Page 32 of The Splendor of Fire
“Och. Nevermind. Sea i’tis.”
Hector motioned to the circle of men. “So you see, I may draw attention as the legendary Beithir, but much of what you heard is the Shield, working secretly together. The Wolf is one selfish man; we are a team.”
“Now she needs a sign name,” Iain said perfectly signingbairnto her. Rounds of ayes echoed through the clearing.
Moira held up her hands then shed her belt and pulled at the ties of her leine.
Hector grunted. “Och lass, what are you doing?”
The men threw their hands over eyes and she gave a silent laugh, stepping out of her gown but still dressed in her leather trews, boots, and sleeveless tunic. When they still would not look, she clapped her hands. They looked up as she refastened her belt around her and removed the leather strips from her pouch, tying them around her palms.
Hector repeated himself. “Again, what are you doing? What are you wearing? You look like a lad.”
Calum snorted. “No’ from where I’m standin’.”
Moira brought her first two fingers to her eyes, mouthing watch.
Heart pounding with excitement, she made her way to the towering fir tree she’d been aching to climb, touching its rough bark andfinding hand and toe holds. The nearest branch was over fifty feet in the air. A challenge for a man, but not for her.
Hoisting herself up, she found toe holds then finger holds. Up and up she went.
Hector’s voice called up to her when she had risen halfway to the branch. “Where are you going, lass? You can’t make it up to that branch! You’ll kill yourself trying!”
No one told hercan’t.She counterbalanced, swinging around a thinner, papery patch of bark, and continued upward.
Far below, Hector sounded distressed. “Moira! Come down, now!”
She reached the lowest branch with ease and looped one leg over it, then the other, then dangled, extending her hands toward the ground, taking in the world upside down.
Hector shouted at her. “Moira Allen! This is no’ a jest. Come down before you break your neck.”
It did feel like a jest, for unbeknownst to Hector he had used the exact words her mother used to yell at her when she climbed too high. It was the lift she needed. Engaging her stomach, she pulled herself up and then stood on the branch. It was a massive branch, thick and sturdy. Finding her natural balance, she bent forward, bringing her hands to the bark. Then ever so slowly, she lifted one foot off, and then the other, raising her legs into a split over her head.
Moira squinted toward the ground. Angus’s hands gripped both sides of his bearded face. Hector was screaming. Murdoch, Calum, and David stood open-mouthed, and Iain wore a wide grin. She gave a silent laugh, arching her back and walking her feet over her head. When she stood upright again she brought her hands to the branch once more and raised her legs performing a handstand.
Screaming started again below.
Shifting her weight, she removed her left hand and balanced her whole body on her right palm.
The screaming below increased in volume.
Rising again to her feet, she spread her hands, feeling God’s air around her. Taking a breath, she performed a front flip. Then she paused, finding a focal point, and sprang backward, landing onher feet with a slight wobble and a corrective lean to maintain balance. After walking back to the trunk, she turned down the length of the branch.
“Don’t do et! Ye daft woman! Get doon here nooooooo!”
Ignoring the yelling from below, she focused her eyes on a neighboring oak with more promising branches. One solid branch stretched toward her with a gap of several feet.
Taking a deep breath, she sprinted down the length of the branch and flipped, landing one foot in front of the other on the next tree, arms extended, bouncing like a squirrel up and down in the tall oak.
All six men were now screaming with fright. Triumph washed over her. She’d done it, just like she did every day on Skye. Satisfied, Moira looped her legs over the branch and dropped backward, her hands finding the next lowest branch. Again and again, she dropped through the branches of the oak tree until she neared the ground. When she reached a branch fifteen feet from the ground, she lingered.
Forming a line with her body, she swung back and forth, then bent at the hips, swinging around the sturdy hardwood. Around and around the branch she went. Three quarters of the way around her final turn she kicked her toes up, snapped her arms to her sides, heels turning overhead twice in a rigid line. She extended her arms, landing squat on the loamy ground.
All six men stared at her open-mouthed. David sat down upon the ground and rubbed his hands over his sweating bald head. “By the saints.”
Murdoch rushed over. “Are you loony? You could have died.”
She shrugged. You could die doing a lot of things, like riding a horse.
