by Tessa Murran
‘I should like to come with you. It is an age since I saw Giselle. I can help her with the bairn.’
‘Should you not stay here, in case Will comes to fetch you?’
‘No.’ Morna bit her lip. ‘Now am I welcome at Corryvreckan, or not?’
‘Aye, so long as you don’t make trouble.’
‘Since when did I do that?’
‘Always, little sister, always.’
They went inside, arm in arm, and Morna felt the pounding of her heart subside a little. They were all safe, her brothers and Will, but that did not wipe away these last weeks. It had been torture - the sleepless nights fearing the worst, the nightmares where these men she loved got cut down, the dread that gripped her at every rider coming to Beharra with news of the siege. She still felt sick at the thought of it all. Love just wasn’t worth it, was it?’
***
The next morning Ravenna rose late and declared that Drostan had returned in the night and was ‘lurking about the place.’ Morna found him, sitting on the roof of the barn, chewing on a blade of grass and staring down into the yard where Owen was play-fighting with wooden swords with Beigis’ children. Morna had often climbed up there herself, by hoisting herself up on the water barrel and skimming up the footholds afforded by the rough timber. She was gratified she could still do it, once she managed to scramble up and pick her way across the roof to Drostan.
He gave her a glance when he spotted her, swallowed hard, and looked away as she hunkered down beside him. He did not seem inclined to speak to her so, for a while, they sat tensely to the sound of the children shrieking and Owen and Beigis laughing below.’
‘Look at her. How graceful and bonnie she is,’ Drostan said, in a rush.
‘Yes, she is.’
‘See how that Owen fellow fawns all over her. He seems well-smitten, and her head is turned, of course.’ He finally looked at her. ‘Wasn’t Owen betrothed to you once?’
It was meant as a barb, and it felt like it. ‘Don’t be spiteful, Drostan, it does not suit you.’
‘Why not? I came here to get help for you. Do I get any thanks for it? Do you seek me out to give me thanks for it, no!’
‘Because I could not find you! Where have you been?’
‘Enjoying myself, visiting the clans hereabouts. Cormac has declared I did him a great service, bringing word of your captivity, so his allies treat me as an honoured guest.’
‘Your coming to Beharra almost started a war between your clan and mine, and you did it more out of hate for Will than concern for me, and you know it.’
‘Aye, you are right, I suppose, as always.’
Morna took a deep breath. ‘So, how do you fare Drostan? Does your health still plague you?’
‘No, on the contrary, I find the air in Glencoe much fresher than on Skye, for all kinds of reasons. It suits me well here.’
‘It suits you because you do nothing save chase every low-born girl in Beharra into your bed, or so Ravenna tells me. Do I hear wrong?’
‘Aye, you do, for I chase the high-born ones as well,’ he replied mutinously.
Morna sighed. ‘Come Drostan, we are related now, since my marriage, we should make friends.’
He turned to her, his dark eyes suddenly full of sadness, which, of course, was all artifice, Morna now realised. Drostan was as wily as Will and, with his Bain blood, the young man knew how to lie. ‘How could you do it, Morna? How could you wed my whoring, back-stabbing cousin?’
‘Because I love him.’
‘Love him, bah! A fool’s errand. Will loves no one, save himself, and he will make you unhappy. That one over there would have made you a much better husband. Look at him - all fine looks and courtly manners. It is a shame you are wed and cannot tempt him now,’ he muttered, with stinging bitterness.
‘That would leave you free to seduce the lovely Beigis with your big eyes and sad sighs, would it not, Drostan, just as you tried to do with me?’
‘At least she doesn’t have a venomous tongue in her head.’
‘Oh, don’t sulk, Drostan. Let us try to be friends. Trust me, where Beigis is concerned, your cause is lost. You should give up and go home to Fitheach, before you outstay your welcome here, with all your idleness and lechery.’
‘I can never go home.’
‘That makes two of us, then,’ she said, watching Beigis lock eyes with Owen, so warm, so tender together. Why on earth had she said that, to Drostan of all people?
Drostan gave her a searching look and Morna suddenly wanted to be gone to spare herself his questions and to avoid trying to voice aloud what she had said and done to Will. Shame burned her cheeks when she thought of it, and of how Drostan would love to hear of his cousin being hurt.
Will had gone off to fight with harsh words ringing in his ears when she should have spent every last second with him telling him how much she loved him. They had damaged each other, him by wanting to go and her by being angry about it. Now, just the mention of his name and the thought of him out there in the world, alone, was too much to bear.
Morna got up to go.
‘What is going on Morna, did you and the perfect William quarrel?’ asked Drostan, his jealousy and resentment fuelling a need for her to condemn his cousin in some way.
Morna regarded him steadily. ‘Drostan, take my advice. Try to find some honesty and some nobility in your soul to drive out the bitterness.’
‘What about my heart? What is to be done with that,’ he spat, gazing at Beigis longingly.
‘As to your heart, I would advise you to guard it well. Do not let love into it, for to love someone is to open your heart and let a world of pain inside.’
‘What?’
‘I am going tomorrow, and we may not see each other for some time. Farewell Drostan, and be safe.’
Chapter Thirty-Four
Will watched her walk along the edge of the water, hair flying out behind her in the stiff wind coming up the loch from the sea in the distance. She cut a lonely figure as she headed back to Corryvreckan Castle. What a forbidding place it was, not unlike Fitheach, with its staunch dark walls and windswept towers. Somehow he would have expected her to live somewhere gentler than this. He kicked his horse forward to intercept her before she got to the castle.
The clatter of his horse’s hooves on the shingle alerted her to his presence, and she turned and went wide-eyed with shock.
‘Do not be afraid of me. I am come to see Morna, but I wanted to talk to you first.’
Her eyes flicked to the castle and back to him as he dismounted and led his horse towards her.
Giselle Buchanan was fuller and softer than he remembered, and that red hair, so striking it would put a fire in any man’s belly. How beautiful she was, in a gentle kind of way, yet she did not stir him. She was the kind of woman bred to grace a Lord’s bed and be a trophy on his arm. There was a haunted vulnerability to her and men like Lyall would yearn to protect her. But Giselle was not one to challenge a man, and he needed that, far more than beauty and grace. He needed Morna, for she was his match in stubbornness and pride.
‘What are you doing here, William Bain?’
‘Come to beg forgiveness for my lack of manners at our last meeting.’
‘You threatened to kill, Lyall.’
‘I was playing with him. He was swimming naked in a loch with a beautiful woman. It is not the kind of sight you come across every day.’ He smiled, hoping to win her over. ‘Perhaps I was jealous.’
‘Perhaps you were just being a brute, and you still are, I am sure.’
‘Has Lyall told you that?’
‘No, my husband speaks well of you, for some reason I can’t fathom.’
‘And my wife? I went to Beharra and they told me she had come here.’
‘Morna is glad you are safe but other than that she will not speak about you. It pains her to do it.’
Will’s heart sank, but he put a brave face on it. ‘I must say, Lyall Buchanan has done very well for himself, inde
ed. I am glad he has made an honest woman of you, Giselle.’
‘What would you know about honest women?’
‘You seem to have grown harder since last we met.’
‘If that is so, I am glad of it for I have good reason to be.’ She took a deep breath to compose herself. ‘You will be wanting to see Morna, of course. Why did you not just ride up to the castle and announce yourself.’
‘Because I fear she will not want to see me, and I need to speak to her without prying eyes.’
‘You want to get her alone to convince her to do your bidding, to bend her to your will. She has told me you wed her for an alliance.’
‘Have you ever seen Morna bend to the will of another? As to the alliance, I swear I wed her because I loved her, and I love her still, I always will. She belongs with me.’
‘As I see it, you lied to her. You said one thing and did another. Such men as you are not to be relied upon for a future. Morna belongs with her family, who will keep her safe.’
‘Safe, but not happy. Please, Giselle, go to her quietly and tell her I will be waiting, on that hill above the castle, under that dead tree. Every day I will wait, rain or shine until she comes to me.’
Giselle gave him a hard look and continued walking back to Corryvreckan.
***
He hadn’t dared hope, but Morna came the next day. Will heard her soft footfall where he sat leaning on the tree trunk, whittling a piece of wood with his knife.
He leapt to his feet and was lost for words. She was bonnier than he’d left her. Her skin was lustrous, her hair neater than he had ever seen it, coiled about her head in some ornate design. Giselle’s handiwork no doubt. It made her seem more of a lady and more remote somehow.
‘I sailed here on my way home, Morna, we are anchored at the mouth of the loch,’ he said, pointing out to where the freshwater joined the salt.
‘I am sure you and your men will be glad to get back to Fitheach,’ she replied evenly, her eyes not quite meeting his.
‘And you, Morna? I have come to fetch you home. Are you coming with me?’
Morna’s eyes were guarded and swimming with tears as she looked into his own.
‘I am glad you survived,’ she said.
‘Aye, my body is intact, if not my honour,’ he said, his voice breaking a little.
‘Was that not the reason you left me - to throw away your life, for honour?’
‘As it turns out, there is little honour in butchering men on a battlefield, and even less in pledging myself to a King I hate.’
‘But still, you would do it.’
‘I did it for you - to build a better life for us.’
‘While I have been breaking my heart over you, fearing the worst. When I got word you had gone into England, Will, I felt sick to my stomach with worry.’
‘Fighting is the price men must pay for being men, is that not our lot in life, while to be a woman is to fret for those you love? You and I both must bear who we are. Come, Morna, you have always known what I am, what I will always be. You have seen the darkness of my soul, the bitterness, the anger. But I think you also see the man I could be, the better man, the kinder man. I cannot become such a man without you. Come back to me Morna, or this life, this struggle, means nothing.’
‘Why do you want me, Will, because you hate to lose, because you want your precious alliance? You can have that anyway after proving yourself. Why bother with a wife, an anchor weighing you down?’
‘Because an anchor holds a ship steady, it stops the ship being blown out to sea, at the mercy of storms. An anchor brings certainty and the chance to rest and be calm. You can be that to me. I need that, and I need you. You know how much I want you and I am sure you want me. What is between us comes but once in a lifetime. Do you not think we are destined to be together, why else would fate throw us into each other’s paths?’
‘I will not live my life in fear of losing you, Will. I will not be widowed to this war, and it is just a matter of time. You are in Robert’s grip now, a fly to his spider, and you can twist and turn, but you will never get free. Our King will send you into battle after battle until it kills you. I cannot bear that to be my life. I told you what would happen if you did this. I warned you that I would not spend my life waiting for you to die.’
‘We are all waiting for death, it comes for all men. The tragedy would be if we never got to live first, so I ask for the last time, Morna, come back with me and stand by my side. You have a choice of a short life with me or a long, dreary lifetime with only your stubbornness for company, and cold comfort that will be.’
‘I can’t, Will. We are too alike, and we would send each other mad. I am done with men telling me how to be, how to feel, who to choose.’
‘I am not just any man, Morna.’
‘No, you are not. You are the best of them, and you are the worst of them.’
‘Because of what happened to my family I thought I was shut off from love, but it seems it is you who fears it, more than I.’
‘With good reason, for all I have known is war and my family’s jeopardy, my brothers forced to fight again and again. All my life, I have felt trapped by the whim of Kings. I chose you because I thought you could stay out of it and we would be safe together. Now you are in it up to your neck.’
‘Then we have no more to say to each other, and I will leave on next tide. This is the last time I ask, for I will not come again. And Morna, if your mind is made up, then do not come to Fitheach and seek me out. You once said to me that you would not spend your days looking out to sea for a ship that never comes. I, too, refuse to pace the battlements, looking for a lost love that never returns.’
He untethered his horse, jerking at the reins violently in his distress. Will mounted up, and there was desolation in his heart as he took one last look at her.
‘Forgive me, Morna, for everything I have done to you,’ he said, as he kicked his horse hard in the ribs and sped off.
***
Hours later, Morna sat before the fire with her head in her hands. Giselle put her arm around her shoulders to comfort her, while her son Fearghas burrowed his red-gold head into the folds of her dress, squirming and tugging on it for attention.
Morna reached out a hand to him, and he tottered over to her. She folded him into her arms and such a comfort he was, as he threw his arms about her neck. She had always enjoyed her nephew’s affectionate nature when visiting Corryvreckan.
‘I should not have told you to go to him,’ said Giselle.
‘No, I had to see him, one last time, to be sure. Will is not honourable, and he is utterly wild and dangerous. He is everything I should not want, and yet I do want him, so much. I know that I will never lead a safe life with him, and his own is likely to be a short one with a brutal end, for he will not dance to any other man’s tune.
‘Or woman’s, Morna, said Giselle solemnly. ‘Think on that.’
‘And yet I know in my gut that Will does love me and that he will be true to me.’
‘You let him ride away from you. Why is that?’
‘I am afraid Giselle, so very afraid.’
‘Afraid of losing him, or of loving him? One you can do something about, Morna, the other, it seems, you cannot. Stay with us a while, think on your feelings, untangle your heart a little. Perhaps some time apart will be good.’
‘If I reject him now, he might never forgive me and then there will be no going back.’
‘Morna, listen, do you think we have a choice about who we love? Do you think I wanted to risk my heart on your brother, a Scot who took me for ransom and dragged me into a strange land, full of strangers with strange ways? Do you think it is easy, now that I love him, to send him off to war? Lyall is my life, Morna, and there will never be anyone else for me. How does Will make you feel, answer me honestly?’
Morna stared into the fire for the longest time, as her heart hammered in her chest at thinking of him. Big hands, impatient, strong, and yet gentle when they loved h
er, and oh, he was so braw and tall, that dark gold hair, his smooth-limbed strength, his anger, his passion.
‘Will consumes me, Giselle. For him, I live and breathe, and that terrifies me. I will never have his forgiveness for spurning him, for he is not the forgiving type.’
‘Of course, you can. Do you not have weapons you can use, as a woman, I mean?’
Lyall suddenly barged in, all smiles, and Fearghas abandoned Morna to run to his father. Lyall scooped him up and rained kisses down on his fat, little face but stopped when he saw her tears. ‘Whatever is amiss?’
Morna stood up quickly before Giselle could answer. ‘I think I may have made a terrible mistake, Lyall.’
Lyall rolled his eyes. ‘God’s teeth, what have you gone and done this time?’
‘It is too hard to explain, but I mean to put it right. What time does the tide go out?’
‘In around an hour, maybe.’
‘In that case, I will need a very fast horse.’
***
The horse galloped along the curve of the sheltered, little beach. No ship in sight, but a sea fog was creeping in over the water. Perhaps it was anchored just beyond it, out of sight.
‘Will, Will,’ she called out, but there was silence, save for her voice echoing back to her off the cliffs.
‘No, no, please be here, please,’ she sobbed. There was no one to hear her, she was all alone. The mists parted in a sudden gust of wind, and she caught sight of a sail.
Morna got down from the horse and ran into the sea, waving her arms around. ‘Come back. Will come back, please. I am here.’ A futile gesture, as her words were swallowed by the wind and the ship was pulling away fast, on the outgoing tide, well out to sea already. No one would hear her.
It was all too late, Will was gone, and all she was left with was her own folly and the soft rush of the surf breaking at her feet, sloshing against her legs and wetting her skirts. She stood like a statue, as her legs got colder and colder, and the ship pulled further away.
There was a crunch of shingle behind her. ‘What the hell are you doing, woman?’ came a rough voice.
Morna turned to see Will, smirking at her. ‘Left it a bit late didn’t you? I am flattered that you came after me all the same.’