Page 51 of The Splendor of Fire
Joy radiated over her. After long months of waiting, today she had gathered several important pieces of information, helping the MacLeods—and Léo. God had given her the opening. The things that evil men did existed far below the heights the bird in her heart could fly.
She flew over the precipice of the moor and down the beach toward the boat. Excitement filled her heart and she launched into a cartwheel, landing on her feet and then flipped backward.
Calum spotted her coming and ran to her side. “Saints, Birdy. You terrified me bursting over the hill like that. I thought someone was chasing you.”
She laughed and bent backwards walking her hands toward earth and pulling her feet over and over again.
“All right, all right. You’re excited. What did you see?”
Shaking her head, she caught her breath, then signed—T-R-E-B-U-C-H-E-T.?3
Chapter 15
CRÀDH PRISON - MARCH 2, 1385
Through the bars of his cell, Gillie MacKinnon clung to Léo and Eoghan. “God bless you, both. God bless you.”
After days of waiting, word about the health of Gillie’s daughter had arrived with the supply ship. Thanks to Ursula MacFadyen’s skill and devotion, she had pulled through her difficult recovery from childbirth at last. Léo thought of Théa, and understood Gillie’s deep relief.
Léo read the reply from Murdoch. “If there’s anything that changes in the next week, Ursula will send word. If we don’t hear anything that means all is well.”
Gillie wiped his white-whiskered cheeks. Eoghan passed a sweet berry tart through the bars. “From Dunvegan. They thought you might be wanting a little something to celebrate the occasion.”
The old man wasted no time in taking a large bite out of the tart, his eyes rolling back in his head. “Saints.”
The three men chuckled.
The door at the end of the hall opened. “Léo, Eoghan.” Mowbray’s face was hard. “Gordon has returned.”
Gillie spoke through his stuffed mouth. “Prayin’ for you.”
Léo straightened his spine not trusting Gordon any more than he would an adder.
Eoghan rested a hand on his shoulder. “If things go wrong we can take him. Give me a sign and I’ll help you take him down.”
After months of eating and training in the wake of Moira’s departure, Léo was almost as hale as he had been before entering Cràdh, but he had no interest in murdering a man. “I don’t think it will come to that, Irlandais.”
Eoghan pushed the door to the south tower open and dropped his voice. “Wink or something if you change your mind.”
Mowbray’s tower room was larger than their own and faced the shores of Skye. Besides a large and comfortable-looking bed and proper hearth, the room had a massive window that faced the island. Though nothing could be distinguished in the dark of night, Léo still squinted against the blackness, trying to make out Moira and Father Allen’s cottage on the shore.
Gordon rose from his seat before the fire and put out a hand. “Léo.”
Léo looked at his yellowed hand, its long fingers and pointing nails. Was this a good sign? He took it.
“Have a seat.”
Eoghan, Mowbray, and he took up chairs across from Gordon and looked at him with expectation. Gordon did not speak.
After several moments of awkwardly staring, Léo gripped the arm of the chair and broke the silence. “How was your stay at Dun Ringill?”
A wide smile spread across Gordon’s face like the morning sun embracing the hills of his pronounced cheeks. “Everything you predicted has come to pass. I’ll be leaving in July to resume my auld duties on Skye.”
A bit of relief eased the tension in Léo’s neck and shoulders. “Congratulations. Though I assure you, I didn’t predict anything. I only listened for God to give meaning to the pieces of what he gave to you.”
Gordon waved a dismissive hand through the air. “Bosh. Your brother was most impressed by your ability.”
Never once in Leo’s thirty-two years had Niall ever been an encourager of his dreams or their meanings. The last time Niall hadheard one of his dreams his parents had died, and the following week he’d been dumped in France. A sick pit formed in his stomach. Neither Gordon nor Niall could be trusted. If Gordon had informed Niall of his interpretation, it was likely to save his own hide. “Oh?”
