Page 13 of The Warrior
“Beannachd air an taigh.” A blessing on this house. Alastair Crotach MacLeod spoke in a deep, raspy voice while he appraised her with his cold eyes. He did not appear to be any more pleased by the prospect of sharing a meal with a MacDonald than she was at sharing it with him.
The MacLeod chieftain carried a constant, and likely painful, reminder of his hate for her clan. He was called Alastair Crotach, Alastair the Humpback, because a terrible axe wound he had received as a young man, from a MacDonald, had left his shoulder deformed.
Alastair MacLeod had been chieftain of his clan for nearly forty years, and he wore his power like a second skin. He was sixty-odd years but looked far younger. Paradoxically, his deformed shoulder made him seem more formidable and added to his mystique.
“Ye look like your mother,” the MacLeod said.
“Ye knew her?” Moira had not intended to converse with the man, but his remark startled her into blurting out the question.
“She was the youngest and prettiest of the three beautiful Clanranald sisters,” he said. “I saw her but once, but she was not a woman a man forgets.”
Moira had no memory at all of her mother.
“Shame she left a good man for the likes of your father,” the MacLeod said, “and then died trying to leave him.”
How dare he speak ill of my family to my face?Only the dead knew the truth of what happened between her father and mother at the end.
“And they say’tis women who spread rumors and gossip,” Moira said, giving the MacLeod chieftain a falsely sweet smile.
“Moira!” Sean squeezed her arm painfully and marched her out of the hall. “I expect ye to be courteous to my guests.”
Moira bit her tongue to keep from saying that his guest was rude first.
“I will deal with ye later, woman.” When Sean had her through the door to the stairs, he gave her a shove. “Go upstairs. I have important business to discuss with the MacLeod, and I can’t have ye causing trouble.”
She would never have guessed that she would be grateful for the MacLeod’s visit or his rudeness. But thanks to him, she would have more time to make her escape. The two chieftains were likely to talk and drink far into the night, and Sean would not discover she was gone until morning.
Ragnall was asleep on the pallet on the floor next to the bed.
“Wake up,” she whispered and shook his shoulder. When he opened his eyes, she said, “We’re leaving,mo chroí.”
She gathered the last of their things, shoved them into her cloth bag, and flung it over her shoulder. After taking her son’s hand, she put her ear to the door. She heard no one in the stone stairwell, so she eased the door open.
With her hand on the latch, she paused to glance back at the bedchamber that had been the source of such misery to her.
Good riddance, Sean MacQuillan. May ye burn in hell for all eternity.
Chapter 6
You’re packing?” Rhona asked.
“Mmph.” Duncan grunted in the affirmative, though it was obvious what he was doing.
“How long will ye be gone this time?” she asked.
“I don’t know.” He took an axe down from the wall and tested the sharpness of the blade before setting it on the table with the other weapons and supplies he was taking.
“Where can ye be going in the midst of the winter storms?” Rhona asked.
He shot her a glance. Asking so many questions was contrary to the understanding between them. He never told her the chieftain’s business. In fact, he never discussed it with anyone, except for Ian and Alex. And he wouldn’t even tell them if Connor asked him not to.
“Perhaps I won’t be here when ye return,” Rhona said, folding her arms.
“Do as ye wish.” They got along well enough, but if she wanted to go, she could.
“Is that all ye have to say to me?” she said and grabbed his arm. “I’ve been sharing your bed for two years.”
Duncan had thought their arrangement suited her. He should have listened when Alex warned him that Rhona might think there was more to it than there was. Alex understood women. Duncan sighed. It was not Rhona’s fault that there was only one woman he would ever want for more than a bedmate.
