David Dalglish - Wrath of Lions

Just then Moira glanced at him, and it seemed as though a whole new person took over her body. She rolled off the bed as if fleeing a fire and raced toward him, snatching a sharp and wicked-looking instrument from Gertrude’s bag. Matthew lunged from his chair, but Moira was a raging ball of hate, her shoulders rising and falling, her eyes throwing invisible daggers of death as she stalked forward. Gertrude, Raxler, and Shimmea backed against the wall.

Moira stopped a few feet in front of him. “I trusted you,” she said, her voice barbed. “She was here, and you didn’t tell me.”

“I couldn’t,” Matthew insisted, his heart pounding.

“Bullshit!”

“I’m not lying. Telling you would have meant risking everything I’m hoping to gain.”

Moira’s hands shook with her anger.

“Gain?” she asked. “What did you hope to gain by keeping me from her? Tell me, you bastard!”

“I’m not the right target for your anger,” Matthew said, trying to keep calm. “These were Petyr’s orders- strict orders, I might add. I’m sticking my neck out by hiding her here, and you as well. Try and remember that before you stab me.”

Moira looked back and forth between him and Rachida. The other woman looked exhausted, only halfway aware of what was taking place.

“But why?” asked Moira. There were tears in her eyes, but her hardness never abandoned her. She hovered there before him, swaying.

Matthew glanced to Rachida, and she nodded to him. He took a careful step closer to Moira, his hands raised to show that he meant no harm.

“Do not think I enjoyed keeping you in the dark,” he said softly. “You have talents, Moira, talents you proved your first night in Port Lancaster. Bren and I would have been slaughtered without your intercession.” He laughed and shook his head. “Small as you are, you are better with a blade than any warrior I’ve ever seen. You make even Bren look like a clumsy oaf.”

Moira cocked her head, giving Rachida a look. “That answers nothing. When did you return? Why ?”

“We had it all planned,” Rachida said, shifting the mewling baby from one breast to the other. She sounded tired, very tired. “I took a raft back to shore, and then Matthew’s men brought me here. As for the reason.…There are no settlements on the Isles of Gold. I couldn’t help tame the land and build the township, not in my condition. And you know that our fellow renegades are not the brightest bunch, especially in the healing arts. Antar and Lommy both died in Karak’s attack on Haven, leaving only a gaggle of farmers and brigands capable of no more than administering crim oil to livestock or putting down a dog. Given the nature of my pregnancy, given the magics required for Patrick’s seed to find purchase, I feared something might go wrong. What would happen if there were no healers or midwives to assist me?”

At the mention of the name Patrick , Moira’s fists clenched. Matthew had no idea who the man was, though he didn’t find it shocking to learn that the child was not Peytr’s. And the look on Rachida’s face was one he easily recognized. The woman was stalling, trying to change the subject.

“And they are better?” asked Moira, jabbing her thumb at the three who cowered against the wall.

“They are,” said Matthew. “Gertrude is the greatest physician in the realm, the fourth generation of her family to practice medicine.”

“I am,” Gertrude said, stepping away from the wall. “And I have been here with Rachida for almost three months. I’ve watched her progress, protected her, fed her the foods she needed to thrive, and offered her support. She has been in the best of hands, milady. Of that I can promise you.”

“But what would have happened if anything had gone wrong?” pleaded Moira. “You would have perished right beneath me, and I would never have known!”

“That’s not true,” said Rachida, shaking her head sadly.

“Another part of the deal,” added Matthew. “Should anything befall Rachida, should she die in childbirth or beforehand, you were to escort her body back to the Isles of Gold, with the child if possible.”

Rachida looked at her gravely. “We play a dangerous game, my love. The Conningtons are no friends to Peytr, as you well know. No matter how much he has lost, Peytr still holds deeds to the most promising and productive lands in Neldar and beyond. Once the war ends, the value of those holdings will be tremendous. The brothers knew that I was pregnant with his heir. Should they have discovered my presence here, they would have sought me out and killed us both.”

“And yet you trusted Bren ?” Moira asked. “I was kept in the dark, but that idiot was allowed to know?”

“Bren may be a big dumb oaf, but he is as loyal as he is stupid, which he has proven time and again,” Matthew said. “Besides, the decision was Peytr’s, not mine. You’re more than welcome to scream at his face until your voice is hoarse.”

Moira began to pace, but her eyes kept finding their way back to Rachida and the baby.

“What I want to know,” she said, “is where do we go from here? Since the child was born without issue, are we free to flee to the islands…together?” Her gaze grew pleading as she stared at her love.

“No,” said Rachida. The sadness in her voice was palpable.

“Why not?”

Matthew gathered as much courage as he could and said, “Because Peytr’s debt is still not paid. He has my boats, my arms, my captains. I like him, just as I like you and Rachida, but I risked too much by helping him to go unrewarded. You are that reward, Moira. Even disregarding your skills, it gives me a great advantage to have the daughter of Clovis Crestwell as a hostage, especially one who has so publicly railed against her creator. The amount of leverage I could gain by presenting you to Karak as a trophy is worth its weight in gold.”

“You would never…”

“I wouldn’t, but there are many who would,” he shot back, trying to keep his voice strong. “It’s all posturing and position, and it must be done to ensure that Petyr and I behave as the gentlemen we pretend to be.”

Moira hardly looked convinced, but Rachida called her over.

“Come, my love, sit with us…sit with our son.” Moira crept across the room, tears in her eyes, and curled up in a ball beside the sublimely gorgeous daughter of Soleh Mori. Just watching the two of them broke Matthew’s heart, and he had to bite down on his tongue to keep from breaking down. It was truly unfair of him to make Moira say good-bye to the love of her life twice. He thought of his own past, of the way he’d railed against the authority and memory of his own father by marrying Catherine against his wishes. Had he been in Moira’s shoes…

Best not think on it, he told himself.

The door opened, and down came Bren.

“The screaming stopped,” he said, giving them all a weird look, as if confused by their tense expressions. “Figured that meant a good thing.”

“The baby is well,” Matthew said, slumping down at the table again. Bren joined him, and he nodded toward Moira, lowering his voice so he would not be overheard.

“How’d she take the news?” he asked.

“As well as expected. I almost died. Glad to have you at my side, you dumb ox.”

Bren shrugged.

“Wouldn’t have mattered. I’ll protect you from assassins, thieves, and cutthroats. When it comes to Moira Elren, you’re on your own.”

Matthew chuckled despite his dour mood.

“This never should have happened,” he said. “Our precautions were foolish and incomplete. We’ll need to keep a closer eye on the help who worked tonight, along with the various soldiers in the vicinity. Any one of them could leak word to the Conningtons in Riverrun, and while they might not know who the child is, Romeo or Cleo are smart enough to put it together.”