Page 66 of The Warrior
“I did,” Duncan bit out, “and the lad is six and a half years old, not five as ye told me. He has flaming red hair, Moira!”
“Where is he?” Moira leaned to the side to look behind him. “Did ye bring my son home to me?”
Duncan jerked her in front of him to get her full attention. “Ragnall is at Trotternish Castle, and he is not justyourson.”
“Ye weren’t here to claim him,” she said, narrowing her eyes to angry slits. “So, aye, Ragnall ismyson.”
“How could I claim him if I didn’t know about him?” Duncan shouted. “Ye didn’t tell me ye were pregnant.”
Moira wrenched free of him. Her breasts rose and fell in harsh breaths as her eyes burned holes into him. “Ye didn’t bother staying to find out, did ye?”
Chapter 27
Duncan stormed out, slamming the door behind him. Moira had forgotten Connor was in the room until he ran out after Duncan and the door slammed a second time.
Moira sank into the closest chair, her heart beating wildly in her chest. Too many emotions swirled inside her. Relief that Duncan had found her son. Anger that Duncan had left Ragnall at Trotternish Castle. Confusion over Duncan’s knowing he was Ragnall’s father. And, finally, regret over how he had learned the truth.
She did not know how long she had sat there, unable to gather herself to leave, when she heard the latch on the door. Startled from her thoughts, she looked about her and saw that the light filtering through the narrow windows had dimmed from midday to late afternoon.
Connor came in alone, looking grim. In the tense silence that hung between them, the gurgle of the whiskey as he refilled his cup from the jug seemed unnaturally loud. Then he leaned on the table and fixed his hard, steely-blue gaze on her.
“I thought you’d grown up, but you’re as selfish as ye were as a child,” he said, in a tight voice. “How could ye not tell Duncan he had a son?”
She should have known her brother would take Duncan’s side in this.
“Don’t ye dare judge me, Connor MacDonald,” she said, clenching the edge of the table. “Ye don’t know how it was for me. Ye know nothing at all about it.”
“Ye did not deny that ye knew the child was Duncan’s all along,” Connor said. “Ye should have told him.”
“I had my reasons not to.” Moira went to stand by the window and folded her arms.
“I hope they’re good ones, but it’s not me ye need to explain it to,” Connor said. “We’re leaving soon to take Trotternish Castle, so ye don’t have much time.”
“Don’t play chieftain with me,” she said.
“Iamyour chieftain,” Connor said, in a commanding voice, “and I’m telling ye to make this right.”
Moira pressed her lips together and glared at her brother.
“When a man goes to fight for his clan, ye can never be certain he’ll return,” Connor said. “Don’t leave it like this.”
Ach, it was not fair for Connor to use that argument against her.
“Where is he?” she snapped.
Connor picked up his drink and sipped it. “I expect he’s gone up to his cottage.”
Moira climbed the hill, mud clinging to her skirts like the guilt and resentment she carried. When she reached the cottage, she pulled the door open without bothering to knock. Duncan stood in the center of the room. His rage was like a living creature filling the small cottage.
“I’ll ask ye again,” he said. “Why did ye not tell me I have a son?”
“I might have told ye before ye went to Trotternish Castle,” she said, “if ye had bothered to share the news with me that ye were paying a visit on the MacLeods.”
“That was clan business,” Duncan said. “I couldn’t tell anyone, and I didn’t lie to ye.”
“I’d wager ye trusted Ian with the information,” she said. “And Alex, too, if ye saw him.”
“Ye lied to me about my son,” Duncan said, clenching his fists. “I want to know why.”
