Chapter 9

MOY CASTLE - JUNE 24, 1384

M oira studied the bottom lip of the sleeping baby as it sucked in and pushed outward, lost in dreams about eating. Her charcoal corrected the mouth she'd drawn, and she added wobble and shadow, bringing life to the mouth on the page. Now she was satisfied. She blew the dust off the page and handed it to Cara.

Cara's eyes filled with love. "It's remarkable. His exact likeness."

Balancing her busted chin in her scraped palm, Moira admired the wee thing curled in Cara's arms. Red hair curled across his tiny head like his maw, but a long leg like his da shot out from his blanket. Cara chuckled and tucked it back in.

She pointed to the baby and to Cara's abdomen.

"Two days old."

Moira winced. What a surprise he'd gotten yesterday.

Cara eased back into the pillows of the giant bed. "It's all right. We would have endured anything to know Uncle Léo is alive. When you see him please tell him that his nephew, Eamon Léonid MacLean, is doing well and loves and misses him very much."

If only Lady MacLean could accompany her everywhere. She was more perceptive than Father who had lived with her almost her entire life, and in only one day she'd begun to master her signs and could intuit her expressions.

The door to the sumptuous chamber opened, and an older woman breezed into the room. "I'm sorry, love, I didnae know you had company."

"It's all right, come in. Moira, this is my mother-in-law, Margaret."

Moira stiffened with surprise as Margaret pulled her into a crushing embrace.

Margaret chuckled. "I'm sorry, I'm embracing everyone. I'm all over the place for the last few days—a puddle of gooey honey because of my grandson."

When Margaret did not release her, Moira relaxed and returned the hug, baffled by the emotion burning her throat. It'd been a long while since she'd felt the embrace of a mother around her.

"Moira's brought us word that Léo is alive. She's been taking care of him in Cràdh Prison."

Margaret looked at Moira with shock. "Léo is alive?"

Moira nodded.

Tightening her embrace, Margaret squeezed her even tighter, causing the air to leach from her lungs. "God bless you, lass. Léo is a dear one. Please, when you see him, squeeze him tight for me, if not for him, Cara and Eamon wouldnae…" Emotion choked her words. She tried to compose herself, pinching Moira's cheek. "Oh look at you, aren't you beautiful? Those cheekbones. Ah, look at her eyes, they're just like Hector, Lachlan, and Eamon's."

Cara's brow crinkled. "They are, aren't they? I thought there was something familiar about her. Like we had met before."

Moira pointed to the baby and opened and pinched her finger beside her eye.

Cara nodded. "He has his father's eyes."

How unusual. She had never met anyone with eyes like hers, let alone three people.

Margaret cocked her head. "Is there something wrong with your voice? My sister raises bees and has the best honey in all the islands. I've just brought back two jars and left them with the cook. I'm sure it would cure you. "

Under normal circumstances the question irritated Moira, but Margaret's warm nature melted everything around her. Moira smiled and touched her throat, then shook her head.

Cara placed a hand on Margaret's knee. "She's mute. Childhood illness."

"Ah. Well. If you don't have a voice, God must have gifted you with abundance in other areas."

Cara produced the picture. "Indeed, look at this."

Gifted with abundance. To live without a voice and to be unlike everyone else had always felt like a shortcoming, and a punishment. Caught off guard, Moira felt sudden shyness about her talent with a charcoal. Was that an area of abundance? She'd never thought about it.

"Oh, Cara. She's go' his little expression and everything. This is the most stunning artwork I've ever seen." Margaret nodded toward the painting of the annunciation above the hearth. "It's even better than the blessed mother, forgive me, God, for thinking so."

Moira could see what Margaret meant. The mural above Cara's hearth was colorful and beautiful, but the expressions were flat, no life in them. Sudden realization swept over her. God had given her an ability for sketching, and then overflow beyond.

A knock sounded at the door and Hector pushed into the room with a bouquet of buttercups that he presented to his wife with a tender kiss. He lifted the blanket away from Eamon's face and gave his bairn his own kiss, tickling the boy's little feet..

Moira took in the hulking Hector and wee Margaret, making a small space between her fingers and then pointed to Hector making her fingers wide.

"Oh. Because I said mother-in-law. Margaret is the mother of my first husband, Duncan. She isn't Hector's mother. That is why she is so small and Hector is so tall."

Hector smirked. "I see Cara's mastered interpretation while I've been out. I'll have you know my mother was a tall woman. Six feet tall, just like you. Part of the Morgans of Clan MacKay. All noted for their great height. Bred tall MacLeans. Even my sister was tall." Margaret swatted his arm. "But my mother-in-law makes every inch count. How did the drawing turn out?" Cara passed him the sketch and he blinked. "This is good."

Moira smiled. His approval filled her with satisfaction, but she wasn't sure why.

Hector looked stunned. "Very good. Cara, it's an exact image."

"I know." Margaret draped her arm around Hector's waist and squeezed. "Isn't it remarkable? What a treasure to keep for when he's older and you have only a memory of holding him like this. You'll always be able to look back and remember when he…he was only yours." There was something underlying in Margaret's tone. Something unspoken. Something painful.

Hector kissed her cheek. "You're right, Maw." He cleared his throat and looked down at his wife. "I've come to see if I may borrow Moira for a few hours, maybe a few days."

Cara smiled. "I thought she was returning with Father McElduff to Iona this morning?"

Poor Father McElduff. So ruffled by yesterday's events he'd taken to bed with a headache, and been too frightened to appear to break his fast this morning. For all his bravery against the storm, the sight of Hector had well and truly terrified him, despite all efforts to assure him that his captivity in the guardhouse was a big misunderstanding.

Hector shrugged. "I just sent him back to Iona, knees knocking so hard I could hear them from the boat slip."

Moira sent a right hand forward through the motioned waves of her left.

Cara interpreted. "How are you intending for her to get back to Skye?"

"Iain."

Who was Iain?

The baby startled and grunted and Cara adjusted him in her arms. He opened one piercing sea glass-colored eye and stared at Moira, his red eyebrow arching in question. She smirked. Her thoughts exactly.

A hopeful expression lifted Cara's face. "The others have agreed to what we talked about?"

Hector leaned down and kissed his wife once more and then his baby. "Aye, love. "

What did they talk about?

Hector straightened and motioned to Moira. "Come on. I've saddled a horse for you."

Moira raised her eyebrows and waved her finger back and forth.

He looked at Cara who interpreted. "Where?"

"Laggan Wood."

A fir tree stood like a towering sentinel over Lochbuie. Stretching more than two hundred feet in the air, it called to her in the forest inviting her to climb its height and relax in its lofty branches. As Hector talked, her eye kept traveling to its rugged, colorful bark.

"Are you listening to what I'm saying?"

Something about language, but Moira had missed the last part. She brushed her hand across her chest in a half-finished genuflection and mouthed sorry.

"Sorry? Is that your sign for sorry?"

She nodded.

Hector's eyes rolled skyward as if he were committing it to memory. "Go' it. For once, I would like to be better at something than my wife."

A comprehension competition to understand her words. Now that was funny. Moira pointed to his unruly curls and angled face and turned her palms face up, cupping them under her mouth and moving them away wiggling her fingers as if they were the great growling breath of a monster .

"Does that mean Beithir?" She nodded and repeated the sign, drawing the ferocious monster to mind. The undamaged side of his face lifted into a grin and the five men circling the clearing laughed. "Is that supposed to be my roar?"

Moira repeated the motion wiggling her fingers harder. It was a fearsome nickname; he needed a fearsome sign.

Hector pushed Calum forward. "Do Calum."

She cocked her head to the side and circled him, squinting and looking him up and down, running her fingers over her chin as if she were deep in thought. With her left hand she made a fist like a cloud and zig-zagged her right index finger away from it.

Murdoch got the sign first. "Lightning."

The men around the clearing grunted their approval and Calum smiled. "Lightning?"

Moira mimicked their chase through the barmkin walls and everyone laughed. She came forward and touched his bright white-blond hair, and made the sign again. Lightning .

Murdoch mimicked the sign for Lightning, then Hector. Touched, she couldn't help but smile. Not even Father had tried to speak with her made-up signs.

Hector waved everyone closer together. "This could be useful. It's why I brought her to training. It would be good for us all to learn some basic communication that doesn't require talking."

Moira touched her mouth and pulled her fingers back to her palm and mouthed why.

"Why?" She nodded and repeated the sign, and Hector mimicked her. Pleased with himself he grinned at the others. She tapped him on the shoulder and repeated the sign.

"Oh, why. Because these five men are part of a team that makes up the Beithir."

She drug one finger across her palm and mouthed what.

He repeated her sign for what, then began his explanation. "You know that my sobriquet is the Beithir. Perhaps you've heard the tales."

Moira nodded. Father McElduff had mentioned it.

Hector looked at the men standing in the clearing with a look of pride. "What the islands and highlands don't know is that our escape from Lochindorb took all of us here. We are the Shield. The first defense against the Wolf. Together we infiltrate his territories to cripple him before he can strike the Isles nations. By using our combined talents, we bring the fight to the Wolf and push back against him on his territory, keeping our citizenry protected here at home."

Hector put his hand out and gripped the shoulder of a gangly young man with a shock of red hair and the fuzzy beginnings of a red beard. "This is Chief Iain MacLeod. He lives on Skye, on the other side of the mountains at Dunvegan. "

Everyone on Skye knew the tragic story of Iain MacLeod and how he'd become chief. Yet she hadn't realized that Laird MacLeod was still so young. She cradled an invisible baby in her arms and rocked it back and forth, signing bairn.

The circle burst into guffaws of laughter and she grinned, pleased that she had made them laugh.

Iain's accent was so thick Moira had trouble understanding him. "Ooo ha ha, verra funnae. Shut yer geggies and awa' wi' ye." Every man mimicked a baby in their arms and Iain's face went red as his hair.

Hector put his arm around Iain. "Iain sailed us like a mad man to get us around Mull and up Loch Linnhe when we realized where Cara had been taken. He's the best seaman in the Islands. Because of him we made up half a day's journey. I'm also told he's quite good with a spear, though I've no' seen it for myself yet."

Wanting to give the young lad a boost, she scooped inward, turned, then pushed out swiftly, creating a mighty wave. Sea.

The men mimicked the sign and repeated the name. Iain's chest puffed out. "Aye noo thas more like et."

Hector motioned and a muscular man about her same height stepped forward. "This is David MacKenzie, high chief of the clans that form Chattan. He guided us through the snowy December mountains and got us safely to Lochindorb and back. Without him we would have never been able to get through the passes at that time of the year. He also gave us safe passage through the Chattan territories, which can be quite hostile to outsiders."

David's hair was shaved to his scalp, his dark beard groomed against his face, and his body wide with mountains of muscle, as thick as rock. Mountains. Rock. She made two fists and knocked them together mouthing, Rock. David mimicked her motion, his highland brogue creating a burr in the word. "Rrrock. I like that." The group mimicked her sign.

Hector paused and rubbed his neck remembering the next piece of the story. "You know that Léo was injured helping us escape."

It was a story Léo hadn't shared. She shook her head, and motioned from her lips outward. He didn't tell me.

Hector explained. "Lochindorb is a curtained keep, set in the middle of a loch, about a fifth of a mile from shore. Léo and I have been battle bonded in over a dozen battles and skirmishes, so he volunteered to climb the curtain wall and infiltrate the fortress with me. We painted ourselves in seal grease and swam to the island, then climbed the walls and entered through a window."

Seal grease. The sticky substance lingering on his skin the day he arrived at Cràdh.

"Once we located Cara, the guards made chase. We fought together and managed to get to the water gate, and had just made it to a boat when the guards caught up with us. Léo shoved Cara and I away in the boat and ran back into the crowd of guards. Because of him we had a sliver of advantage to get away. We wouldn't have made it without his sacrifice. He saved us, and Eamon. He's the reason we're alive. Léo is not just brave, he's selfless. He's…my brother."

Chills rose on her arms and her infatuation once more rattled the chains on her heart. Her hand went inside her leine and she withdrew the heavy gold necklace, then holding her hands out, she curled her fingers toward her palms like claws. Lion.

The others copied the gesture, all traces of mirth gone and concern on every face.

Hector moved between Calum and Murdoch and put a hand on each man's shoulder. "When Cara and I made it to the shore, three boats of pursuers were following us. Murdoch waded into the water and took down two boats of men as swift as the wind. Calum took Cara and ran, giving her a head start. They've been a team since I came to Mull, restoring order in this clan and working together to heal our territory."

She pointed to Murdoch and positioned her fingers as if she had an imaginary ball between them, then rotated her poised hands in opposite circles away from each other. Thunder. She pointed to Calum and created the cloud and zigzag. Lightning.

A rumble of approval rounded the group as they mimicked her signs.

Hector moved in front of her. "Chieftain Angus MacKay is the greatest tracker in Scotland and the Islands. When we were searching for the path they used to abduct Cara he found it, and the routes the Wolf uses to exit Lochindorb. It is how we knew where to escape and not be detected. Once we fled, he followed behind and disguised our trail."

Moira looked around but didn't see him.

"I'm here." A soft, deep voice sounded in her ear and she jumped.

The men laughed as she clutched her thudding heart. He had appeared from nowhere as if he were a ghost. There was nothing remarkable about the man except for his height, and eyes that were nearly the same honeyed shade as Léo's. Instead of the handsomeness of Léo, Angus looked a bit mad and disheveled with long scraggly hair, and ghostly angles to his face. She held her left arm parallel with the ground and moved her right hand beneath, extending her fingers up. Shadow.

Iain bristled. "Och. That woon's better than mine."

She pulled her mouth into a line and signed bairn.

"Och. Nevermind. Sea i'tis."

Hector motioned to the circle of men. "So you see, I may draw attention as the legendary Beithir, but much of what you heard is the Shield, working secretly together. The Wolf is one selfish man; we are a team."

"Now she needs a sign name," Iain said perfectly signing bairn to her. Rounds of ayes echoed through the clearing.

Moira held up her hands then shed her belt and pulled at the ties of her leine.

Hector grunted. "Och lass, what are you doing?"

The men threw their hands over eyes and she gave a silent laugh, stepping out of her gown but still dressed in her leather trews, boots, and sleeveless tunic. When they still would not look, she clapped her hands. They looked up as she refastened her belt around her and removed the leather strips from her pouch, tying them around her palms.

Hector repeated himself. "Again, what are you doing? What are you wearing? You look like a lad."

Calum snorted. "No' from where I'm standin'."

Moira brought her first two fingers to her eyes, mouthing w atch.

Heart pounding with excitement, she made her way to the towering fir tree she'd been aching to climb, touching its rough bark and finding hand and toe holds. The nearest branch was over fifty feet in the air. A challenge for a man, but not for her.

Hoisting herself up, she found toe holds then finger holds. Up and up she went.

Hector's voice called up to her when she had risen halfway to the branch. "Where are you going, lass? You can't make it up to that branch! You'll kill yourself trying!"

No one told her can't. She counterbalanced, swinging around a thinner, papery patch of bark, and continued upward.

Far below, Hector sounded distressed. "Moira! Come down, now!"

She reached the lowest branch with ease and looped one leg over it, then the other, then dangled, extending her hands toward the ground, taking in the world upside down.

Hector shouted at her. "Moira Allen! This is no' a jest. Come down before you break your neck."

It did feel like a jest, for unbeknownst to Hector he had used the exact words her mother used to yell at her when she climbed too high. It was the lift she needed. Engaging her stomach, she pulled herself up and then stood on the branch. It was a massive branch, thick and sturdy. Finding her natural balance, she bent forward, bringing her hands to the bark. Then ever so slowly, she lifted one foot off, and then the other, raising her legs into a split over her head.

Moira squinted toward the ground. Angus's hands gripped both sides of his bearded face. Hector was screaming. Murdoch, Calum, and David stood open-mouthed, and Iain wore a wide grin. She gave a silent laugh, arching her back and walking her feet over her head. When she stood upright again she brought her hands to the branch once more and raised her legs performing a handstand.

Screaming started again below.

Shifting her weight, she removed her left hand and balanced her whole body on her right palm.

The screaming below increased in volume.

Rising again to her feet, she spread her hands, feeling God's air around her. Taking a breath, she performed a front flip. Then she paused, finding a focal point, and sprang backward, landing on her feet with a slight wobble and a corrective lean to maintain balance. After walking back to the trunk, she turned down the length of the branch.

"Don't do et! Ye daft woman! Get doon here nooooooo!"

Ignoring the yelling from below, she focused her eyes on a neighboring oak with more promising branches. One solid branch stretched toward her with a gap of several feet.

Taking a deep breath, she sprinted down the length of the branch and flipped, landing one foot in front of the other on the next tree, arms extended, bouncing like a squirrel up and down in the tall oak.

All six men were now screaming with fright. Triumph washed over her. She'd done it, just like she did every day on Skye. Satisfied, Moira looped her legs over the branch and dropped backward, her hands finding the next lowest branch. Again and again, she dropped through the branches of the oak tree until she neared the ground. When she reached a branch fifteen feet from the ground, she lingered.

Forming a line with her body, she swung back and forth, then bent at the hips, swinging around the sturdy hardwood. Around and around the branch she went. Three quarters of the way around her final turn she kicked her toes up, snapped her arms to her sides, heels turning overhead twice in a rigid line. She extended her arms, landing squat on the loamy ground.

All six men stared at her open-mouthed. David sat down upon the ground and rubbed his hands over his sweating bald head. "By the saints."

Murdoch rushed over. "Are you loony? You could have died."

She shrugged. You could die doing a lot of things, like riding a horse.

Calum looked green and sat down on the ground. "I go' shoogly just watching that." Angus gave an aye of agreement.

Iain rushed over and felt the muscles in her arms. "I doony see wha' the stooshie is aboot. Feel thoose muscles. Tha' was incredible, lass."

Moira put two fingers to her mouth and opened and closed it mimicking a beak. She pursed her lips and gave a perfect cuckoo call, then changed her breath and sang the linnet song, then the frenzied call of the skylark, then mouthed Birdy.

Hector's eyes were as round as orbs. "That sounded like three different distinctive birds."

Iain copied the beak sign. "Bairdee?"

She nodded and sat down next to David, accepting a skin of water from him.

Calum recovered and got to his feet. "I ken one thing. She is the sixth member o' the Shield. If she goes back to Skye she can get information on what the Wolf and the MacKinnons are about. She could create maps and pictures of what they are doing. She could help get Léo out of Cràdh."

Hector shook his head. "We don't want to put him, or her, in danger. Six months in Cràdh, Léo will be a shadow of who he was physically." He looked to her for confirmation and she nodded. He would need much time to regain his strength.

Calum continued to push. "If they're planning an uprising, we can help them."

Hector still looked skeptical. "The plan sounds rash. It may be best to aid him and the other prisoners with food or supplies and see where we are in a few months. Niall may get lazier as time goes on and give an opening. Our priority must be getting Léo to his son and not getting him, or anyone else, killed in the process."

Calum sobered and she knew that he must be feeling the disappointment and frustration of not being able to save his friend.

She rose and tapped Hector on his shoulder. Resolutely, she mouthed four words. I want to help.

He considered her but shook his head. "Do you realize what committing to the Shield will mean? It will require much more than working to help Léo. We do this for all of the citizens of the Islands and Highlands."

What he spoke of was not revenge as her father sought. It was for the protection of others, a holy call. Enthusiastically she pulled paper and charcoal from her bag and sketched her thoughts, arguing her side.

Let me stay while we wait for the return message from France. I will teach you all my signs so you know much more than basic communication. Teach me everything you need me to know to be a part of your team. I promise I will work hard. I want to defeat what Léo was on a mission to defeat. Let me serve in his place. I promise I will not let you down .

Hector's expression softened and he put two fingers to his lips and moved them like a beak. "Birdy?"

The men put their fingers to their lips and moved them. "Birdy."