Duncan saw the black shape of their boat.
“There they are!” a voice came from behind him. “Stop them!”
Niall was already pushing the galley out when Duncan reached it.
“Get in!” Duncan shouted. As soon as Niall jumped into the boat, Duncan thrust Moira into Niall’s arms and took hold of the side of the boat.
“Get ready to raise the sail,” Duncan called to Niall. As he strained to push their galley farther out to the sea, a huge dark shape sailed past him and landed inside the boat. The wolfhound.
Over his shoulder, Duncan saw men with torches coming down the bluff and onto the beach.
“Now!” Duncan shouted as he flung himself into the boat.
Niall unfurled the sail in the gusting wind, and the vessel lurched forward. It listed to the side before Duncan could grab hold of the rudder. He straightened the boat quickly, and they headed out to sea.
When Duncan looked back again, torchlights filled the beach. The MacQuillans knew these waters far better than he did. But with any luck, they would wait until daylight to set sail after them.
He wished Alex were with them. The old Viking blood was strong in Alex, giving him a sixth sense on the water that would be useful sailing through unfamiliar shallows in the dark. Twice the boat scraped rocks, and it was only by the hand of God that they made it out to deep water.
As soon as it was safe to do so, he fastened the rudder in place, found a blanket, and went to check on Moira. She was shaking and weeping when he wrapped the blanket around her, so he put his arms around her as well. Despite the danger they were in, a fleeting sense of peace settled over him. This was not how he’ddreamed it would happen, but he had Moira in his arms again.
* * *
Moira slept fitfully, plagued by dreams that made her feel as if she were falling through time. She dozed and awoke so often that she did not know what was real and what was dream.
No! No!Sean’s weight was crushing her, and she was begging God not to let her last moment on earth be with Sean’s smell in her nose and his body touching hers. Then the weight was gone, and Duncan MacDonald stood above her in all his glory. Duncan had fire in his eyes and his blade brandished, just as she had imagined him every time she had hoped and prayed he would come.
But she must have dreamed him, called him up into the nightmare that was her life. As always, Duncan was too late to save her. Moira felt the motion of the waves beneath her, and she was floating in the sea beside her mother.
Then Sean was alive again, and his hands were closing on her throat.
* * *
“It’s all right.” Duncan held Moira against him, stilling her flailing arms.
He hated to awaken her again, but it was dangerous to let her sleep for more than a short time after how hard she had been hit on the head.
“Drink,” he said, holding the flask of ale to her lips. Moira drank it greedily, but half went down her chin because the side of her mouth was swollen. He dabbed it gently with the corner of the blanket.
“Duncan?” she said.
“Aye, it’s me.”
“You’re too late,” she murmured. “I watched for ye, but ye didn’t come.”
Moira was out of her head. She had been saying that to him all night.
He batted away the wolfhound, who kept nosing her face. “Leave her be or I’ll toss ye over the side.”
“No!” Moira wailed.
“Shh. I didn’t mean it.” Duncan brushed his fingers through her hair, which was still sticky with blood, as he rocked her in his arms. “He’s a good dog. He led me down the path to the beach.”
“He’s my son’s dog,” she said in a choked whisper.
The next time Duncan checked on her, dawn was breaking, and Moira seemed alert. Ach, her lovely face was a mess. He helped her sit up.
“Tell me where you’re hurt, Moira.”