Page 49 of The Splendor of Fire
“I’ve summoned you here to test if you are still capable ofoverseeing the granaries so that I can send Dougal MacKinnon back on patrol around Loch Hourn. The numbers in that area are particularly weak; the Wolf could use the support. We believe the Beithir may be using that as a point of entry for his raids on Drumin Castle.”
Careful to keep her expression vacant, her heart drummed.Rock. David MacKenzie had successfully reived one hundred horses from the Wolf’s Glenlivet estate and scattered five hundred head of cattle. His warriors had carried away everything that wasn’t nailed down, leaving the mark of the Shield—the Beithir monster—etched in the front door of the keep.
Gordon drained his glass and held it out to her. “More, wench.”
Niall dropped his voice, his tone brooking no argument. “Watch your words, MacMorran.”
Moira smiled and rose, fighting the urge to slug Gordon in his toady face. At least he provided her an opportunity to let go of Niall’s sweating hand.
Her fingers wrapped around the extended crystal cup, and Gordon held on, his eyes dropping to her chest. “My apologies, Mistress Allen.”
Donkey.She plucked the glass from his hand, dipping into a pleasing curtsy and pretending to accept his apology.
Malvina cleared her throat and inclined her head toward the decanter on Niall’s desk. Moira struggled not to roll her eyes and made for the corner of the room to retrieve the man’s whisky. Never suited for the life of a domestic anything, it took her only four seconds before she fumbled the decanter, the expensive crystal banging against the silver tray.
Malvina made a frustrated sound. “Moira, please.”
Tightening her hold, she lifted the heavy decanter and adjusted the tray. A piece of vellum concealed beneath the silver stuck out. Her heart caught in her throat. A map. Unfastening the cork from the decanter, she lifted it and gave the tray a little shove with the crystal vessel.
Moira studied the drawing as quickly as she could.The southwestern coast of Skye. Loch Eisort, the Point of Sleat, ten, twenty, thirty…her hands poured a slow trickle of whisky.Thirty tent groups. An unmarked, ominous blob positioned on the Sleat surrounded by the Wolf’s forces.Anote scrawled across the bottom of the page written in Niall’s tight script.Dunvegan Castle—summer assault.
“What think you, MacMorran? Are you up to the task of overseeing this year’s harvest?”
Moira was horrified and elated at the same time. They were preparing for another attack on an Isles clan. This time the MacLeods. She bit her tongue to keep from smiling. Tonight was Saturday. Calum would be waiting in the wood and she would finally have information to pass on. Perhaps he would allow her to help spy…
“I think Léonid was correct.”
Her heart skittered to a stop and she stood frozen for a few moments, then managed to turn back to Gordon.
Niall’s voice became warning. “What do you mean?”
“Did you know your brother had a gift for prophecy and dream interpretation?”
Moira’s hands threatened to shake, but she squeezed the crystal and walked with slow, deliberate steps back to Gordon and handed him the whisky.
Like an angry bear, Niall’s expression transformed into a snarl. Calmly, she took his hand in hers as she sat back down, then ran it sensually up his arm and began to stroke the bulge of fat over his bicep. Sickness curled in her stomach. She’d never been so bold before, but she was desperate to hear the rest of Gordon’s information.
Gordon swallowed, but managed to continue. “I-I had a dream of barley plants multiplying in your fields, and my hands ground your grain, making a loaf of blessed bread for your consumption. Léonid prophesied that before the beginning of the harvest you would restore me to my previous duties with the granaries.”
Niall visibly relaxed as she massaged his earlobe. “I seem to recall my brother had very vivid dreams as a child.”
Malvina gave a bitter laugh. “Fantasies, you mean.”
Niall lifted Moira’s hand and noisily kissed it, a thin string of spittle extending from his lips to the back of her hand. “Did Léo tell you about his reoccurring dream, MacMorran?”
“No. He wasn’t interested in anything but my dreams, Laird. I would be remiss in my duties as guard to neglect telling you that he hasbeen trading his skills for foretelling the future for more food. I tested his abilities, and then had him flogged of course.” Niall’s face again became thunderous.
The despicable, horrible snake. He was betraying Léo to increase his credibility. Summoning all her feminine charm, she leaned closer into Niall, motioning her eyes shutting and her head on a pillow, then inclined her fingers softly toward Niall’s sweating head, mouthing the words.Your dream, love.It was the first time she’d used an endearment and it cost her conscience.
Niall raised an eyebrow and kissed her hand again. “Ah yes. The dream.”
Gordon took a befuddled sip of whisky, his eyes darting between Moira and Niall, then straightened in his chair. “A dream? Perhaps…your brother…that is half-brother…”
Niall ran a finger along Moira’s jaw. Repulsed, she kept her eyes soft, hoping that she looked beguiling and not disgusted. “None of my servants have been able to relieve my troubled mind. For three weeks I’ve woken up several times, unable to sleep. Moira has been kind enough to visit my chamber and relieve my worries.” Niall gave Gordon a meaningful look and the two men burst into bawdy laughter.
Worm.She had done no such thing. He’d told her of his dreams at breakfast in between belches and threats to the terrified servants in the midst of a foul mood.
She pointed from Niall to Gordon, and braced as she mouthed the name of the man he hated.Léonid.
