The other guard was engaged in a desperate fight with Erik. Fear and panic gripped Moira, for she could foresee the outcome. Erik fought with a strength and easy agility that she recognized. It was obvious that Duncan’s natural skills as a warrior had come from his father.
The clank of swords meeting rang through the air as Erik forced the MacDonald warrior back and back again. For a moment it looked as though the MacDonald warrior had the better of Erik when Erik failed to block his sword. But Erik dropped low, letting his opponent’s blade slice through the empty air above him. Then Erik sprang to his feet and sank the blade of his dirk under the man’s breastbone.
Erik took his time wiping his blade on the shirt of the brave warrior he had just killed. Then he lifted his gaze to her. Moira’s blood froze at the smile of satisfaction in his eyes.
She pushed Ragnall behind her.
Chapter 44
Erik laughed to himself when the MacDonald lass pulled her dirk. She looked even prettier up close.
“Where’s your protector now?” he taunted her.
“Duncan is fighting the murdering scum you’re traveling with,” Moira said, her eyes spitting fire. “I suggest ye leave before he comes back.”
Erik chuckled again. She was a hot-blooded one.
“The murdering scum serve a purpose,” Erik said, resting his hands on his belt. “They’ll keep the MacDonalds busy while we disappear in one of their boats.”
“We’re not going anywhere with ye,” Moira said.
The lad had his arms around his mother’s waist and peeked out from behind her to shout, “Ye touch us, and my father will kick ye in the head again!”
The little shite. Erik did not appreciate being reminded of that kick. He had blacked out and might have drowned if the freezing water had not jarred him awake. Erik felt better when he thought of how easy it would be to control the mother once he got his hands on the brat.
“Without us, ye have a chance of escaping,” Moira said.
“You can climb into the boat or I can toss ye into it,” Erik said. “Makes no difference to me.”
“If ye think you can take us and get away, then ye don’t know Duncan,” Moira said. “He’s relentless. He’d follow ye to the gates of hell to get us back.”
“The man does have a weakness for ye, I’ll grant ye that.” Erik was counting on it. “Would ye care to make a wager on whether he’ll give up Trotternish Castle to see ye alive again?”
“Ye can’t ask him to choose between his duty to the clan and to us,” Moira said, her eyes going wide with indignation.
The lass was amusing.
“I can do what I damned well want to,” Erik said. “We’ll find out soon enough which is more important to Duncan—you and the boy, or his ambition.”
Erik considered whether to kick the dirk from the lass’s hand. Ach, he’d just grab it.
“Ye don’t know who Duncan is, do ye?” Moira said, as Erik took a step toward her, and the gleam in her eye stopped him. “He didn’t tell ye.”
“I know who he is,” Erik said and spit on the ground. “He’s the MacDonald who stole Trotternish Castle from me.”
“He’s more than that to you.” Moira paused. “He’s your son.”
Erik was a trained warrior and hid his reaction, but he felt as if he had been punched in the gut.
“You’re lying,” he said.
“Ye stole his mother from the beach near Dunscaith Castle,” Moira said. “Her father was a MacDonald, but her grandfather on her mother’s side was a MacCrimmon piper.”
How did she know about the MacCrimmon piper’s granddaughter? That was years and years ago. Was it possible that what she said was true? No. And even if it was, what difference did it make?
“That lass caused me a good deal of trouble,” Erik said between his teeth. “Unfortunately for you, I don’t share Duncan’s weakness for lovers or kin.”
“Duncan is your son!” Moira’s violet eyes were intent on his, as if she thought she could make Erik believe that her words changed everything. But she was wrong.
