The Red Drifter of the Sea (Pirates of the Isles #3) - Celeste Barclay Page 0,1
from you snatching the food away.
“The last dish was already served, Chieftain,” Moira forced herself to address her brother by his title, even though no one who sat at the dais did. He insisted upon it. She twisted away as a bone flew in her direction.
“This slop was barely edible, and now you tell me there is nothing more?” Dónal roared.
If it’s such slop, then why would you want more?
Moira forced herself to keep her expression neutral. Years of practice taught her that any reaction would end poorly for her.
“I will see what I can find, Chieftain.” Moira kept her answer succinct, dipping her head before turning toward the kitchen. She would never understand how a corpulent man like her brother could move so quickly. His chair flew backwards, and he met her at the bottom of the dais steps as she passed by. He grabbed Moira’s upper arm, his stubby fingers biting into the flesh. Moira darted a quick glance over Dónal’s shoulder and found Aidan watching, but she knew the man would never speak on her behalf. He never had. Instead, he reached for his mug and drank, keeping his eye on the chieftain and sister until Lizzie’s roaming hand once more found his rod.
“See what you can find? See what you can find?” Dónal spluttered. “I expect three more courses served, back to back.”
“The servants already served five, Dónal,” Moira hissed, her voice low so only her brother would hear. She would appease him when others could hear, but she wouldn’t when they spoke in private. “There is nothing else prepared. You’ve eaten it all.”
Dónal shook her, but Moira stood firm. She’d learned to steel herself against Dónal’s fits of temper. He often attempted to intimidate her with his substantial height and girth. The clan council had drawn the line two years ago when Dónal threatened to drive his fist into Moira’s cheek for spilling wine on him while she trembled with fever. She recognized she lacked the size or the training to fight back physically, but she found inconspicuous ways to retaliate. Small things like pulling out chairs in his solar that she knew he would stumble over in his drunken stupors. She placed ants on his pillow and mused that it was the leftover mead at his bedside that must have drawn them. She’d even gone so far as to dip the hems of his breeks in beef fat, leading the keep’s hounds to knock him over and bite his ankles.
“You stupid sow. No wonder no man will take you off my hands. You haven’t the sense of a gnat and can’t run a keep to save your life,” Dónal snarled before shoving Moira. Despite her tiny size, especially when compared to Dónal, she had the sea legs of an old sailor. After years of Dónal’s tyranny, she no longer swayed and was able to stand her ground. She didn’t bother to hide her mutinous glare as she notched up her chin before staring at the clan council members who sat at the table Dónal abandoned. Her silent defiance dared him to lash out further, even in front of the men who could strip him of his seat as chieftain.
“Get out of my sight,” Dónal spat. Moira was only too happy to comply. Without a second look, Moira glided toward the staircase. She might not have the lithe figure that Lizzie had even after bearing a child, but their mother drilled the same grace in Moira’s movements as she had Lizzie’s.
“Moira,” Lizzie called. “Don’t forget to take Sean.”
Moira adored her nephew, but Lizzie knew it was salt in an open wound: of the two of them, Moira was the one who wanted children. But it was unlikely that she would ever have them, since Dónal was too stingy to pay an adequate dowry. Lizzie had flown into a rage to rival an angry sea god’s when baby Sean called Moira “mama.” The aching pain had come with a sense of satisfaction as Moira bounced Sean on her hip. She’d shrugged at Lizzie and taken Sean to lie down for a nap. Just as she had done nearly every night of his life, Moira helped Sean prepare for bed, then laid on the trundle bed in his chamber. He’d had night terrors for years, and Moira didn’t remember the last time she’d slept a full night in her own chamber. She now went to the trundle bed by habit.