Page 52 of The Splendor of Fire
“Yes. He’s asked me to bring you to Dun Ringill when I return to duty in July so that you may interpret a troublesome dream he’s been having. As a prisoner of course. Not a guest.”
A stunned stupor hardened over him. Both he and Eoghan spoke at the same time. “What?”
Gordon chuckled. “It’s unusual, aye. Perhaps if you can do for him what you’ve done for me he will curtail your punishment.”
Disbelief poured over him. July. Four months. Four months until he saw Moira. Four months to return to full strength. Four months until he returned to the halls of his childhood home and could facilitate the uprising.
Gordon waved a dismissive hand. “It seems he’s been having a dream about a unicorn or some such thing.”
Unicorn.A sign of power. Incredulity wormed through his attitude.Not that, God. He prayed for his brother’s deliverance from evil every day, not a multiplication of power. “A sign of power.”
Gordon’s eyes widened and he leaned forward, rapt. “Power, you say?”
“Aye.”
“I shall let the laird know when I return to Dun Ringill for the feast of Pentecost. I’ve been invited as his special guest.” Gordon bounced with excitement. “I’ve been promised a village girl from Kilmarie. Although I doubt she will be as beautiful as the delicious wench your brother has for himself.”
All vows to not harm Gordon vanished like warm breath on a cold night. Sudden red flooded Léo’s vision and he almost came across the room and wrapped his hands around Gordon’s scrawny throat.
Gordon stroked his beard, a look of desire on his face. “Moira Allen. Always had a soft spot for her. Should have gotten her in a cell while I had the chance.”
Gritting his teeth, Léo breathed a seething breath and tried to control his murderous thoughts.
Mowbray took one look at Léo’s face and narrowed his eyes. “How is Moira?”
“More attractive than she ever was here at Cràdh, to be sure. Of course a bit of coin and instruction in the ways of love will make for a biddable mare.”
Léo tightened his grip on the arm of the chair. If Gordon said one more disgusting thing he would have the pleasure of squeezing the last breath from his bony neck. Eoghan would help him.
Mowbray sounded surprised. “She’s happy at Dun Ringill?”
“Most happy from what I could ascertain. Couldn’t keep her hands off Niall. No longer that unattractive streak of spirit.”
The spirit that had saved him with its selflessness.No, Moira.
“Devoted to the laird’s pleasure. Unlike his last leman. And unlike your mother was with your father.”
The ugliest part of his childhood. His father loved his mother and yet made her betray her conscience, forcing her to endure the unspeakable, turning the light out in her eyes. The memory of Maman weeping in the room beside his in the dark of night made him sick.
“I’d say by appearances, Moira is enjoying her instruction. Allows him to stroke her openly, touches him as if he is her most beloved, kisses him like she craves him.”
The arm of the chair gave a loud crack beneath the pulverizing grip of Léo’s hand. Gut seizing, he struggled to hold onto its contents.No, Moira. No.
“I’m sure you’ll see when we visit in July. Laird MacKinnon didn’t allow her out of his sight.”
Léo had known she might have been harmed, known she might have been used as his mother had been, but willing? Eager? Enjoying herself? What of their pledges to each other the last time he’d seen her? Without Moira, what did he have? Grief for what he’d lost inundated him.
The room closed in on him and he burst to his feet. Gordon jumped in his seat. “I thank you, MacMorran, for your kindness in helping me find approval with my brother. I will return to my room to ponder the meaning of the unicorn.”
Gordon nodded with approval. “Yes, good to arrive prepared.”
He had to get out of here. Bursting through the door, he raced down the stairs and across the parapet.
Eoghan jogged after him. “Léo, wait!”
“Not now, Eoghan, leave me!”
Eoghan grabbed Léo’s arm and he rounded, releasing a burst of angry French on his friend. Screaming words of frustration and total rage, fourteen months of anger spilled out on Eoghan. Léo gestured toward the tower, to the walls, in the direction of Dun Ringill, Father Allen’s cottage. He motioned toward Gordon and the south tower and released an angry scream, his hands closing around his invisible throat, squeezing and screaming. When he’d finished he took a shuddering breath and bent forward over the parapet, watching the sea crash and break against the rocks. It hurt. And she’d hurt him.
