Page 25 of The Splendor of Fire
Father Mac smiled broadly. “Kyleakin village, Isle of Skye.”
Oh no.
The dark guard blinked. “Kyleakin. That’s MacKinnon territory, isn’t it?”
Oh no.
“Aye. I’m the parish priest at the Chapel of St. Mary. Moira here is the daughter of Father Allen. He…”
The dark guard clenched his teeth, his mustache curling over his lips. “Priests don’t have daughters.”
Oh no.
Father Mac put a soothing hand on the guard’s shoulder then continued gesturing and explaining. “Ah. I see what you mean. ’Tis a controversial subject to be sure. But as you know, it’s difficult getting a priest willin’ to serve in the Islands and Highlands, owin’ to the dangerous nature of the work and all. Why look at the mess in Jura. Thechurch has in some circumstances made a dispensation for the continuation of…”
The swarthy guard drew his sword. Father McElduff continued, so wrapped up in his explanation he did not notice. “…ministry. In Father Allen’s case he had already served for twenty-five years with a spotless record. When he married Joan MacKinnon, I told him—Allie, I says…”
The light-haired man reappeared at the doorway already running. “The name’s Una! Seize them!”
The dark man snatched a stunned Father McElduff and hauled him toward the gatehouse.
On swift feet, Moira sprinted for the boat slip, but then thought of Léo and crashed to a halt, causing the light-haired guard to hurtle toward her, and she ducked. With a shout, the man crashed over her and rolled down the hill.
Thanking God for her habit of wearing trews beneath all her leines just in case there was a tree that was worth exploring, she wrenched her skirt up and tucked it into her belt. The light-haired man ran toward her and she sprinted beneath the gate, skirting around the perimeter of the barmkin.
The man was faster than lightning and she was forced to launch herself over a hay cart to get three paces in front of him. Dashing toward the keep, she raced up the steps and wrenched the door open, then stopped dead.
The largest man she had ever seen in her entire life glowered down at her. His arms came out and she ducked, then somersaulted off the steps over the head of the light-haired man.
Landing soft on her feet she tore toward the open-air stables at the northern barmkin wall. The blond man was on her heels in seconds, but she dodged out of his grasp, then ducked into the structure. Jumping from one stable to the next, she made her way across. Just as she’d almost made it to the other side a large stallion raised his silvery head and she nearly collided with him. Skittering, she almost fell but found her balance as she stood one foot on the wall, one foot on the back of the horse.
From outside the open stables, the giant bellowed at her. “GET OFF GHOUSTIE! YE BANSHEE!”
Incredulous, she raised an eyebrow. The giant must be used to scaring people and getting his way. She jumped to the farthest wall and the giant almost caught her as she looped her leg over a bridle peg and hoisted herself upon the roof. High above the giant, she sprinted across the roof back the way she came. He followed her, screaming and swearing at the two guards who had not stopped her.
Twenty guards streamed from the gatehouse and surrounded the stable. A tattooed hand thick with ink came over the roof in front of her.
Her eyes found an escape route and she sprinted back across the roof toward the barmkin wall beyond, needing all the speed she could get. Hands out, she catapulted toward the curtain wall and got a hand hold on a corbel. It was enough. Fixing her other hand upon the curve of stone, she pulled herself up. Back strained, she hoisted her chin up, then shoulders, right arm, left arm, onto the wall.
The curly-haired giant looked at her with what now looked like fear. The light-haired guard raced to the edge of the stables and attempted the same jump, his fingers catching, but his weight causing him to slide off moments later. She tore toward the keep. She must find Hector.
I’m almost there, Léo.
The pebbled lime-washed surface of the tower keep made climbing difficult, but not impossible. Palms stinging with scrapes, she found the barest finger and toe holds as she sped upward, hurtling herself inside an open window.
A maid screamed at the top of her lungs as she crashed through the window and into a huge basket of linen.Saints.
Thighs burning, she sank into the linen and climbed toward the door as if walking through deep snow. After toppling herself out, she got to her feet and inched into the corridor. Servants were gathered at every window, backs to her, looking to see what the commotion was below.
Moira snuck toward the stairs. If only she could yell a name up the stairs and end the chase easily.
Below, guards clattered into the keep. The recovered maid burst into the corridor, pointing at her, screaming.Saints.
Rushing up the stairs and needing a place to hide, Moira reached asumptuous corridor and burst through the second door, tripping over a chair.
The raw sounds of an infant screaming rent the air. A small red-haired woman stared at her, eyes wide with fright, a baby clutched to her chest. “Who are you? What do you want?”
Moira’s hand went inside her dress, her lungs heaving in and out. A force tackled her from behind and she hit the floor hard, her chin colliding with the wooden floorboards, and pinned her to the ground.
