Page 8 of The Warrior
Once they were on the beach beyond the reach of the waves, she collapsed onto the sand. Ragnall ran to fetch the blanket they had brought to the beach, then dropped it around her shoulders and crawled into her lap. Her teeth chattered uncontrollably as she rocked her son, a ball of heat that she enveloped in her icy body. Seawater from her hair streamed down to mix with the tears on his face.
“We cannot stay here any longer,” she said.
Moira had felt the lash of Sean’s tongue almost from the start of their marriage, but this was the first time she had been in fear for her life. Though Sean had become increasingly volatile these last months, she had fooled herself into believing she could control him by cajoling and flattering him, as she always had.
The moment Ragnall raised the stick at Sean, everything changed. She should have known her son would try to protect her. Ragnall had an innate sense of honor that Sean could not comprehend—and it would put her son in danger.
“I don’t know how yet, but we will go home to Dunscaith Castle. We’ll be safe there.” She rubbed her son’s head and stared out at the empty sea toward Skye. Whatever she had to do to get her son to safety, she would do it.
“I wish he weren’t my father.” Ragnall paused, then asked in a small voice, “Will I be like him?”
“No.” Moira took Ragnall’s face in her hands and looked hard into his eyes. “You’re nothing like him, and ye never will be.”
“How do ye know?” Ragnall asked, worry tinting his dark blue eyes, the only part of him that he got from her.
“Because at six you’re already a better man than he is.” She brushed his hair back from his face. “Ye will grow up to be a fine warrior and the best of men. Ye will make your mother proud.”
Sàr reappeared and lay down next to her, smelling of wet dog.
“He’s trying to warm ye,” Ragnall said.
“He’s a good dog,” she said, scratching the wolfhound’s shaggy head, “but you’ll have to let him go. Sean will kill Sàr if he sees him.”
Ach, Sean was a demon to force a child to choose between his beloved dog and his mother’s life.
“My father will never catch him,” Ragnall said. “Sàr is too fast.”
“Until we can make our escape, we must do our best not to provoke Sean,” she said. “Do ye understand?”
Ragnall buried his face against her. “But how will Sàr eat?”
“Whenever we can, we’ll leave food for him in our special place in the old fort.”
Ragnall was quiet for a long while, then he asked, “Can we take Sàr with us when we go to Skye?”
Moira was tempted to lie, but she had been raised on lies and false hopes, and she would not do the same to Ragnall. She brushed the hair back from his face with her fingers and kissed his forehead. “I don’t think so,mo chroí.” My heart. “But you and I will escape.”
No matter what she had to do, she would save her son.
Chapter 4
While they all gaped at Teàrlag, who stood at the entrance to the hall moaning and waving her arms, Ian’s seventeen-year-old brother Niall came in behind her and pulled the doors shut.
“Are you the fool who brought Teàrlag out in such weather?” Ian asked him while Connor and Ilysa helped the old seer to the chair closest to the hearth. “Ye could have killed her.”
Niall looked sheepish and came to stand next to Duncan. “I tried to tell her no,” Niall whispered to him, “but the old woman threatened to cast a spell that would make my manly parts shrink to nothing.”
Duncan chuckled. Teàrlag was well known for her foretelling and no doubt had the gift, but she made use of her reputation to suit herself.
“What have ye seen that is so important that ye left your cottage, and in such bad weather?” Connor asked, kneeling beside the old seer.
She looked around her with her one good eye. “Will no one fetch an old woman a cup of whiskey before I die of a chill?”
Ilysa retrieved the flask from the head table and poured Teàrlag a small cupful. All eyes were on the old seer as they waited to hear her news while she downed her drink.
Teàrlag wiped her mouth on the back of her hand and gave Connor a mournful glance. “My own jug is pathetically low…”
“I’ll send a new jug home with ye,” Connor said, patting her arm and showing the patience of a saint. “Are ye ready to tell us now?”
