Page 67 of The Splendor of Fire
Hearing a shout, Léo grabbed the boy, jumping into the pond. Pulling him deep into the black bog, he secured his fist over the boys nose and mouth to keep air from escaping. The boy thrashed and Léo locked his body around him, holding him still, tightening his hold on his mouth. They floated and waited. Above, the sound of yells died away. When his lungs could hold their air no more he pushed off the bottom and brokethe surface.
Léo looked around. Thank God, no one was there. In front of him, the boy’s arms shot out, reaching toward heaven. Beside him, Calum surfaced and swam toward them, plucking the boy from Léo’s hands and launching him onto the bank. It was then he noticed the boy lopped over, shaking, leather-wrapped hands gripping the muddy bank for dear life.
Calum pulled himself onto the bank and put his arm around the boy. “She’s dead afeared of water.”
She?
Léo pulled himself out of the water and crouched beside the boy, pulling off his sodden knit cap and pushing long wet waves of blond hair out of the black-painted face. Two crystalline eyes found his.
The shock hit him so hard he staggered. “Moira.”
Breath heaving, she nodded. He stared at her, slack-jawed.
Calum moved his hands and she responded in quicker motions.
“You know each other?”
Calum’s tone was annoyed. “Yes. We have to get out of here.”
Incredulity warred with anger. “Why on earth are you burning the granary? Are you out of your mind?”
She tugged Calum’s sleeve and moved her hands. He moved his hands back. She jumped on his back and he turned. “Argue with her later. We have to go.”
With no choice but to follow, Léo ran after them as Calum once more set a near-impossible pace, running down the shoreline. After ten minutes of sprinting, Calum turned up a path, cutting through a forested beach and up to a small cottage.
Léo spotted Cràdh Prison in the tide and knew at once that this was Father Allen’s cottage. Crashing inside, Léo was momentarily stunned as Moira shut and barred the door behind them and ran about the cottage, lighting candles in the tinderbox, securing a blanket over the wooden shutters. He watched her in disbelief—the leather trews, the black tunic, the quiver of arrows and bow upon her back.
In the dim light, he recognized Moira’s touch upon every surface. On one wall a colorful net hung, laden with shells, bones, leaves, acorns, feathers, stones, and driftwood. Painted birds dipped and danced acrossthe walls and around the door. Dozens of sketches of her parents, Skye, and animals were pinned against every wall.
He paused in front of a portrait of a younger version of Moira, something in her piercing eyes so familiar. Hair windswept, skin tanned, the charcoal whipped around her in a frenzy of smoke and fire, drawing his focus to the intense beauty of her face. It was the version of her he loved most.
The sound of flint striking flint caused him to shake himself out of his stupor. Moira crouched before the hearth and blew, a brick of peat caught, and a ribbon of smoke extended through the roof.
He found himself staring at her long legs, muscled thighs, and shapely calves accentuated by leather trews. Her arms rippled in the firelight. She was as strong and bold as he remembered, and more wild than he could have imagined—just like the eagle that landed beside him in his nightly vision of Dun Ringill. There was none of the tamed leman in her this night.
Incroyable.
Moira moved her hands in front of Calum and he gave her a soft look. An intimate look. A fire of distrust burned the edges of Leo’s temper, knowing how popular Calum had been with the lasses on Mull.
Calum doffed his sodden tunic, and Léo noticed Moira’s eyes travel over the tattooed image of the wolfhound that started on Calum’s chest and extended down his heavily muscled right arm onto his fingers, marking him as tànaiste of the tribal island of Jura.
Calum interpreted her signs. “She says we won’t be able to stay long, the guard moves a patrol along the water at the fourth watch as of three weeks ago.”
“How on earth does she know that?”
Calum scoffed. “How do you think? She knows all the movements of the guards—when and where they’re going. Her information ensures we’re never detected.”
Conflicted and confused, Léo could not control his tongue. “That’s right. She has her ways of getting men to talk. Loyalty means nothing to her. Sleeping with the man who killed her parents. She makes me sick. What is she getting in exchange for her body?”
Moira’s face crumpled then hardened.
He could feel his anger rising out of control. He should shut his mouth but he couldn’t stop—the disappointment of losing her, of Moira losing herself, was crashing over him faster than his good sense could soothe. “What’s Hector paying you for the information? I hope it’s a goodly sum for you to bed Niall and take stupid risks.”
Eyes hard, Moira launched across the cottage, her hands colliding with his chest, shoving him back with unexpected strength and he staggered backwards. Her fingers flew in front of his face. Calum came to her side, an expression of fury on his face.
“She says Niall has never stayed one night with her nor she one night with him. He has kissed her, that is all. She says she isn’t a…” Calum’s voice trailed off as Moira’s fingers gestured, and Léo filled in the blanks. “She says you are a stupid, interfering, judgmental eejit and almost got us killed tonight—and I agree.”
Léo looked at Calum feeling betrayed. “She almost got herself killed. She couldn’t even get in the water to save herself.”
