Moira heard theclink-clinkof the key turning in the lock and pushed Ragnall behind her.
When Sean stepped inside, his large frame seemed to take up all the empty space in the bedchamber. He had left her all night to wait and wonder what her punishment would be for attempting to leave him. In the gray morning light coming through the narrow window, Sean’s expression still appeared unnaturally calm. It did not bode well. Whatever evil he had set his mind to, it pleased him.
“I’ve decided to foster our son,” Sean said.
It was a common practice for highborn families to foster their children with other clans as a way of strengthening their alliances. Months ago, Moira had suggested that Sean foster Ragnall with her own clan. Though she knew better, hope rose in her chest against all odds, like a blade of grass that grows out of rock.
“My brother would teach Ragnall to be a strong warrior,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.
“I wouldn’t send a son of mine to your clan,” Sean said. “The MacDonalds of Sleat are weak and doomed.”
She wanted to argue, but that would work against her. “Where then?”
Ragnall was all she had to live for, and she would miss him with all her heart. Still, she wanted him away from Sean, anywhere he would be safe.
“The MacLeod chieftain has agreed to foster Ragnall.”
“Ye can’t send him to the MacLeods,” she blurted out. “They are my clan’s worst enemies!”
“They aren’t my enemy,” Sean said, with a self-satisfied smile. “The MacLeods will be a useful ally to us MacQuillans.”
“What of the alliance your father made with mine? You’ve no cause to break it.” Despite the danger, Moira was raised a chieftain’s daughter, and it was her duty to speak for her clan. “Ye can’t send Ragnall to the MacLeods—he’s my brother’s heir.” At least, she had not heard that Connor had a son of his own.
“Ragnall ismyson andmyheir.” Sean leaned forward, his pretense of good humor cracking. “I can send him to the MacLeods or to the devil himself if I choose.”
Ragnall was clinging to her waist and weeping. Moira held him against her, trying to comfort him, as her mind whirled. It struck her that Sean was not doing this to threaten her brother and her clan, but her.
“You’d best learn to treat me with the respect I deserve,” Sean said between tight lips. “If ye ever attempt to leave me again, I’ll make certain ye will never see our son again.”
“Punishing me is more important than protecting our son?” Even as she asked the question, she knew the answer. Sean had found the one punishment that would make her suffer every hour of every day, and he meant to use it.
“Ragnall, say good-bye to your mother,” Sean said. “And stop weeping like a damned lass.”
“Don’t do this. Please,” she begged Sean as she held her son against her side. “Ye can’t trust the MacLeods with my precious boy.”
“The MacLeods are ready to set sail,” Sean said. “Ragnall, gather your things and get down to the beach, or your mother will pay for your disobedience.”
Sean slammed the door behind him, leaving them alone to say good-bye. For a long moment, she and Ragnall wept and clung to each other. Then Moira wiped her nose and eyes on her sleeve and took her son’s face between her hands. She knew that what she said to him now was important. It would have to sustain them both until they could be reunited.
“Never forget that ye are a MacDonald of Sleat and that ye come from a long line of famed warriors, including Somerled and the Lords of the Isles,” she said. “Learn all ye can from the MacLeods, for it could prove useful one day, but don’t trust anyone except a MacDonald.”
Ragnall wiped his eyes and nodded, but his bottom lip was quivering. “I don’t want to go.”
“I don’t know how long you’ll have to stay with the MacLeods.” She brushed his hair back and looked into his eyes. “But I promise, I will come for ye or send someone to bring ye to me as soon as I can.”
Ragnall nodded again. Ach, he was such a brave little boy. She pulled him close and kissed his hair.
“Don’t forget me,” she whispered, though it was too much to ask. He was only six.
“I won’t,” he said. “I love ye, Mother.”
“You are the pulse of my heart,a chuisle mo chroí,” she said and embraced her son for the last time.
Chapter 8
Another wave crashed over the bow, drenching Niall from head to toe.
“This storm will pass soon,” Duncan called out over the wind whipping against his face. “The sky is clear up ahead.”