“You’re offering an exchange?” He could not believe it. “Ye gave yourself to me freely before. Don’t ye dare play the whore with me.”
Duncan was so angry his vision blurred. He stormed out of the cottage, slamming the door behind him.How could she?
Chapter 16
Moira pretended to be asleep when Duncan returned to the cottage an hour or two later and climbed the ladder to the loft. After waiting for the sounds above her to quiet, she slipped out of bed and stepped into her shoes. She was already fully dressed. Moving quickly, she lifted the cloak from the peg and eased the door open.
Sàr lifted his head from where he lay in front of the warm hearth. When she signaled, he got up and trotted out in front of her. She closed the door behind her and paused to listen. All was quiet. She released the breath she had been holding and started out.
The moon shone between the clouds racing across the night sky, giving her just enough light to follow the path. The sounds of the wind blowing over the hills and of the surf on the shore below seemed louder. Animals scuttled through the bushes along the path, making her glad for Sàr’s company.
Traveling at night was eerie, but Moira was determined to be far enough away when Duncan awoke in the morning that he could not catch up to her before she reached Dunvegan.
Moira would wager she was the only lass in all the islands who did not know how to sail a damned boat. If she knew how, she could have “borrowed” one of the MacCrimmons’ and arrived at Dunvegan in no time. How could her father and brothers leave her so ill prepared?
Once again, she cursed her pampered upbringing. If she ever had a daughter, Moira would make certain she knew how to kill a man with a dirk and sail a boat by herself. In the end, a lass could count on no one but herself.
“I’m done with waiting for men to help me,” she said aloud.
Sàr gave her a worried look over his shoulder.
Moira still wore the delicate slippers that went with her now-ragged gown, and her feet hurt like the devil. She was freezing as well. Sàr pranced ahead of her, unperturbed by the cold.
She walked for what felt like hours and was tired to the bone when the sky turned a lighter shade of dismal gray, signaling the coming dawn. When her foot caught in a hole, she heard her gown rip as she fell on her hands and knees in the mud. Her gown was such a rag already that she would be half-naked by the time she arrived at Dunvegan. At least she’d be noticed.
Sàr paced around her until Moira picked herself up out of the mud.
“Time for a rest and breakfast, wouldn’t ye say?” She found a rock to sit on. Then she gave Sàr half of the dried fish and oatcakes one of the women had left in the cottage for Duncan. He would have no trouble getting more.
“Ye miss Ragnall, too, don’t ye?” She rubbed Sàr’s ears. “Well, we won’t see him any sooner sitting here.”
They drank from the little cricks and waterfalls that were running down the hills everywhere from the winter rains. Her slippers and the bottom of her skirts were a muddy mess.
Moira trudged behind Sàr as the path climbed a steep hill. At the top, where the trail narrowed and ran along the edge of a steep ravine, Sàr came to an abrupt halt.
“Ye big baby,” she said, laughing at him. “All right, I’ll go first.”
Sàr barked and bit at her skirt.
“Quit it! You’re as bad as Duncan,” she said. “If ye don’t want to go to Dunvegan with me, ye can turn around.”
Suddenly Moira’s feet went out from under her, and she was hurtling down the ravine backward. She flung her arms out, trying to grab hold of something as she crashed through the brush. Branches cracked. Her body thumped and bounced as she careened down the hillside like a falling rock.
* * *
“Hugh MacDonald could be of use to us,” Erik said and watched his chieftain carefully for his reaction.
“I don’t trust a man who is a traitor to his own clan.” Alastair MacLeod’s glare deepened. “He insulted me, suggesting I would hand Sean MacQuillan’s son over to him after I agreed to foster the lad.”
“The boyisthe MacDonald chieftain’s heir…,” Erik ventured.
“And he is under my protection,” the chieftain snapped.
Erik feared he had gone too far. While his chieftain was ruthless in battle, he had an unnatural softness when it came to women and children. Erik had suffered for this weakness of his chieftain before.
“In any case, the lad will not be the MacDonald heir for long,” the chieftain said. “Connor MacDonald is a young man and will have sons of his own.”
“Not if he’s dead.” Erik paused. “If Hugh were their chieftain, we’d have a good chance of driving the MacDonalds out of Skye altogether.”