She looked at his pale face and wondered how long he had been hiding it from her. Ach, men.
“We should sail past Hugh’s men tonight instead of you doing this alone,” Niall said, but they both knew that if all had gone well at Trotternish, their boats should be passing through the strait today.
“Don’t fret. ’Tis a wee walk through the woods, and I’ll have Sàr with me.” Moira brushed Niall’s hair back and kissed his forehead. “You’ve become a fine man, Niall MacDonald, and I’m proud to call you cousin.”
He was a worry to her, but there was no more she could do for him now. When she climbed out from under the shelter of the lean-to, Sàr was waiting for her. He gave her a forlorn look from beneath his shaggy brows. But when she whistled to him, he followed her up the hill.
Moira knew she was walking into danger. As she made her way up the steep hill through the trees, she thought about all the times she had stood on the beach in Ireland, longing to take her son home to her clan on Skye where they would be safe. Then she thought of the peril awaiting the returning warriors. If Hugh succeeded, her clan would be destroyed and none of them would be safe. Not Connor, not her cousins Ian, Alex, and Niall, not Duncan, and not her son.
Moira regretted so much. At long last, she and Duncan could have been together, if she had been able to forgive him for the past. She had been too bruised and too fearful to trust him. But when she remembered how he looked at her while he sang the song about his dark-haired love, she knew in her heart that he did truly love her. If she lived to see him again, she would not waste another day denying their bond.
Moira squeezed the hilt of her blade as she marched up the hill. She intended to live a long life with Duncan and Ragnall. When this was over, she was going to be the damned happiest woman in all of Scotland, and nothing and no one was going to stop her.
The sound of male voices brought her attention abruptly back to the present. She signaled to Sàr to stay close and be quiet. Then she crept a few paces down the hill to peer through an opening in the trees.
O shluagh!Hugh’s men were no more than thirty yards below her. They appeared to be enjoying themselves, throwing dice and drinking around campfires, as if they were celebrating a feast day instead of waiting to murder her kin. But then, Hugh’s pirates were rough, clanless men who raided the coasts and stole winter stores from poor folk whose children would go hungry. And woe to any women they caught.
Hugh had far more men than Moira expected, which made it all the more important that she not fail to warn her returning clansmen.
Moira climbed higher up the hill to make a wider circle around their camp. When she was above the trees, she scanned the sea to the north. Far out on the horizon, the sky had cleared, and streaks of sunlight shone on the sails of three galleys. They were too far away for Moira to recognize them, and yet she knew they were the MacDonald boats returning from Trotternish.
Down in the trees, the men would not be able to see the galleys yet, but it would not be long before their lookouts spotted them. Moira’s heart pounded. She had to get to the shore north of the ambush in time to signal her brother’s boats.
She ran as fast as she could across the side of the hill with Sàr on her heels. Her lungs hurt, and her breath came in deep gasps, but she kept running. She flicked her gaze back and forth between Hugh’s camp and the arriving boats, trying to judge how soon she dared to drop down to the shore. She had to go down soon enough to warn the MacDonald boats but not so soon that Hugh’s men could reach her and haul her away before she gave the warning.
* * *
Erik had not risen from nothing by being slack. While Hugh relied on a couple of lookouts to watch the passage into the straits—and threw dice and drank with the rest of his men—Erik remained vigilant to every sound around him.
That was why he was the only one who saw the dark-haired lass slipping through the trees high above them. A shiver went up his back when he saw the beast following on her heels. For a moment he thought the hounds from hell were coming for him, but it was only one of those giant dogs from Ireland.
The woman was probably a local lass on an errand. But there was an urgency in her step that made him suspicious. And that dog was all wrong. A warrior who ignored his instincts did not live long, so he followed her. He did not owe his men an explanation and gave them none.
After the lass went above the tree line, she began running. Erik ran on a parallel path below her, keeping in the trees. After half a mile through rough terrain, in which she did not slacken her pace, she dropped down through the trees. He hid behind a boulder so she would not see him.
A low growl snapped Erik’s attention away from her. As he turned, he picked up a large rock. The dog was ten feet from him, with his teeth bared. Before it could spring on him, Erik hurled the rock. It hit the dog between the eyes and dropped the animal to the ground.
As one of the greatest MacLeod warriors who ever lived, it was not Erik’s fate to be killed by a damned dog, no matter how large.
He turned back in time to see the lass run by him as she came down the hill—and he caught his breath. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her eyes were an unusual violet color, her lips were full and red, and her hair was black as midnight. It was a testament to the startling beauty of her face that he was able to take his eyes off her voluptuous curves.
She continued past him and did not slow to a walk until she reached the shore. Despite her dirty gown, this was no farmer’s daughter. She held herself with the self-assurance of a princess. Erik would wager his life that this lass was close kin to a chieftain. Very close kin—a wife, a sister, or a daughter. And usually, if a woman was one, she was all three.
So what was this gorgeous, highborn lass doing here? When he followed her gaze and saw the three MacDonald war galleys sailing into the strait, he knew at once who she was. The MacDonald chieftain had no wife. This had to be his sister, Moira MacDonald, a lass famed throughout the isles for her beauty.
Erik almost regretted that he was going to slit her throat.
* * *
Moira climbed up on a rock and waved her arms. The galleys were only fifty yards away. The wind filled their sails, and they were moving fast. She glanced over her shoulder. She thought she had come far enough that Hugh’s men could not see her, but she could not be sure.
Were the MacDonald men blind? She was beginning to wonder if she would have to show her breasts like Saucy Mary to get their attention, when the first boat finally veered toward her. As it drew close to shore, she saw that the man standing in the bow was not her brother or Ian. It was Duncan!
Joy filled her heart as Duncan sprang over the side of the galley. While he ran toward her through the surf, she jumped off the rock and, clutching her skirts in her hands, raced across the beach to meet him. When they collided, she leaped into his arms, and he lifted her off her feet in a crushing embrace.
“What in God’s name are ye doing here?” Duncan asked as he squeezed the life out of her.
Then he kissed her, and everything felt right again. The beach, the pirates, all her fears and worries faded away, and she felt safe and loved.
