The tone of Léo's voice erased her fear, and confusion bogged her down. She wanted to save herself, and yet the knowledge that he was watching over her brought her undeniable comfort.

Ardis scoffed. "Fine, but Malvina will be annoyed if it comes out and we didn't tell her."

Isobel dusted her hands over her plate. "And who's going to tell her?"

A tense silence rose over the kitchen, but Ardis relented. "Fine then. But I'm telling her it was your idea to keep it quiet if it does come out."

Isobel rolled her eyes. "I'll accept that risk."

Ardis pushed back from the table. "I'm going to bed. Léo?"

Léo stared at Ardis. After a few moments she put a hand to her hip. He still did not move.

Ardis shot a nasty look across the table at Moira. "You've ruined everyone's evening."

Stepping forward, Ardis caressed Léo's cheeks and threaded her hands through his hair, then kissed him passionately.When she straightened, he looked at her, mouth open, eyes wide, the two lines of puzzlement above his right eyebrow deepening. Moira nearly got up and walked for the tunnel. Tonight had been quite enough.

Ardis winked at Léo. "See you in the morn."

When the door closed, Isobel patted the table in front of her. "Well. I'm off to bed as well. Would you mind cleaning the dishes up before you head in, Moira?" Moira nodded. "And see her safe to our room, Léo."

Léo nodded. " Absolument. "

Isobel patted his thick shoulder. "Good night to you, but I'm too auld and decrepit to give you a farewell like Ardis."

Warm laughter rumbled from his chest and he leaned up and kissed her on her velvety white cheek. " Fais de beaux rêves, mon amour. "

The auld woman dissolved into a fit of giggles like a young lass, not immune to his charm even in her seventies.

Across the table, Moira and Léo's eyes met for the first time in weeks, and they smiled at each other as they listened to Isobel's giggles fade away down the corridor .

Moira signed. Collecting hearts everywhere you go.

"Aye, but to be fair, I didn't need to collect hers. I've had it since the day I was born. She was my nursemaid."

Moira thought of his shaky name written in the book in his room. What was it like growing up here?

Leo's eyes crinkled. "I can only recall life being sad. Maman met my father on a visit to Scotland. Papa was smitten by her beauty. He gave twice the amount of gold her sister received as a bride-price to be his leman. Uncle Arnoul took the gold, glad he did not have to provide a dowry, and she was forced to go to Skye with Papa against her will."

Suddenly, she saw Blanche d'Audrehem in the context of her tragic life and her heart broke. The woman was not a harlot, she was a prisoner—just as Moira was.

"Maman never saw her mother, or France, again. This role was a curse to her, not a position of honor. After I was born she came to respect Papa because he was a good father—but she was never happy, and she never loved him."

The look on his face was so haunted, she reached a hand across the table and took his bruised hand.

"Maman tried to protect me. I became my father's favorite child, which made me the most despised by everyone else. Who could blame Malvina for her resentment? I don't."

Love for his mother and pain for what she'd suffered was evident in his voice. "Maman said Papa tried for her, after I was born, to be a better man. He had remorse for what he'd done to her. You wear her coronet for Niall, and it pains me to see you walk the path she walked. And Niall is far worse than my father."

She did not have a way out. I do.

His brow creased and he scratched the stubble along his jaw. " Oui. You are brave."

The comment was begrudging, signaling that he still believed her weak. For once, she agreed with him. Not tonight. I was terrified.

Voice tinged with rage, he released her hand, cupping her cheek. "I will kill him if he comes near you again. If he thinks about coming near you again. "

Frustration burned in her breast. I don't want you to protect me. I want to do it myself.

He blinked and looked away. "I care for you, Moira. I want to save you, to fight for you. What's wrong with having someone to look after you?"

Frustration began to give way to exasperation. I don't want to be at the mercy of anyone else to save me.

He raised his hand in frustration and muttered in French. " Comme tu veux ."

She nodded and mouthed, Oui, comme je veux. He looked dumbfounded.

I can understand some of your muttering after months of enduring it.

His sandy eyebrows shot up. " Enduring it?"

Muttering when I let you down. When I miss a pass. When I set you off balance. When I don't do what you want. When I fall short of your high expectations. Which is all the time. You set an impossible standard for me.

" I mutter because you frustrate me."

Not more than you frustrate me.

He threw back the tiny trickle of whisky Isobel dripped in his cup and made an unsatisfied growl. "That was barely enough to wet my tongue."

Running his fingers through his hair, he laid into her. "You trust me to throw you through the air, to catch you as you tumble. Why do you not want me to rescue you? Don't all women need a man to protect them?"

She rolled her eyes at the comment. You don't want to just protect me. You want to control me. You want me to be a perfect lady. To be quiet, sweet, decent, and submissive. You want me to depend on you.

Incredulity drenched his expression. "Those aren't my commands, those are God's."

For a wife. You aren't my husband, Léo. Get it through your head.

"Believe me, I know you're not my wife." His pointed tone found its mark like an arrow to a bullseye.

She rolled her eyes, mouth flattening. No, I am not Théa . I know you mourn for her. But you cannot make me into her to patch your broken heart. I'm me. I'm opinionated.

"I'll say."

I like to fly through the air, I like danger, I like feeling that I'm the one protecting others. I don't want limits. I don't want to be vulnerable. I don't want to be swept away, I want to be strong enough to make my own way.

His jaw tightened. "Will we never stop this fighting? I thought we had something in Cràdh. But perhaps I was wrong. Maybe I don't know you."

She shrugged. No one knows me. They put words in my mouth, thoughts in my head, and tell me who they want me to be. I will never be Cara MacLean, content at home to weave and be lady of a clan. I will never be submissive Théa MacKinnon. I'm a warrior. I'm the one who decides to take the risk. I'm the one flying through the air.

Voice toned with the soft current of his native tongue, Léo dropped into a gentle purr. "Yes, you fly through the air, and I love that you do. But don't you see that I am the one between you and the ground? My instincts are always watching for your safety and for any obstacle that gets in your way. I'm not trying to keep you from flying, I'm trying to keep you from falling. And I will never, ever let you hit the ground."

The chains around her heart gave a tremendous rattle, but fear locked them tight.

Yet you're also the man who kisses and regrets it, who asks for me to give my heart and crushes it when he receives it. And you and Ardis ? —

" Let's be clear on that right now, I have never?—"

I don't care to hear it, Léo. You were taking her to your bed this night.

"I wasn't! Will you listen? I was jealous!"

She puzzled. Jealous? Of what?

He growled with frustration, his words coming out in a mixture of French and Gaelic. "Of you and Niall. Of his hands on you… Ses baisers sur tes lèvres. I couldn't stand it. I wanted… Je te voulais pour moi."

Her mind picked out words she knew among his French but still couldn't make sense of it. My lips? What do you mean—me for you?

Bursting to his feet, the chair behind him crashed to the floor as he leaned over her, his eyes full of fire, his words raw. "His lips on you, his hands on you... I can't stand it. I want you for myself, Moira. I want to be the one who kisses and touches you, no one else. I told Niall I wanted a woman because I wanted to hurt you as you're hurting me. I've never spent more than five minutes alone with Ardis. She lied and said that we stayed together all night, and I've allowed it to continue so that I don't go back to prison for something I didn't do."

You just kissed her.

He bellowed at her. " Tu es tellement frustrant! She kissed me. She. Kissed. ME. You're the one pursuing Niall."

She shot to her feet and stared back into his eyes, his nostrils flaring. I've only kissed Niall to help you. To. Help. YOU!

They stared at each other, deadlocked in anger.

Eyes intense, the crease above his eyebrow deepened as he stared her down. "Was I wrong?"

You're wrong about a lot of things.

A punctuated sound of exasperation filled his throat and he tightened his fist, bringing it to his mouth. He closed his eyes, drew a breath, and spoke through his clenched teeth. "Was I wrong that there was something between us? Or is what I feel only one-sided? Is this passion I feel for you a folly?" He drew her into his hands, his face agonized. "Tell me, Moira. Tell me that you feel the same way. That you only want me. To hold you, to touch you, to kiss you, and to take you as my own. For over a year I've wanted nothing more than to take you away, to love you and care for you as you have for me."

Cornered and afraid, heaviness thickened the hot air and she shed the plaid, waving her hands over her neck. Ignoring him, she snatched up the dishes, thrusting the uneaten cakes back in their basket, plunging the bowls and cups in soapy water and washing them, letting her annoyance out with the scrub brush.

He followed her, still full of fire. "Are you rage cleaning?"

She picked up a damp cloth and ran it over the table, trying to work out her thoughts. If he would just leave her alone for a few minutes… She palmed crumbs from the table and tossed them into the rubbish bin.

"Moira?"

Was it folly? Was there any point in any of this? Did she really want to try again with him? Could they get it right or did they simply not suit?

"Moira?!"

She spread the cloth over the basin to dry and rounded on him. I don't know if I can trust you. You asked me to give you my heart and you shattered it. Again, and again, and again. I love you, but I don't want to love you.

Crossing the kitchen, he closed the distance between them. His hand came to her cheek and her eyes closed.

"Open your eyes. Moira, please."

Sorrow burned her chest. Her name was not Moira.

"Moira…"

She opened her eyes.

"You love me?"

Tears stung her eyes and she felt desperate, ready to confess the truth so she could move beyond it. I've loved you since I tripped over you in that darkened cell. From the first time you muttered at me. From the first time you kissed me, I was lost to you. I am at your mercy.

Hope lit his eyes. "I lo?—"

Her fingers grasped the plaid from the table, and she pulled it between them, throwing it back over her shoulders.

And I hate it. Do you hear me? I hate this. I love you, but I don't want to.