“I hear they claim to be the very best pipers,” Duncan said. “I want to see for myself if it’s true and trade a few tunes with them.”
“I’m not a trusting soul, either,” Erik said. “Let’s hear ye play those pipes.”
Erik was straining the rules of hospitality by demanding his guest perform, but then the man had committed far worse sins.
Duncan’s fingers found their places on the melody pipe, or chanter, from long habit. As he took the blowpipe in his mouth, he closed his eyes to concentrate. If he wanted to stay out of the castle’s dungeon, he needed to give a persuasive performance. As usual, his mood affected his music, and he played a tune that sounded like a pounding storm with driving rain and sleet.
When he finished and opened his eyes, the hall was dead silent. The applause started with a few claps and then spread through the room.
“I’ve never heard a tune quite like that one before,” Erik said when the cheers had died down. “But you’ve earned your dinner, piper.”
And you’ve earned death at my sword. Before you feel my blade, I’ll make certain you know who took your castle from you.
* * *
Duncan left the hall as soon as he had finished eating. He had counted a hundred MacLeod warriors inside. That would be more than sufficient to hold such a strong fortress, unless he discovered a weakness—a crumbling wall, a weak door, drunken guards.
As he strolled about the courtyard, pretending to enjoy the freezing cold, Duncan noted that the heavy oak doors of the gate were reinforced with iron. He glanced along the top of the walls; the half dozen guards all appeared to be alert and watchful. Damn. If the castle had a weakness, he could not see it. Vile as Erik was, he did his job of maintaining the castle’s defenses. After dark, Duncan would go inside the storage rooms built against the outer wall and look for poorly patched holes. He did not expect to find any.
He must find a way to take this castle. Everything depended upon it.
When one of the guards noticed that Duncan was examining the castle structure a mite too closely for a musician, Duncan turned to go back inside. As he went up the steps, he ran his gaze first over the old, four-story keep and then over the two-story building attached at a right angle to it. This lower building ran along the edge of the cliff overlooking the sea.
An idea began to form in Duncan’s head.
* * *
“I believe we have enough ale and wine to last till spring.” Ilysa narrowed her eyes as she ran her gaze along the row of barrels, then clicked her tongue. “But we’re down to one small barrel of whiskey. That will never do.”
Moira had found Ilysa in one of the storage rooms in the undercroft, assessing what was left of the castle’s winter supplies, and offered to help.
“The men can survive without whiskey for a few weeks,” Moira said.
Ilysa gave her a doubtful look. “They do call ituisge-beatha, water of life.”
Moira laughed. “I assume ye have a plan to get more.”
“I’ll send word to Father Brian asking him to bring a barrel when he comes on his annual visit to the island,” Ilysa said.
Ach, Duncan’s sister was a model of competence. Moira hoped her brother appreciated how good Ilysa was, but she suspected that Connor, like most men, did not notice a smooth-running household as much as he would notice one that wasn’t.
“Do ye know where your brother has gone or when he’ll be back?” Though Moira was still mad enough at him to spit, she felt uneasy not knowing where he was. Duncan had surprised her by leaving without attempting to speak with her again—and he had even taken her dog!
“I don’t know where Duncan is,” Ilysa said.
It made Moira furious every time she thought about Duncan lecturing her about propriety and what she could and could not do. How dare he? She was a grown woman. If she chose to share a bed with a man, it was no one’s business but her own.
If she wanted to be ordered about and criticized, she’d take another husband. By the saints, she would not suffer that misery again.
“Tell me,” Moira said. “Does your brother try to tell ye what to do?”
“Aye,” Ilysa said as she brushed the dust from her hands.
“Does it not annoy ye?” Moira asked.
“Not much.”
“What do ye do?” Moira asked.
