Page 18 of The Splendor of Fire
Understanding his meaning, she took the cauldron and replaced it in the fire, angling her body between the door and himself. Quickly he sketched a missive on the paper.
ChieftainHector MacLean. Lochbuie. Isle of Mull. —I am alive. Cràdh Prison off the coast of Skye. Please send word to Gabriel that I am well, and will return, and love him very much. Not safe for rescue. Details to follow. Léo.
He put the charcoal down, eyes on the door, and then picked it up again.I trust Moira with my life. You may trust her with any information.
He dropped the charcoal into the basket and rolled the paper, secreting it beneath her empty jars. Creeping toward Moira, he slipped the heavy gold necklace off and put it over her head, lifting her hair, then tucking it beneath the neckline of her dress.
Carefully he studied the door, but did not see anyone watching. His hands covered her upper arms, pulling her close as he whispered in her ear. “I trust you beyond all others with my life. Please take it to him when your father will allow. Show him the necklace so he knows it’s from me.”
The smell he’d picked up on as he sat near to her flooded his senses and pulled him under—lavender. Bright, happy memories overtook the dark reality of his imprisonment, and he buried his face in her hair.Provence in summer. Warmed skin.
Unable to control himself, he drew her shoulders toward him, bringing her neck closer as he breathed in the outside world and femininity. Gliding his bare hand along the softness of her neck, he inhaled once more, nestling her close, drinking in her freedom. How he wanted to kiss her again, to feel her in his arms, to let her affection bring him back to life as it had the day they’d met.
A warm hand came to his own and pressed him away. Léo’s eyes flew to the slat, but the guard hadn’t turned around.
Moira shot to her feet, depositing the last of her supplies into thebasket in quick succession before covering it and scrambling to the door. His heart lurched.
“Moira. Moira, wait! I’m sorry.”He grabbed her hand and she looked at him, not fear in her eyes, but something else. Pulling her back to him, he endeavored to keep his tone low. “I’m sorry. Your soap. You smelled like lavender and I couldn’t stop—I’m sorry. Not just for that, but for what I said. You aren’t soft in the head, not in the least. You’re right, I am an idiot. And I’m sorry…for…for kissing you when I met you.”
Her eyes widened, and she tapped her chest and pointed to his head.
“Aye. I remember. Not everything, but judging by your reaction what lies in my hazy memory was not a product of the fever. I took advantage of you badly.”
Moira bit her lip, her eyebrows crinkling as she gave him a shy smile.You were so sick, and close to death. How could I deny you the comfort?
The heated memory made goosebumps spring up on his arms. Two years of loneliness and longing had gotten the better of him as soon as he’d clamped eyes on her. They’d shared fevered, desperate affection that had warmed his heart and made him feel whole again. Yet no matter how right it had felt in the moment, and how out of his mind he’d been, he had still taken advantage of her.
Words spilled out of him in a rush as he argued with her to stay. “I was feverish. I thought I saw my wife and was overcome. I would never look at you in that way. I was out of my head. Nothing should ever have happened, and nothing will ever happen again. I swear to you. I am still in love with Théa. You have to believe me. I’m sorry it happened. I’ve spent thirteen weeks wishing to tell you that.”
It wasn’t the truth. He wasn’t sorry in the least. He thought of Moira constantly, obsessing over her presence in his dreams, and the mysteries in the thoughts she couldn’t speak. Yet he couldn’t very well say that and scare her. She would never come back again.
Moira wilted. Something was wrong. She took a step back and swallowed, then nodded. She pointed to the cauldron and gestured a spoon coming to her mouth.
Confused, all he could do was respond, “Oui, I’ll finish every bite.”
She turned and knocked on the door.
His heart dropped. “Wait, Moira.”
Without looking back, she slipped away.
Chapter 6
COAST OF EIGG - JUNE 20, 1384
What on earth was she thinking? The bìrlinn?1 pitched and listed to the right as it rounded the coast of Eigg, and Moira dug her fingernails farther into the rough wooden deck. Rain splattered over them and soaked through her plaid. Helpless, she cowered against the bottom of the boat, bending forward to protect the missive tucked against her breast, and to avoid looking at the only thing that terrified her—the ocean.
“Are you all right, Mistress Allen?”
Moira raised her face and looked at Father McElduff. The round-faced and graying priest narrowed his eyes at her. “Oh dear. You’ve gone green.”
Aye.Her stomach pitched as the bìrlinn dropped over another wave. Sickened, she raised a hand and motioned him away.
He gestured to a young Irishman who was hanging so far over the side of the boat, his backside pointed north. “If you say so, lass. But if you get the need to be sick, just hang over the side like Father Tierney is doing.”
Hanging over the side of the bìrlinn was not an option. Not for her. The thought of the black depths of the sea below made the shaking return. Sweat erupted over her forehead. She would hang on to thecontents of her stomach if it killed her, which felt like a distinct possibility.
Fraught by nerves and nausea, she ran over the details of her father’s plan once more in her mind. Father McElduff sat down on the bench in front of her, ignoring her silent gesture to be left alone.
