“Niall?” She broke into a wide smile. “Ach, ye must have grown a yard since I saw ye last.”
“Well, you haven’t changed. You’re as pretty as ever.” Niall was well over six feet, but he blushed as if he were a lad of twelve.
“’Tis good to see ye, cousin.” Moira decided she must take the chance to give him the message that she needed help and leaned forward as if to kiss Niall’s cheek. But before she could whisper in her cousin’s ear, Sean put his arm around her and pulled her tight against his side. The bastard had a sixth sense that allowed him to foresee her every attempt to escape.
“And what of me?” Duncan asked.
With a false smile pasted on her face, Moira took her time shifting her gaze to Duncan. She steeled herself to show no reaction, and yet she faltered for an instant. This close, Duncan was everything she remembered, magnified. He was bigger, taller, more handsome. His powerful presence radiated through the room, drawing every eye.
“Tell me ye remember who I am,” Duncan said when she failed to answer.
She remembered everything. Every touch, every look, every conversation, every pleasure he gave her. But her clearest memory of all was standing on the wall at Dunscaith on her wedding day with her insides cut and bleeding as if she had swallowed shards of glass.
“I fear I have no recollection of ye at all,” she said.
“I’m a close friend of your brother,” Duncan said as the tension snapped between them. “Surely ye remember something of me.”
She heard the challenge in his voice and shrugged, as if he were beneath her notice. But when the light from the candles glinted in his auburn hair, she felt a sharp pang as she recalled how it felt between her fingers. Duncan’s hair had the same texture as her son’s…
God have mercy!
What if Sean saw the resemblance between them? Ragnall’s hair was several shades brighter and his eyes were blue, but his face was a softer, boyish version of Duncan’s. The likeness was plain to anyone looking for it.
Moira tried to calm herself. Red hair was common among those of Celtic blood, of course, and Duncan was a giant compared with Ragnall. There was no reason for Sean to make the connection.
Moira’s heart hammered, but she kept the bland smile fixed on her face. Over the course of her marriage, she had become practiced at putting up a false front. Sean was like a hound, though, sniffing out any slight against him. If he suspected who Ragnall’s father really was, he would not let her live.
“Truly, I don’t remember ye,” Moira said in a clear voice. “’Tis such a long time since I left Skye.”
Duncan was staring at her like a starving lion and frightening her half to death. God help her, he was going to give her away. Moira risked a sideways glance at her husband. A frisson of fear went through her when she saw the ugly red blotches on Sean’s face and neck. She prayed they were due to his usual angry jealousy—and not because he had guessed the truth she had hidden from him all these years.
Sean squinted at her, the question in his snake eyes. “Now that our guests have satisfied their curiosity, ye may return to your sickbed.”
“We want a word alone with Moira.” Duncan’s deep voice reverberated through her.
“No need,” Moira said quickly, knowing Sean would never permit it. Fear made her mouth feel dry and her tongue thick as she patted Sean’s arm. “There’s nothing I’d tell ye that I couldn’t say in front of my dear husband.”
Duncan never took his eyes off her. “Connor is concerned about you.”
“He’s been home well over two years,” she said, the hurt making her voice tight. “If he wanted to see me, he knew where to find me.”
Her emotions were running far too high. She had to leave the hall before she lost control.
“I must rest now,” she said. “Whatever business ye have ye can discuss with my husband.”
Moira felt Duncan’s gaze drilling into her back as she left the hall. Please, God, had she not suffered enough? She hardly knew which was worse—feeling like she was dying inside from seeing Duncan after all this time or fearing Sean had guessed the truth.
* * *
Duncan had not thought it possible, but Moira was even lovelier than before. The girl had given way entirely to woman, and the result took his breath away. Her body was fuller, with curves so voluptuous that his palms itched to run over them. Though her face had lost its youthful softness, the stronger lines gave her a regal beauty that would have a prince bending his knee to her.
But the woman Moira had become was serious and cold. He missed the flashes of mischief and joy he used to see in her violet eyes.
“Ye are welcome to stay the night,” Sean said, drawing Duncan’s attention from the empty doorway through which Moira had gone.
By suggesting they were only invited to remain at his home for one night, the MacQuillan chieftain was perilously close to violating a Highlander’s almost sacred duty to welcome guests.
“We don’t wish to impose upon your generous hospitality,” Duncan said.
