The Warrior by Margaret Mallory

in Moira’s eyes the very first moment she saw him, before she had
     a chance to cover her reaction.
    “I’m surprised ye made the sail from Skye this time of year,” Sean said while they
     waited. “Did ye get caught in any storms?”
    Duncan ignored Sean’s attempt to engage him in conversation. He had a mission here,
     and discussing the weather was not part of it. Niall gave him a sideways glance and
     raised an eyebrow, but Duncan ignored that, too.
    “I see your friend is a man of few words,” Sean said to Niall.
    “Aye,” Niall said. “But Duncan’s eloquence with a sword more than makes up for it.”
    If Duncan had known Niall had a silver tongue, he would have left all the talking
     to him. Sean fidgeted in the silence that fell between them in the wake of Niall’s
     remark. Sean was uncomfortable with silence, and Duncan preferred him to be uncomfortable.
    Through the open doorway, Duncan heard a light step on the stairs. The pain in his
     heart told him it was Moira.
     
    * * *
    Moira buried her face in one of Ragnall’s shirts and breathed in deeply, but it had
     been a week since her son had been taken from her, and the smell of him was nearly
     gone. Sean had promised to take her to the MacLeods to see Ragnall in a year or two,
     but he was always threatening to change his mind.
    She quickly tucked the shirt away as the bedchamber door opened.
    “The chieftain wants ye in the hall,” the maid said from the doorway. “Your clansmen
     have come.”
    The saints be praised! Moira pictured her brother in the hall dressed in his chieftain’s finery and flanked
     by two dozen of his warriors, with a hundred more waiting on the shore with his war
     galleys. Conner would take her home and help her get Ragnall from the MacLeods.
    “How many warriors did my brother bring?” Moira asked as she straightened her gown.
    “Your chieftain did not come himself,” the woman said. “He sent two men.”
    Moira blinked at the woman. “Two?”
    What use is that? Two men could never get her out of this castle. Her only hope now was to give them
     a message for Connor, begging him to send his war galleys to rescue her. As Moira
     hurried down the stairs, she tried desperately to think of how she could do it. She
     paused at the bottom of the stairs to school her face before entering the hall.
    When she walked through the doorway, she felt as if all the air was sucked from the
     room. She could not breathe. Duncan MacDonald, the man responsible for ruining her
     life and for taking every happiness from her, filled her vision.
    At nineteen, Duncan had already been a fierce and powerfully built warrior. Now he
     carried an additional twenty pounds of hard muscle and exuded the confidence of a
     warrior who had defeated so many men in battle that he no longer needed to prove himself.
    His auburn hair brushed his broad shoulders, and he wore gold bands around his biceps
     as if he were one of the ancient warriors of legend. Yet there was no mistaking him.
     This was the man whose desertion led her directly to her current wretched existence.
    When she met Duncan’s hazel eyes, they burned with a hunger that made her pulse leap
     wildly. How could he look at her like that after what he’d done? How dare he? She
     swept past him to stand beside her husband.
    Moira made herself smile up at Sean by imagining she was sticking a dirk into his
     eye. “Ye wished to see me?”
    “These men of your clan are here to greet ye.”
    Moira avoided looking at Duncan and instead fixed her gaze on the lean, younger man
     next to him who had chestnut hair and deep brown eyes.
    “Don’t ye recognize me?” the young man said. “I’m your cousin Niall.”
    “Niall?” She broke into a wide smile. “Ach, ye must have grown a yard since I saw
     ye last.”
    “Well, you haven’t changed. You’re as pretty as ever.” Niall was well over six feet,
     but he blushed as if he were a lad of twelve.
    “’Tis good to see ye,