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Authors: Terri Brisbin
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neared the edge, making it difficult to move with any speed. Without the stick to help her balance, her walking became waddling as she lifted the splinted leg up and swung it forward with her hip before stepping on her stronger leg.
Moira focused on the pain in each step, and that helped clear her mind of the fear of what yet faced her. By the time she reached the water’s edge, the men had quieted behind her. Turning back toward the hills, she noticed them standing and staring at her now.
Then Pol reached into the cart and took out two sacks, one clearly heavier than the other. As he tossed one to each of the guards, she heard the clinking sound of chains and shivered, in spite of her resolve. The other, lighter and silent, landed easily in the man’s hands. Moira turned away and watched as the sun glinted on the water’s moving surface, reflecting back at her and sparkling as though tipped with gold.
She eased her way closer to the water, trying to figure out how to get into the boat without swimming to it. One of the guards, without a word of warning, picked her up in his arms and carried her through the shallows to the boat. He dumped her in and tossed the lighter sack to her as he untied the ropes anchoring the boat in place and climbed into it. Moira winced when the metal links in the other sack clanged as they landed on the bottom of the boat at her feet.
All she needed was one good moment of opportunity, and she could die knowing her task was completed. All she had to do was stay alive long enough for one more attack. All she had to accomplish was to lull him into believing that she did not want his death and did not need it in her soul, and she could take him down once and for all.
Moira gathered the hood of the borrowed cloak and tugged it down around her head and face to block out most of the wind. Pol called out her name, and she turned toward the shore to see him waving to her. A strange impulse to call out words of thanks to him and for Dara pierced her then, and she fought against it. She spared only a nod for him, while words of gratitude and regret soured on her tongue, unspoken.
There was no time for such soft thoughts. She must prepare herself for the ordeal ahead and allow herself only to think on her plan. Last time, she’d been so surprised by what she’d witnessed in the Seer’s chambers that she’d lost her nerve to end her own life before they could capture her. This time, she must be ready.
Closing her eyes, she blocked out the sounds of the gulls and the sun’s light playing merrily across the waves to think only about the layout of the keep and how she could attain a weapon. Minutes turned to hours as the boat caught the winds in its sails and made its way around Mull to Diarmid’s keep on the north coast.
“Keep yer voices down, ye bloody fools!”
They quieted and waited on his words. Standing in the darkened room, using their hooded cloaks and the shadowed corners to hide their identities, none knew many of the others. Except him. He knew them all, and he’d used their petty jealousies and fears to draw them into his plan to end the Seer’s influence on Diarmid and Diarmid’s influence on Earl Magnus.
“She returns on the morrow,” he said, squinting into the shadows. “Did any of ye recruit her to our plans?”
“Bah,” the tall one, Lord Struan, said, spitting on the floor. “No one would use a woman in something this important.” Turning to those nearest him, he explained, “And a worthless bitch at that. She had a knife in her hands and no one to intervene, and she couldna even kill him. If ye expect more than the heat ye find between their thighs, yer expecting too much from them.” He spit again, making his feelings clear to everyone.
“Ye brought her into the keep,” he said to Gillis. “What know you of her?”
The younger man stammered at first, uncomfortable with the attention brought to him. “My lord, she just offered to warm my bed
Moira focused on the pain in each step, and that helped clear her mind of the fear of what yet faced her. By the time she reached the water’s edge, the men had quieted behind her. Turning back toward the hills, she noticed them standing and staring at her now.
Then Pol reached into the cart and took out two sacks, one clearly heavier than the other. As he tossed one to each of the guards, she heard the clinking sound of chains and shivered, in spite of her resolve. The other, lighter and silent, landed easily in the man’s hands. Moira turned away and watched as the sun glinted on the water’s moving surface, reflecting back at her and sparkling as though tipped with gold.
She eased her way closer to the water, trying to figure out how to get into the boat without swimming to it. One of the guards, without a word of warning, picked her up in his arms and carried her through the shallows to the boat. He dumped her in and tossed the lighter sack to her as he untied the ropes anchoring the boat in place and climbed into it. Moira winced when the metal links in the other sack clanged as they landed on the bottom of the boat at her feet.
All she needed was one good moment of opportunity, and she could die knowing her task was completed. All she had to do was stay alive long enough for one more attack. All she had to accomplish was to lull him into believing that she did not want his death and did not need it in her soul, and she could take him down once and for all.
Moira gathered the hood of the borrowed cloak and tugged it down around her head and face to block out most of the wind. Pol called out her name, and she turned toward the shore to see him waving to her. A strange impulse to call out words of thanks to him and for Dara pierced her then, and she fought against it. She spared only a nod for him, while words of gratitude and regret soured on her tongue, unspoken.
There was no time for such soft thoughts. She must prepare herself for the ordeal ahead and allow herself only to think on her plan. Last time, she’d been so surprised by what she’d witnessed in the Seer’s chambers that she’d lost her nerve to end her own life before they could capture her. This time, she must be ready.
Closing her eyes, she blocked out the sounds of the gulls and the sun’s light playing merrily across the waves to think only about the layout of the keep and how she could attain a weapon. Minutes turned to hours as the boat caught the winds in its sails and made its way around Mull to Diarmid’s keep on the north coast.
“Keep yer voices down, ye bloody fools!”
They quieted and waited on his words. Standing in the darkened room, using their hooded cloaks and the shadowed corners to hide their identities, none knew many of the others. Except him. He knew them all, and he’d used their petty jealousies and fears to draw them into his plan to end the Seer’s influence on Diarmid and Diarmid’s influence on Earl Magnus.
“She returns on the morrow,” he said, squinting into the shadows. “Did any of ye recruit her to our plans?”
“Bah,” the tall one, Lord Struan, said, spitting on the floor. “No one would use a woman in something this important.” Turning to those nearest him, he explained, “And a worthless bitch at that. She had a knife in her hands and no one to intervene, and she couldna even kill him. If ye expect more than the heat ye find between their thighs, yer expecting too much from them.” He spit again, making his feelings clear to everyone.
“Ye brought her into the keep,” he said to Gillis. “What know you of her?”
The younger man stammered at first, uncomfortable with the attention brought to him. “My lord, she just offered to warm my bed
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