Page 59 of The Warrior
No one was supposed to know Duncan was going, but his sister Ilysa had shown up at his cottage with the dog just as he was leaving. She claimed she had seen a vision, or some such foolishness, and insisted he bring the wolfhound with him. Though Duncan did not believe Ilysa had The Sight—or at least, he hoped not—he was happy for the dog’s company on the two-day sail.
He let Sàr accompany him until they were in sight of Trotternish Castle, then ordered him to stay. Because wolfhounds usually belonged to the highborn and were distinctive, he could not take the dog with him.
As Duncan walked across the wide grassy field that led up to the castle, he could see the whitecaps of the sea stretching out for miles, all the way to the outer isles. Up here on the bluff, with the fierce wind blowing his hair back, he had the sensation of being at the edge of the world. He understood the pull his Viking ancestors must have felt to sail ever westward into the unknown.
Duncan had been to Trotternish Castle several times when it was in the possession of the MacDonalds. But this time, he came as an enemy.
The castle was perched on a point of the bluff, with sheer, fifty-foot cliffs on three sides. There were only two ways to attack it. From the sea, warriors had to climb single-file up steep steps that were cut into the rock and curved up the cliff from the adjacent crescent beach. The sea approach was nigh onto impossible unless you had a great many men—and you were willing to lose a lot of them.
From what Duncan had heard, that was what the MacLeods had done.
The only other approach was through this wide-open expanse on the bluff, which gave the castle defenders plenty of forewarning. In fact, Duncan could feel the guards watching him now. An attack from here would have to be made under cover of darkness or in extremely poor weather.
As Duncan crossed the last several yards to the castle, the land fell away on either side of him. This final stretch of land leading up to the point on which the castle stood was narrow and had a ditch dug across it, enhancing the defensibility of the castle.
Duncan did not bother calling out or banging on the gate since the guards had been watching his slow arrival for some time. Instead, he opened his bag and held up his pipes for the guards to see. He felt half naked without his claymore strapped to his back. Entering his enemy’s lair with no weapon but his pipes—he may as well be holding his cock in his hand.
The guards swung the gate open without even questioning him. When Duncan returned to Dunscaith, he would make damned sure the MacDonald guards were not so easily deceived by appearances.
“Hope you’re better than the last piper who came through here,” one guard said. “Go in the hall and someone will feed ye.”
Duncan pulled his cap low over his eyes as he entered the keep. He had become fairly well known for his fighting skills. He was counting on the MacLeod warriors inside, like the guards at the gate, to see a man with pipes—and no claymore—and not look closer.
The hall was noisy, and it appeared the midday meal had just ended. Near-empty platters of food were on the tables, and about half the people in the hall were still sitting at them, while the others were milling about before setting to their afternoon tasks.
As Duncan made his way to a table, a few people looked at him curiously, but no one tried to stop him. He decided he may as well eat while he observed the MacLeods and found an empty seat in front of a platter that still had a goodly amount of food on it. He stabbed a hunk of roasted pork with his eating knife. Before the juicy meat reached his mouth, a deep voice rumbled across the hall.
“Ye must play for your dinner first, piper!”
There was one MacLeod, after all, who had the wits to test a stranger entering the castle. Reluctantly, Duncan set his knife down.
As the noisy room grew quiet, Duncan’s senses went on alert. Slowly, he turned in the direction from which the voice had come. The blood drained from his head as he met the gaze of the man seated at the center of the high table.
If the MacLeod chieftain were in the castle, he would be sitting in the decorative, high-backed chair at the center. But Duncan had seen Alastair MacLeod before, a man of sixty-odd years with a hunchback, and this was not him.
In the absence of the chieftain, the man who would have the honor of sitting in that chair would be the keeper of the castle—and the man Duncan had been looking for all his life. For the first time, Duncan stared into the face of his father.
His enemy.
Erik MacLeod was probably in his forties, though he still looked strong as an ox. Except for his build, the likeness between him and Duncan was not strong. Erik had steel-gray hair that he wore shorn short, and a beard to match. Still, Duncan could see himself in the hardness of the older man’s eyes.
Every fiber of his body urged him to reach for the dirk hidden in his boot and charge his enemy, shouting his war cry. Duncan was quick with a blade. He could sink his dirk into Erik’s throat before anyone could stop him. But he was here on a mission for his clan, and his personal revenge would have to wait awhile longer.
Your time will come, old man. And soon.
All these thoughts rushed through Duncan’s head in an instant. Quickly he dropped his gaze and forced his muscles to relax as he leaned over and removed his pipes from the oiled leather bag he carried them in.
“Your size is wasted on a piper,” Erik said in a booming voice. “Who are ye, piper?”
“I’m a MacKay.” Duncan had considered choosing the MacArthurs, another piping family in the isles, but he settled on the MacKays because their lands were far away, up in the north of the Scottish mainland.
“You’re a long way from home,” Erik said, narrowing his eyes at Duncan.
“I’m on my way to the MacCrimmons,” he said. “With your permission, I’ll pass this way again on my return as well.”
Duncan hoped when he returned he would be storming the gates, rather than carrying his pipes, but it seemed wise to smooth his path should he need to use the ruse again.
“What is your business with the MacCrimmons?” Erik asked.
