* * *
Duncan watched Moira sleep in the morning light. How long would he have her this time? He knew he must take her home to Dunscaith as soon as Niall was well enough to leave and the boat was repaired—but he dreaded it. She was in his arms because she wanted to forget the terrible things that had happened to her, at least for a while. But it would end when they left here. Duncan did not know how he would bear it.
Connor had always been a better judge of character than his father and older brother, and he would make sure that the next chieftain or chieftain’s son she wed was a good man. Duncan tried to take comfort in this, but he failed miserably.
It made him furious to see the deep purple bruises marring her perfect skin. The bumps and scratches from her fall yesterday would heal quickly, but he feared the marks Sean left on her—inside and out—would be with her a long time. Before they parted, there was something more he needed to do for her.
Moira opened her eyes and stretched, giving him a slow grin.
“Out of bed with ye,” Duncan said. “’Tis time for your lessons.”
“What?” Moira asked with a laugh in her voice, then she waggled her eyebrows at him. “Will this lesson involve getting splinters in my backside from the door?”
“Is having your wicked way with me all ye can think of, lass?” Duncan asked.
Moira rolled her eyes at him.
“A lass should know how to protect herself,” he said. “Your training in this regard has been sorely lacking, so I’m going to teach ye how to kill someone with a dirk.”
“That’s the sweetest thing a man has ever said to me,” Moira said in a dead-serious voice.
Duncan threw his head back and laughed out loud. When Moira laughed with him, Lord above, it felt good.
“What was your father thinking, not teaching a lass like you how to use a blade?” he asked.
“A lass like me?” she asked, tilting her head.
“Aye. A lass who runs headlong into danger without a second thought.” Duncan pointed his finger at her. “Falling down that ravine was not the worst thing that could have happened to ye roaming about the hillsides on your own.”
“Ach, don’t give me another tedious lecture.” Moira got out of bed naked and stood with one hand on her hip, as if she meant to torture him. “Just show me how to use the dirk.”
Duncan retrieved her gown from where it had been drying in front of the hearth and tossed it to her. “Put it on quickly, or I can’t guarantee we’ll get to the lesson.”
Chapter 19
I’ll be away from Skye for a time,” Alastair Crotach MacLeod told Erik. “When I return, I’ll want ye to report to me on Hugh Dubh.”
Erik had cultivated informants and heard a whisper that his wily chieftain was negotiating to change sides in the rebellion and throw his support behind the Crown—for a price. That would be a wise move now that it was clear the rebellion was failing. What troubled Erik was that his chieftain had not confided his plans to him.
Still, his chieftain’s absence from Skye would give Erik the opportunity he needed.
“I could take the MacQuillan lad off your hands while you’re gone,” Erik said, taking care to make it sound as if it were a burden he did not relish.
“Aye, take the lad to Trotternish Castle.” The corner of the chieftain’s mouth lifted a fraction in what passed for a smile. “We have a duty to train him, but don’t teach him all ye know—he may be our enemy one day.”
Erik wouldn’t be teaching him anything for long. One less MacDonald male of chieftain’s blood would be good for the MacLeods, as far as he was concerned. His chieftain didn’t have the stomach to do what needed to be done, so Erik would do it for him.
At Trotternish Castle, Erik had both the power and the distance from his chieftain to handle matters as he saw fit. He would be careful, of course, so that the blame could not be laid at his door.
“No one could match ye as a warrior in your prime,” his chieftain said, standing up to clamp a hand on Erik’s shoulder.
Erik nodded to acknowledge the compliment, but thein your primeremark had cut. Although Erik was closer to fifty than forty now, few men were willing to challenge him to a fight. He was still stronger than most and twice as devious as the rest.
* * *
Duncan awoke with Moira in his arms. He rested his cheek against the top of her head and watched the late-afternoon light sift through the crack in the shutters. It had been years since he felt this content.
For the last three days, he and Moira had barely left the cottage. They had spent their time alternately napping, practicing with the dirk, and rediscovering interesting things to do in bed, short of a full joining of their bodies, that, in the end, were quite satisfying for both of them. It brought him untold joy to watch Moira’s innate sensuality blossom under his hands.