Moira gave a humorless laugh. “What the faeries give they take away twice.”
“Duncan loves ye, and he’s a good man,” Connor said.
“Hmmph.” Moira crossed her arms and looked away.
“Give him a chance, Moira.”
“Is that an order from my chieftain?” she asked.
“It’s advice from a brother who wants to see ye happy,” Connor said. “And now, if you’ll have pity on me, I’m desperate for your help with our guest.”
“I do have something else I need to discuss with James,” Moira said, smiling at her brother. “And I think I might enjoy aggravating Duncan a bit more.”
Chapter 32
Duncan sat by the hall’s great hearth sharpening his dirk on a whetstone while he watched Moira flirt with James. At least she had changed out of that low-cut gown, though nothing could hide curves like hers.
He emptied his cup of whiskey and refilled it. If everything went well, he would be the keeper of Trotternish Castle in a week’s time. Then he could marry Moira and give her the kind of home she needed.
If she didn’t run off with that damned James, son of a chieftain, first.
Connor strolled over and sat next to him. “I had a long talk with James,” he said in a low voice. “Thanks to Moira, he’s verra cooperative now.”
“Hmmph.” Duncan took another long drink of his whiskey.
“According to James, Alastair MacLeod and Shaggy Maclean have left the rebellion and are proving their newfound loyalty to the Crown by chasing after their former ally Donald Gallda,” Connor said, referring to the leader of the rebellion. “They haven’t caught Donald yet, but they captured his brothers and turned them over to the Crown to be executed.”
“Now we know where Alastair MacLeod went with his war galleys,” Duncan said. “’Tis good news for us that he’s busy elsewhere.”
“The bad news is that the Crown has rewarded Alastair MacLeod by granting him a royal charter to the lands he stole from us on Trotternish.”
“But we never joined the rebellion!” Duncan said, slamming his cup down. Connor had taken a considerable risk by not taking up arms with their neighboring clans against the Crown.
“Surely ye remember the parable of the prodigal son,” Connor said, shaking his head.
“Forget the damned charter,” Duncan said. “What matters most is who holds the land.”
It had proven far easier for the Crown to issue royal charters—in fact, it had been known to issue charters to the same land to rival clans—than to remove a clan from its lands.
“I should help my sister with our guest,” Connor said, shifting his gaze to Moira, who was still having an excessively friendly chat with James on the other side of the hall. “I know it’s soon to ask her, but I wonder if she would consider James for her next husband.”
Duncan squeezed the cup in his hand pretending it was James’s neck.
Rhona came into the hall from the kitchens carrying a jug of wine and cups. After serving Moira, James, and Connor, she ambled over to where Duncan sat.
“I see she’s even quicker to find a new man this time,” Rhona said, leaning down to speak into his ear. “I told ye this would happen.”
Rhona gave him an amused glance over her shoulder as she pranced off.
Duncan watched how Moira and James leaned their heads together and looked into each other’s eyes while they talked about God knew what.
But it was her laugh a moment later that sent him over the edge. As her face lit up, he could feel the pulse in his temples throb. Her shining black braid fell over her shoulder as she leaned closer to James and laughed. That last night before he was forced to leave for France, Duncan had watched her laugh just like this with the man who became her husband.
The temper Duncan had spent his youth learning to control exploded. It surged through his veins, pounded in his ears, and tunneled his vision until all he could see was the two of them laughing.
Duncan marched across the hall, aware but not giving a goddamn that he was causing a disruption. He’d had enough. As he neared the pair, some of James’s men started to rise from their seats
“Stay where ye are!” Duncan said, turning to glare at them. “It’s not James I’m after.”
