Page 42 of The Splendor of Fire
She descended the tree and began traveling northwest, thanking God for his mercy. It was still early morning. If she walked all day with only a short break or two she could make Dunvegan by nightfall.
Chapter 12
DUNVEGAN CASTLE - OCTOBER 30, 1384
Streaks of green and pink from the aurora lit up the darkened night as Moira trudged out of the wood. After hours of tramping through the forests, around hills, and over burns of water, she’d finally made it. Relief filled her as she spotted Dunvegan Castle standing menacing watch over its deep sea loch. Saying a prayer that Iain MacLeod was in residence and not training in Lochbuie, or on a mission elsewhere in the Isles, she picked up her wearied pace and made for the keep.
“Hold there! State your name and your business at Dunvegan.”
Moira froze only six paces outside the forest, and slowly turned. A young guard, not more than twenty years old with a smattering of pimples on his face, held her at the end of a trembling spear. Tired, thirsty, hungry, and annoyed, she put her hand to her throat.
“State your name.” The lad pointed his wavering spear at her gut.
Not again.Having spent all day on her feet, she was in no mood to lead the man on a foot chase as she had at Moy. She stepped forward into a patch of moonlight with her hands raised and pointed to her throat.
“I said state your name.”
She breathed out and tried but could barely make a sound.
The man screwed his face up. “Speak up.”
Like a breath passing over gravel, her name was lost in the sound of the rasp that issued from her throat as she struggled to say her name.
“Have you lost your voice?”
Thank God, he has it.She nodded.
“Who are you here to see?”
Making slow, big motions she tried to get him to understand her sign for chief.
“Fingers? Five fingers?”
She held her fist up high and tried again.
“Punch?”
No. He wasn’t getting it. She shook her hands out.
“Wet? Wet hands.”
Trying not to feel irritated, she waved her hands trying to tell him to stop guessing.
“Crash? Scrub?”
She put her face in her hands.
“Headache? You need a healer?”
“Birdy?” The sound of a familiar, unrefined brogue caused both her and the guard to startle.
Calum rushed toward her, pulling her into an embrace. “Saints, Birdy. We thought you might be dead. Wait until the team hears. This is the best news we’ve had in months.”
Relief spilled over her as he placed her down, and she excitedly made her sign for Lightning, grateful to be with her friend and not stuck in Dun Ringill.
“Yes, Lightning—Calum.”
The young guard, spear still held aloft, looked between her and Calum. “You know this woman?”
