Chapter Three #2
Moira sighed. “I am only traveling to meet friends. I’ve done naught.” It wasn’t a lie.
“Alone?”
She could lie. Though whoever accosted her would easily see through it. Mayhap if she didn’t have her horse with her, she could make the tale believable. There would be more than one horse if she were traveling with someone else.
Cursing silently, she wished she could see who it was behind her. What clan they were affiliated with. Though with his dour countenance, for certs he was a MacLeod.
“Are ye traveling alone? I willnae ask again.”
He prodded her shoulder with the tip of his sword again, and she flinched.
“Aye. I am visiting with friends.”
“Ye should ken better than to be out here alone. Stand up and turn around.”
Moira closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. The intentions of this man, whoever he was, were clear. What had she gotten herself into?
“Are ye daft? Must I keep repeating myself?”
Slowly, she stood and turned to face the man.
Not a MacLeod.
A Mackenzie. Not an enemy, but not necessarily an ally either.
She breathed a sigh of relief.
Until the man’s gaze roved over her body like she was a meal, and he was starving. He licked his lips, a sneer transforming his face into something sinister.
He still had the tip of his sword pointing at her. Any move she made to grab her dirk would quickly be stopped with a stab. He would for certs catch her if she tried to run. The man was tall and lanky with long legs. He could easily take one stride for her three.
Moira refused to let him see her fear—even if it bubbled up within her, threatening to spill over. Instead, she straightened her shoulders and jutted out her chin, looking the man straight in the eye.
“Ye should take care and be on yer way,” she said firmly.
“And ye should have taken care no’ to travel alone.”
Quickly he closed the distance betwixt them and Moira sucked in a breath. She had nowhere to run.
“I suggest ye stop harassing the lass.”
The warning was clear, and the man who was so close to her that she could smell his fetid breath, widened his eyes. He was blocking her view so she couldn’t see who had delivered the command.
The Mackenzie spun and confronted the intruder. “The wench is mine. Go find yer own,” he spat.
“Ye’ve no right to the lass that is clearly on my land. Leave now, afore I force ye.”
The words he spoke sunk in. She wasn’t on Mackenzie land. That could only mean one thing—she’d made it to MacLeod land.
Inwardly, she groaned. The new situation probably wouldn’t fare any better for her.
The Mackenzie looked over his shoulder at her, his eyes narrowed and turned back to the MacLeod and spit on the ground at his feet.
“I’ll concede as there is nay need for spilt blood today. But I make no promises for future encounters.” With his parting words, he walked away, giving a wide berth to the man that had stood up for her.
Once he learned she was a Hart, his chivalry wouldn’t last. She dared not look at the man for fear of his reaction. Moira could only hope that he would believe her to be a commoner and allow her on her way.
“What are ye doing on MacLeod lands?” He demanded, his voice as sharp as the sword that had been pointed at her chest just minutes ago.
“I am visiting friends,” she murmured, deciding to keep the same excuse she’d used afore.
“We arenae expecting anyone. Show yer face.”
His voice was firm. Unbending.
She didn’t move.
“Are ye hurt?” Concern laced his question.
That was unexpected.
The man approached and she stiffened.
“Ye’re safe. I willnae hurt ye, lass.”
His voice was vaguely familiar. Could it really be who she sought?
The man reached out and removed her hood. With his fingers on her chin, he forced her to look at him.
She rounded her eyes with recognition.
Errol.
Their gazes clashed and his pupils blew wide when he realized who she was.
“Shite,” he cursed. “Are ye daft?”
Errol pushed away from her as if he had been burned.
She scrambled to her feet. “I-I need yer help.”
“Did ye no’ get Anna’s message? I said nay.” He scraped his hands through his short hair. “Jesus. Do yer brothers ken ye are here? Yer da?”
“Of course no’,” she scoffed.
He groaned. “What have ye done?”
“Errol.” She touched his arm, but he snatched it away. “I really do require yer assistance.”
“There is naught that I can do for ye, that yer brothers cannae. Are ye trying to start a war?”
“Nay!” She crossed her arms defiantly. “Look. I can show ye why I cannae ask my brothers.” She pulled the weathered map from her pocket and held it out to him.
He gave her a bored look and made no move to take the paper.
“Please. Just look at it. Ye will see why I need ye,” she pleaded. Waiting, her breath hitched, she worried that he would turn around and leave her there.
With a sigh, he looked up to the sky and accepted the map. Unfurling it carefully, his eyes slid over the ancient writing. He studied it for a long time afore looking up.
“What is this?”
“A map,” she offered.
He narrowed his eyes. “I can see that. Where did ye find it?”
“In the Hart annals. Da tasked me with putting e’erything in order. This was in a small cupboard dug into the stone behind an ancient shelf unit.”
Errol handed the map back to her. “I cannae help ye.”
“Ye must!” She couldn’t help the tone of desperation that crept into her voice. “As ye saw, some of the map is on MacLeod lands. Alpin and Rory cannae help me there. Here. That is why I need yer assistance.”
“Nay.”
One word.
She hadn’t traveled this far to be denied.
“The map promises a great treasure. I will share it with ye,” she blurted.
He studied her face, and she felt small under his scrutiny. Errol MacLeod was a fierce warrior. Broad of shoulder, with massive arms like tree trunks. His size rivaled her older brother, Alpin. Both men were intimidating in their stature.
“I havenae time for silly games.”
“Ye have seen it for yerself, Errol. ’Tis no’ games or fodder.”
She wasn’t sure if she was convincing him, but she needed to try.
If peace betwixt the clans was true as the map promised, she needed to find the treasure.
The need to stop the constant battling driving Moira to insist on his help.
The dream that the Harts and MacLeods could live in harmony was one she long strived for, but never thought possible.
This was a glimmer of hope she had not kenned existed.
“I’ve seen no such treasure on MacLeod lands. Whate’er was there, for certs is long gone by now. I’ve no interest in a wild chase.”
“Please, Errol. Do ye really believe whoe’er took the time to put this map together and went to such lengths to hide the items left them where they would be found easily?” She shook her head. “They wouldnae. Ye can have whate’er proves to be MacLeod treasure and I’ll keep the Hart treasure.”
“Yer brothers and da will have my head.”
“They willnae find out.”
“How do ye propose to keep it from them?”
She shrugged. “I havenae decided.” Then she got an idea. “If I say I am having an extended visit with Anna, there will be no question.”
He shook his head. “’Twill no’ work. Ye need to return home.”
“Please.” One word. Moira realized she was begging at this point.
He closed his eyes as if he were in pain.
When he opened them, he pierced her with a glare.
“Fine. I will help, but I want sixty percent of the finding.”
She wanted to jump up and cheer with his agreement to help her, but she remained calm. And in no way was she giving him sixty percent.
“Forty.”
“Fifty,” he countered.
She sighed. “Agreed,” she said begrudgingly.
“Return home and figure out yer visit.” He paused. “Ye rode here alone?”
“Of course.”
He grumbled a few words about disobedient women and shook his head. “I will escort ye off MacLeod lands and through Mackenzie lands to ensure yer safety. Once ye are on Hart lands, I will return home.”
She worried her bottom lip. “Ye dinnae need to do that. I got here just fine.”
He raised a brow in question. “And what of the Mackenzie that was verra close to attacking ye?”
Och. Errol was right, of course.
“Just until I get to the Hart border.”
As they mounted their horses and rode side by side in silence, Moira couldn’t help but smile. She’d wanted to track Errol down and convince him to help her. She’d convinced him, but he found her first.
She slid her gaze over to him. His back was straight, eyes scanning the surrounding trees for danger. She kenned his ears were listening for the slightest noise that would alert him that something was amiss.
His rugged handsomeness kept her attention.
He must have felt the heat of her gaze, and he shifted his eyes to her. She quickly looked away.
“Thank ye for agreeing.”
He harrumphed but didn’t say anything. Just prodded his horse to a trot.
They remained quiet on the journey to Hart lands and when they arrived, he made a hasty retreat, heading back to his own keep.
Moira sat atop her horse watching until he disappeared through the thick trees.
She’d done it. She’d enlisted Errol’s help.
Now, she only needed to convince her family to allow her to visit Anna for an extended visit.
That would be easier said than done.
*
He watched from a distance, hoping that the Mackenzie would finish what he’d started and go through with his plans. Ravish the Hart bitch and then slice her throat. He’d gladly watch.
Hell, he would make his way closer to her just so he could see the life ebb out of her eyes.
Biting back the laugh that threatened to escape from his lips, he held himself back and watched, irritated when Errol MacLeod appeared.
The Hart wench would live another day. As would the MacLeod son. He would be harder to deal with. The man was destined to be laird. He was well-trained. A warrior.
All the things he wasn’t.
He’d never been trained in aught. Nay, his da had thought him useless.
He swiped his arm across his nose, wiping the snot that leaked from it. The blooming of all the trees set his nose off every spring season. It was just one more fault to add to his da’s never-ending list of things that were wrong with him.
His brother, older by three years, had been perfect in every way.
The perfect son.
The perfect brother.
The perfect man to continue on ensuring the family secret remained uncovered.
But his brother was no longer here.
Neither was his father.
What would they say now that the possibility of the knowledge of their heritage was at risk of being kenned to both the Hart and MacLeod?
That he was the only one left to keep it secret?
Now that it was all left to the one considered a failure.
“I will be successful,” he murmured, keeping his voice low, even though the pair had traveled far enough away that they couldn’t possibly hear him.
Standing tall, he looked to the path where they’d disappeared afore turning back to make his way home.
The unsteady sound of his footsteps an irritating reminder that he would always be lacking.
The way he had to drag his left leg along to keep up with his right.
The awkward limp it gave him. He remembered the way his father would look at him with disgust. As if he’d somehow brought his afflictions upon himself.
The old man thought he could beat his ailments out of him. “It didnae work for ye, though did it, Da?” He questioned the empty woods surrounding him. Waited for an answer that he kenned would never come.
Nay. He was the last one standing. The last of a dying family line.
But he would ensure their family secret didn’t come to light.