Duncan sighed because she was right. Moira was the only woman who could rile him. “I’ll tell ye anything ye want to hear while we walk back to the MacCrimmons,” he said.
“What about my son?”
“’Tis unfortunate the MacLeods have him, but as I told ye, he is safe under Alastair MacLeod’s protection.” Duncan took her hands. “The same cannot be said for you. What do ye think the MacLeods would do with ye when they heard about Sean’s death? Most likely, they would return ye to your husband’s clan for punishment.”
Duncan thought they would first use the threat of returning her to the MacQuillans against Connor—and after they got what they wanted from him, they would send Moira to the MacQuillans anyway.
“That would not help your son,” he said.
“I suppose not.” Moira had not shed a tear before, despite the fall and the wolves, but a wet streak was working down her muddy cheek now. “I miss him.”
Duncan lifted her chin with his finger. “Wewillget your son back.”
“Promise?” she asked, her solemn gaze fixed on him.
Duncan paused. He did not give his word lightly, but he could not take away her hope. “I promise.”
Chapter 18
Connor is the only hope for our clan,” Duncan said after taking her arm and starting down the path. “Our enemies know this, and so should you.”
“My brother has been fortunate to always have your loyalty.” Moira failed to keep the bitterness from her tone.
“He merits my loyalty—and yours as well,” Duncan said.
“Connor and I were never close as children,” she said.
“He kept his distance to avoid getting in trouble with your father,” Duncan said. “One word of complaint from you, and Connor would be punished.”
Moira had always known, as children do, that her father favored her and her brother Ragnall over Connor. But she never gave it much thought. It was just how her family was, like her mother being dead.
“He must resent me,” she said.
“Connor never held it against you,” Duncan said.
As they walked, Duncan explained what dire straits the clan had been in when the four of them returned from France. Though Moira had heard bits of this before, she had been far away and absorbed by her own troubles. Duncan answered all the questions she put to him about the dangers their clan still faced.
“Ye only had the one child?”
Duncan’s question startled her and brought back the old familiar ache.
“I conceived two other times, but lost the babes,” she said, fighting to keep her voice even. “Sean even blamed me for that.”
“I’m sorry,” Duncan said.
It had been hard, very hard. Moira turned her face away and pretended to look up at the hills until she could trust her voice again. Then, to change the subject, she asked Duncan about their clansmen—who had married or died or had more children. Duncan’s answers were exceedingly brief and uninformative.
“What of my former maid?” she tried again. “Rhona must be long since wed.”
“No.”
Ah well, Duncan was never one to engage in what he viewed as idle gossip.
Moira did not ask him why he left her, though it was on her mind. His question before about Ragnall’s age had made her uneasy. She could not risk a discussion that delved into their past and might lead him to discover her secret. Besides, she did not trust Duncan to tell her the truth; nor did she want to hear his excuses.
And was there any answer he could give her that would make a damned bit of difference? Was there anything he could say that would erase the suffering of the last seven years? No, there was no point in upsetting herself. Her father had given Duncan the choice, and he chose Connor and pursuing a warrior’s glory in France.
The past could not be undone.