her to her fate sat waiting.
Pol said not a word, though he’d looked as if he wanted to argue when the two men arrived last evening to take her back. Dara was none too happy, nor Old Peg, nor any of the inhabitants on the farm. A surprise to her, for she had tried to kill the man who owned their loyalty. Moira did not fight them. It would do no good, and she might end up in worse shape and be unable to take her last opportunity.
The cart creaked along, and she tried to balance herself on the plank seat. One man rode ahead and one behind, neither ever taking his gaze off her, as though she would jump down and run away. After much arguing between Dara and the men, the chain was left off, but the shackles remained at the ready for its replacement. Moira had no doubt that once Pol left her behind, the guards would use them.
She reached down and rubbed her leg. The aching itch grew strong within it, a sign of its healing, but she could not soothe it. Pushing her windblown hair from her face, she watched the shoreline come into view as they reached the final hill. The sun chose that moment to break through, and she lifted her face to its warming light.
“He tends to be a fair man,” Pol said quietly. “Tell him what he wants to know, and it will be over quickly.”
Moira turned to face him, unsure if he spoke of Diarmid or the Seer. She knew the words to be false about Lord Diarmid, for she’d witnessed his rough justice in her time in his keep and village. The Seer then?
She had watched him being treated as though he were royal for the power he brought to Diarmid. His every wish and whim were met, and anything or anyone he wanted was his for the asking. And all because his visions and words proved true and valuable for one such as Diarmid.
And cost countless lives of those unimportant in the schemes woven by more powerful or wealthier men.
Neither man was fair. Neither would stop until he had what he wanted, and if she suffered for it, it would matter to no one. And neither would allow her to live after her crime against the Seer.
“I can tell them nothing,” she said.
Hers had simply been the last attempt and the one closest to success, but she’d not heard the slightest hint of others during her planning time. After spending the night in his bed those months ago, Moira had left the keep, seeking refuge in a small fishing village on the southern shore of Mull. Far enough to stay out of sight, close enough to continue her plans.
She noticed the sad glance Pol threw in her direction and hated the way it made her stomach clench. She owed him nothing and refused to allow some soft consideration of his opinion to matter. Well, she tried not to let it matter.
The path steepened, and she had to concentrate on holding on to her seat in the cart. When the ground leveled beneath them, she lifted her head and watched the shoreline and the small wooden boat grow closer. Since the ground was covered with grass and firm there, Pol steered the horse and cart almost to the edge and stopped. The two guards climbed down from their borrowed mounts and walked toward the cart.
Moira gathered her skirts and lifted her leg over the side of the cart, balancing on the better one as she moved to the edge. Leaning over, she grabbed for the stick she used to support her weight, but the guard got it first and broke it in two. Pol jumped down from his seat and rushed around to her, pushing the guard away and lifting her down. Once she gained her feet, Pol motioned for the two men to come closer and whispered furiously to them. From the glances thrown in her direction, she knew it was about their treatment of her.
It mattered not, for once in their charge, Pol would have no say, and there would be no one to stop them. Taking a deep breath in and feeling the tight support of the bandages wound around her chest, she tried to calm the fears that threatened and began to walk toward the boat. The firm ground turned to shifting sands as she
Pol said not a word, though he’d looked as if he wanted to argue when the two men arrived last evening to take her back. Dara was none too happy, nor Old Peg, nor any of the inhabitants on the farm. A surprise to her, for she had tried to kill the man who owned their loyalty. Moira did not fight them. It would do no good, and she might end up in worse shape and be unable to take her last opportunity.
The cart creaked along, and she tried to balance herself on the plank seat. One man rode ahead and one behind, neither ever taking his gaze off her, as though she would jump down and run away. After much arguing between Dara and the men, the chain was left off, but the shackles remained at the ready for its replacement. Moira had no doubt that once Pol left her behind, the guards would use them.
She reached down and rubbed her leg. The aching itch grew strong within it, a sign of its healing, but she could not soothe it. Pushing her windblown hair from her face, she watched the shoreline come into view as they reached the final hill. The sun chose that moment to break through, and she lifted her face to its warming light.
“He tends to be a fair man,” Pol said quietly. “Tell him what he wants to know, and it will be over quickly.”
Moira turned to face him, unsure if he spoke of Diarmid or the Seer. She knew the words to be false about Lord Diarmid, for she’d witnessed his rough justice in her time in his keep and village. The Seer then?
She had watched him being treated as though he were royal for the power he brought to Diarmid. His every wish and whim were met, and anything or anyone he wanted was his for the asking. And all because his visions and words proved true and valuable for one such as Diarmid.
And cost countless lives of those unimportant in the schemes woven by more powerful or wealthier men.
Neither man was fair. Neither would stop until he had what he wanted, and if she suffered for it, it would matter to no one. And neither would allow her to live after her crime against the Seer.
“I can tell them nothing,” she said.
Hers had simply been the last attempt and the one closest to success, but she’d not heard the slightest hint of others during her planning time. After spending the night in his bed those months ago, Moira had left the keep, seeking refuge in a small fishing village on the southern shore of Mull. Far enough to stay out of sight, close enough to continue her plans.
She noticed the sad glance Pol threw in her direction and hated the way it made her stomach clench. She owed him nothing and refused to allow some soft consideration of his opinion to matter. Well, she tried not to let it matter.
The path steepened, and she had to concentrate on holding on to her seat in the cart. When the ground leveled beneath them, she lifted her head and watched the shoreline and the small wooden boat grow closer. Since the ground was covered with grass and firm there, Pol steered the horse and cart almost to the edge and stopped. The two guards climbed down from their borrowed mounts and walked toward the cart.
Moira gathered her skirts and lifted her leg over the side of the cart, balancing on the better one as she moved to the edge. Leaning over, she grabbed for the stick she used to support her weight, but the guard got it first and broke it in two. Pol jumped down from his seat and rushed around to her, pushing the guard away and lifting her down. Once she gained her feet, Pol motioned for the two men to come closer and whispered furiously to them. From the glances thrown in her direction, she knew it was about their treatment of her.
It mattered not, for once in their charge, Pol would have no say, and there would be no one to stop them. Taking a deep breath in and feeling the tight support of the bandages wound around her chest, she tried to calm the fears that threatened and began to walk toward the boat. The firm ground turned to shifting sands as she
Similar Books
