Page 14 of The Warrior
And that one woman had forgotten him in a fortnight.
“You’d be sorry to find me gone when ye return,” Rhona said.
Duncan strapped his sword on his back, picked up his bag, and turned to face her. It was ironic that he had been sleeping with Moira’s former maid. Of course, it was Moira who had developed the plan that Rhona pretend she was the one slipping out of the castle and carrying on with him. Rhona had none of Moira’s vibrant beauty, but she was a curvy lass with dark hair and blue eyes. It was because of Rhona’s superficial resemblance to Moira that they had been able to carry on as long as they had without discovery.
It was also the reason he had let Rhona into his house when she kept coming around after he returned from France. Ach, he was a sorry man. At least he never pretended that she was Moira in the dark anymore.
Well, almost never.
* * *
Moira hugged herself more against the chill growing inside her than the bitter wind coming off the sea as she watched for Colla’s boat. Seven years she had waited. Surely, God should not ask one more day of her.
For the first hour she and Ragnall waited, Moira had to force herself not to think about the price she would have to pay with her body for this boat ride home to Skye. Colla was not a bad sort, but she did not want him touching her. Perhaps she could persuade him that a good deed was its own reward. Ha.
They had waited so long now that she feared Colla was not coming.
“Where is the boat?” Ragnall asked in a sleepy voice. He sat on the ground leaning against the wolfhound, who had joined them shortly after they entered the ruins of the old fort.
Moira dug her fingernails into her palms to keep from crying in front of her son.
“We’ll wait a wee bit longer,” she said. “If he doesn’t come, we’ll find another way.”
Clump, clump, clump.
Moira jumped at the sound of footsteps on the stone slabs that had once been the floor of the old fortress. Finally, Colla had come. She wanted to believe it, but with every echoing footstep, she felt disaster coming closer.
Clump, clump, clump. Mary, Mother of God, please let it be Colla.
Out of the shadows the figure of a man emerged. It was not Colla.
She heard Ragnall whisper “Go!” and the wolfhound disappeared into the darkness.
Despite the numbing cold, Moira’s palms were clammy, and sweat prickled under her arms. Her mind worked feverishly to find an explanation she could give Sean for their being at the old fort in the night. But there was none.
“Expecting someone else?” Sean’s voice came out of the blackness.
The calmness of Sean’s voice frightened her more than if he had shouted. She did not want her son here.
“Go ahead, look for Colla’s boat,” Sean said, swinging his arm out toward the sea.
How had he discovered that it was Colla who was taking her away?
“Ye won’t be seeing him again.” Sean paused. “No one will. Colla’s feeding the fish.”
Moira sucked in her breath. “No! Ye wouldn’t. Not to your own brother.”
But she knew in her heart that Sean spoke the truth. Dear God, she had not meant to cause Colla’s death.
She told herself to brazen it out, to pretend that she did not know why Sean had murdered Colla, but she could not. Instead, she sank down on her knees on the cold, hard ground and bent over, trying to get her breath back. Ragnall ran to her and threw his arms around her.
Although Moira had no real memories of her mother, she had been plagued as a child by dreams of her mother’s body floating facedown in the sea with her long dark hair swirling about her. Those images of her drowned mother came back to her now, but with Colla’s body floating beside her.
Mary, Mother of God, please help me.Would she ever have the chance to attempt an escape again? Sean would watch her even more vigilantly than before. All was lost.
She was too drained to fear Sean’s temper. Surely, there was nothing worse he could do to her than keep her trapped with him in his castle.
Chapter 7
