The Red Drifter of the Sea (Pirates of the Isles #3) - Celeste Barclay Page 0,3
Now she understood. Dónal intended to fob her off on Dermot O’Malley, a man old enough to be her father. The last sliver of hope that she might one day make a love match like Ruairí and Senga’s vanished in a breath.
“Perhaps he knows I’m worth more than my used-up older sister,” Moira spat. “You should wed first, but no one’s beating down our doors for your hand, either. You can’t even get the man who sired your son to stay with you for more than a sennight at a time. You’re no more than a free whore to any man Dónal sends you to.”
Moira clamped her mouth shut, remembering far too late that Sean stood beside her. She squeezed his hand, but his fingers flexed. She released him, expecting him to run away, but he remained at her side. Lizzie darted from the dais and yanked Sean behind her before she lashed out and slapped Moira.
“I’m still the one getting married,” Moira taunted.
“You bluidy little bitch. Say what you want, but we all know you can’t keep a man in your bed,” Lizzie crossed her arms and gloated.
“Aye, and I’d rather sleep alone than having to ask for tonics to cure the pox,” Moira crossed her arms to match her sister.
“Enough,” Dónal roared as his fist pounded the table. “Remove yourself, Moira. You belong in the sty with the other sows.”
Moira cast a challenging glare at the O’Malley man before turning her withering stare on Dónal. Despite being shorter, she looked down her nose at Lizzie as she walked away. Standing behind his mother, Lizzie had no chance to stop Sean before he ran to Moira’s side. Moira cocked her eyebrow at her sister as she went. Moira MacDonnell had drawn the line in the sand, and her family would now have to accept that she had a voice and would use it. After all, if she was forced to marry Dermot O’Malley, she was likely headed to her death anyway. He’d already strangled his first wife in her bed after she bore him a stillborn son. Moira didn’t hope for anything better.
Three
Moira opened her eyes but remained still, trying to determine why she’d woken from the deepest sleep she’d likely had in years. When she heard a soft knock at the door, she glanced over at Sean, who slumbered in his bed beside her trundle. She looked back at the door as another knock sounded.
“Moira,” a soft voice called to her. “Moira, it’s Beagan.”
Moira’s brow furrowed as she rose, once more checking on Sean. The head of their clan council had never visited her at night; in fact, he’d barely spoken to her since she was a child. She opened the door a crack and peered out to find Beagan standing with other members of the council. Behind him were Curran and Cormac, brothers who’d been on the council since her father was chieftain. Devlin, Finnian, Grady, and Hogan stood behind their fathers Curran and Cormac. Loman and Malone stood on either side of Beagan. The only two members missing were her brother and his second, Orran.
“What’s this about?” Moira leaned her head into the passageway and looked both ways. Her astonishment at finding the group of men outside her door had led to her stomach churning with fear. She prayed they wouldn’t attack her with Sean sleeping behind her, but she had no way to know.
“Your brother has gone against the council once more. None of us voted for you to marry the O’Malley. Just the opposite, in fact. He is not an ally we wish to make,” Beagan explained. “He will rob us blind. Your brother has always been a wee slow on the uptake, but since his injuries on Lewis when we fought the MacLeods, he is even more of a tyrant.”
Moira listened with surprise that she struggled to keep from her expression. She never dreamed any of the council members would speak against her brother, at least not outside her brother’s solar or to someone not on the council.
“Lass, the O’Malley will take your dowry, kill you, then attack us,” Devlin spoke up. “You don’t deserve the mistreatment you receive here, and you certainly don’t deserve to die for your brother’s greed.”
“Has he already signed the contracts?” Moira whispered, listening for any movement behind her.
“Aye. After the meal. The messenger leaves in the morn,” Grady spoke in low tones. “We will get you away, but you must come now.”