The MacLeod raised an eyebrow. “I had the impression ye weren’t overly fond of your brothers.”
Erik snorted. It was rumored that Hugh had murdered a second brother in addition to the one that had been chieftain.
“How do ye know your nephew’s plans?” the MacLeod asked and signaled for his cup.
“I have spies in his castle,” Hugh said, looking a mite too pleased with himself.
When his cupbearer brought him his intricately carved wooden cup, the chieftain took a deep draught. Though he never permitted himself to drink in excess, he did take whiskey for the lifelong pain he suffered from the MacDonald axe that had split his shoulder.
“I supported ye once before against your nephew. It cost me the lives of some of my best warriors and gained me nothing.” The MacLeod stared down at Hugh from his high chair, the heat of his temper burning in his eyes. “What is it that you’ve come to ask me for this time, and why should I give it to ye?”
“I hear ye are fostering my niece Moira’s son.”
The MacLeod narrowed his eyes at Hugh.
“The lad is Connor’s heir,” Hugh said. “I want him.”
* * *
Damn, the MacQuillans were persistent.
Duncan glared at the three war galleys that had been following them for two days, then turned around to watch the black clouds rolling toward them from the west. Bolts of lightning flashed in the narrow band of horizon between the thunderclouds and the sea.
This had the makings of a storm that sailors would talk about for years afterward. Unfortunately, the MacQuillans had cleverly positioned their war galleys between Duncan’s boat and the shelter of the islands to the east. They were forcing him to choose between going to shore where they were sure to catch him or sailing directly into the storm.
Risking his own life was one thing, but Duncan could not sail into this gale with Moira and Niall. He turned their boat toward their pursuers and the nearest island.
“When the MacQuillans take us,” he said to Niall, “I killed Sean. Understood?”
Niall nodded.
The only good news was that Moira seemed to be recovering from her injuries. Duncan watched her now as she leaned into the wind and crossed the boat to where he and Niall stood at the stern.
“What are ye doing?” she asked when she reached them. When Duncan did not answer, she grabbed his sleeve. “No, I won’t go back. I’d rather die.”
Her hair was snapping across her bruised and battered face. One of her eyes was no more than a slit. Even with Sean dead, he could understand why she was loath to return.
“I expect they’ll throw us all in their dungeon to rot,” Niall said. “I’m for taking our chances at sea.”
If Duncan could be certain the MacQuillans would punish only him for their chieftain’s death, he would sail for the island and let them take him. But Niall was right. After their chieftain had been murdered under their noses, the MacQuillans might not be in a mood to distinguish guilt among the three of them.
Praying he was not making the wrong choice, Duncan turned the boat again, this time toward the open sea and the gathering storm. Before long, the war galleys behind them tacked eastward to take shelter in one of the protected coves of the islands. The MacQuillans were not foolish enough to risk their lives and boats to capture them.
As they sailed closer to the storm, the wind drove hard pellets of rain against Duncan’s face.Thump. Thump. Thump. Their galley rose and fell in the waves.
Before long they collided with the storm, and the sea became a torrent. The wind whirled about them and tossed their boat with increasing violence.
“Niall, take the rudder.” Duncan had to shout to be heard. “I’m taking the sail down before the mast snaps.”
He took Moira’s hand and wrapped it around the piece of rope he had tied around the wolfhound’s neck. “Stay down and hold on to Sàr until I come back for ye.”
The sea crashed over the boat, drenching Duncan while he dropped the sail. Working fast, he retrieved two coils of rope from the bottom of the boat and returned to the others.
“Moira, I’m tying ye to the mast so ye don’t get washed overboard,” he shouted. “So long as we all stay in the boat, we’ll be fine.”
If the boat capsized, it would not matter that she was tied and could not swim. There would be no hope. Duncan led Moira to the mast, then tied the rope around her waist, taking care to avoid her bruised ribs.
“Stay,” he ordered the dog, who obediently sat and leaned against Moira.
