Page 98 of The Splendor of Fire
Gabriel’s smile lit up his thoughts, and then a feeling of peace. And then confusion. What did she mean?
The sound of Eoghan’s voice cut through his contemplation. “Francach!”
“Irlandais.”
It was the first time he’d ever seen Eoghan’s bare face. Gone was the long beard, dirty hair, and the haunted look in his green eyes. Had Eoghan not used their nicknames, he never would have recognized him.
Eoghan crossed the room and pulled him into an embrace. “We’re out, mate.”
Léo smiled and clapped him on the back. “Look at you, you’re not ugly.”
“Aye, and you’re …still handsome, you eejit.” Eoghan bowed to Moira. “You must be Moira. It seems mad we never met. I was a great friend of your father.”
Forgetting herself, she signed to him with enthusiasm. Eoghan’s brow furrowed.
Léo gave voice to her words. “She says thank you, and she’s been eager to meet you. Hector says the O’Donnells’ cavalry is the most fearsome in Ireland. Can you explain why you used light cavalry instead of heavy during the 1383 strike against the O’Neills? It seems likewarhorses and heavier weapons would have been more effective but you prove me wrong with the victory you won.”
Eoghan blinked several times. “I…uh…light cavalry is more effective over long distances. Smaller, faster horses. Armed with only javelins they’re better for fast strikes. It proved to be what we needed to cover the large area the O’Neills were occupying.”
A smile almost as wide as Hector’s spread across Léo’s face. “Let me enlighten you who you’re talking to. Do you remember the Bird?”
Eoghan’s eyes narrowed. “Aye.”
Hector inclined his head toward her. “That’s Moira.”
Eoghan shook his head. “She’s a woman.”
Feeling surly, Léo looked at Moira who seemed unfazed. “What does that matter?”
Moira’s hands moved, a question in her expression. “She says, ‘but you had to break the O’Neills’ center line. How did you accomplish that without heavy weapons? Most unusual.’”
Befuddlement cramped Eoghan’s face. “She’s the Bird?”
Léo rested his hand on the velvet-covered small of her back. “She’s the Bird.”
A look of complete awe overtook Eoghan and he took Moira’s hand, shaking it in his own. “The Bird. I can’t tell you how I’ve wanted to talk to you and tell you how grateful I am. We would have died without you. It’s cos of you I’m not rotting in prison. And taking out a siege engine by yourself? You’re legendary.”
Moira shook her head, face solemn, and waved him off. “It was nothing. And call me A—” Léo stopped speaking as her hands froze, a strange expression coming over her face. “Call me Birdy.”
The mark of a true warrior, she wouldn’t brag about her accomplishments or boast about the things she’d done. Her respect for their team was too great.
Eilidh MacLeod appeared holding a crystal goblet and motioned to Eoghan. “I’ve brought ye claret.” Eilidh’s violet eyes traveled over Eoghan’s nut brown hair and lingered on the dimple in his chin.
Eoghan shuddered. “No thanks. I don’t care for that fine stuff. Much rather have a flagonof ale.”
The look of admiration in her face vanished, and she stared at the glass of claret in her hand, her cheeks growing red.
Wanting to comfort her bruised feelings, Léo took Eilidh’s left hand and kissed it, using the tone that didn’t seem to work on Moira but did on nearly every other woman.
“Mademoiselle,” he lifted his eyes to hers, his voice purring. “You did not bring me claret?C’est dommage.” Color rose in Eilidh’s cheeks, matching the strawberry of her hair, and a smile lifted the pretty bow of her lips. “Est-ce que ton père a été un voleur? Parce qu’il a volé les étoiles du ciel pour les mettre dans tes yeux.?1” It was a tired line, one that would have earned him an eye roll in Paris, but to Eilidh’s uncomprehending ears, it had its desired effect.
She handed him the goblet, her shoulders back and her head a little higher. “Here.”
As she made her way back across the room toward her brother, Eoghan’s forehead creased, seeming to notice her for the first time. He looked back at Léo astonished.
Sipping the claret, Léo stifled a grimace at the terrible vintage. “What?”
Making a noise of disgust, Eoghan eyed him. “Francach.”
