The Laird's Bastard Daughter (The Highland Warlord Series Book 1)

by Tessa Murran

  Yes, thought Ravenna, honourable and brave and without an ounce of kindness in him. She hadn’t liked him so she would not play the hypocrite and mourn him now. But there was one who did. Alisdair, along with a large party of his men, had come to pay his respects, or so he said.

  Ravenna was alarmed to see him and instructed several of Beharra’s most thuggish warriors to make themselves conspicuous around the place. She ordered extra guards to be placed around the castle walls. She was not about to present an easy target for a take-over by arms while the clan was vulnerable in Cormac’s absence. Ramsay seemed oblivious to the danger and was so sunk in grief that she could not rely on him.

  Alisdair loudly bewailed the loss of a great friend and ally, but paid little heed to Morna now Cormac was not around to witness his false devotion. Instead, he turned his attention to her and, the first chance he got, he cornered her to find out where Cormac was. All she could tell him was that she had no idea.

  ‘How goes it with your marriage, Ravenna? Do you have Cormac Buchanan where you want him? It doesn’t sound like it if you have no idea of his whereabouts.’

  ‘We get along well enough, but he doesn’t yet trust me.’

  ‘It must be exhausting - all this pretending. Tell me, is Cormac as much of a brute as he looks?’ smirked Alisdair.

  ‘Aye, he is an animal. Tell my father that, it will make him happy to know I have been miserable.’

  Alisdair gave her a puzzled look. Better for him if he thought she hated Cormac, better for her if that were true, but it was not.

  ‘The sooner you give us something to use against him Ravenna, the sooner you will be free of his rough embrace. So, do as I say, work on him and bring us secrets we can use.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  The Highlands were blessed with a rare cloudless day, which was at odds with Morna’s desperate sobbing. She was clutching Ravenna’s hand as if her life depended on it, as they stood on the hill overlooking Beharra. Ravenna stared at the pile of sod, forming a mound at their feet.

  It had been a week since they had put Fearghas in the ground, and still, Morna insisted on coming up here and standing for hours, staring at her father’s grave.

  Ravenna had endured a tense few days since the burial. People at Beharra were fearful, now their old Laird was gone, and Cormac had not yet come back home to protect the clan. They turned to Ramsay for leadership, but he was not up to the task and seemed frozen in shock at his Laird’s death, so Ravenna had taken charge. She had made sure patrols went out regularly to check for intruders on their lands, and sent other men out to search for Cormac, in the hope of meeting him on the road.

  Morna’s sniffing intruded into her thoughts.

  ‘Crying won’t help, Morna,’ she said softly. ‘Your father is gone, and no amount of tears will bring him back.’

  ‘I miss him so.’

  ‘I know, but you must bear it and, with time, the pain will fade, I promise.’

  Ravenna looked at the girl and felt a flicker of fear. If she didn’t do her own father’s bidding, what would they do to Morna? Maybe she should tell Cormac if he ever did return, but tell him what? ‘I am a spy selling secrets in return for my freedom.’ He would never trust her again, he would throw her out or probably just kill her and be done with it.

  A thunderous sound came from behind them, and Ravenna turned to see a horse galloping towards them, at full pelt. Astride it was Cormac, with an angry look on his face.

  Her heart leapt into her throat, and before she had a chance to compose herself, he was skidding to a halt in front of them and throwing himself off his huge stallion. His eyes flicked to Morna, then to hers, and then to the fresh grave.

  ‘My father?’ he said.

  Ravenna nodded. His face fell. For a moment he looked stricken, then he turned and looked out at the mountains, clutching his head in his hands. Ravenna could see his back heave up and down with the violence of his breathing. Was it grief or anger? Morna went running to him, but Ravenna held her back. He needed time to gather himself in front of his sister.

  After what seemed like an age of silence, Cormac whirled around and came up to them. Taking Morna gently by the shoulders, he pulled her to him and kissed the top of her head. Then he grabbed his sister’s face in his hands and wiped away her tears. ‘Go back to the keep and wait for me,’ he said softly.

  ‘But aren’t you coming?’

  ‘I will be there soon, but first, I must have words with Ravenna. Go now, Morna, please.’

  Morna gave Ravenna a sad look and walked off, sobbing.

  When his sister was out of earshot, Cormac turned to her. ‘Explain,’ he said. Cormac glared at her with such coldness, it made Ravenna’s words stumble as they came out.

  ‘She should not be alone, Cormac, I…she is beside herself, she…I am sorry about your father. Is Lyall with you, does he know?’

  ‘Yes, he is back at Beharra, we went there first and heard the news, so I came to look for you.’

  This was a different man to the one who had been soft with her, a few short weeks ago.

  ‘You buried my father without me?’ he snapped.

  ‘Cormac we had to.’

  ‘You dared to bury a Buchanan Laird without his sons present to honour him?’

  ‘We were forced to bury him when you did not come back.’

  ‘I sent word that we were returning.’

  ‘And then, you did not come.’

  ‘Some of my men came down with a fever, and we did not want to bring it home with us to Beharra, so we had to stay put until it passed.’

  ‘Cormac, we waited and waited, but his body would otherwise have rotted to a point where it would not have been decent.’ When he continued to glare at her, she said, ‘We washed him with care, the two of us, for Morna would not let servants do it, no matter what it cost her in grief to bear it. We placed him gently in the ground, it was done well, with all his clansmen gathered to honour him, with the proper words spoken, I swear.’

  Cormac swallowed hard. He did not meet her eyes when he spoke. ‘How was it? Did he suffer at the end?’

  ‘There was some pain, but he bore it well, and he died in his sleep. It was gentle, Cormac, and I think he has been suffering in great pain for some time, so in the end, I think death was a blessed relief. Morna was at his bedside when he passed.’

  ‘Did he say anything?’

  ‘I don’t know what he said to Morna, you will have to ask her.’

  ‘What did he say to you?’

  ‘Before he died, he asked me not to hurt you.’

  ‘As if you have the power to do that, Ravenna,’ said Cormac bitterly.

  ‘Cormac I am sorry, truly.’

  ‘Why be sorry? Because of what you are, my father didn’t like you, and he never would have.’

  His cruel words cut like a knife.

  ‘No one ever does, but still…I am sorry for your loss.’

  ‘Sorry, is it? As a Gowan, are you not triumphing in my grief?’

  ‘I am a Buchanan now, and Cormac, I have known grief and how it tears at you, so no, I do not triumph in yours.’ With that, she rushed past him and headed back to the keep. When she was a good distance away, she risked turning back to look, and she saw Cormac fall to his knees before his father’s grave. She looked away quickly, for she did not want to witness his suffering, it might make her pity him, and that was a weakness she could not afford.

  Cormac was Laird here now, with absolute power over everyone under his roof and on his lands, and he was angry with her. Things had become so much worse.

  ***

  Later that day, with her skirts swishing through the long grass, Ravenna made her way down the riverbank to leave a message for Alisdair’s man. She did not think she would be missed. Cormac had shown no interest in her since he had returned, he seemed to blame her for his grief and had been avoiding her as he comforted his sister and bellowed orders, as the new Laird.

  As she placed a scrap of parchment u
nder the rock inside the log, a rustle of bushes alerted her to a man coming towards her. She backed away from him.

  Ravenna had expected a villain, and she was not disappointed. The man was brutish. His pudgy face had a violent look about it, but not an intelligent one.

  ‘You are Ravenna?’ he said.

  When she nodded, he stalked over to her. ‘I am your father’s messenger, and if you don’t give me what I want, he has told me to be your executioner, so you’d better have something for me? Give it to me directly,’ he said, holding out a dirty hand. When she handed him the note, he did not look at it, merely stuffing it in his pocket.

  ‘What is your name?’ asked Ravenna.

  ‘You don’t need to know that. I will be here from time to time, waiting. It is too dangerous to linger. That is all you need to know.’

  He walked away, back into the gloom of the trees. Ravenna stood there for the longest time, rooted to the spot.

  This was hateful, what she was doing. She hated her father for making her do it, she hated herself for her deceit, she hated the world and everyone in it who was happy and safe when she was not. Then she turned and went back to Beharra, just as storm clouds swept across the sky, turning the brightness of the afternoon into a grey misery.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Two nights passed before Cormac appeared again. Ravenna walked into the hall at sunset, and there he was, standing before the fireplace with a jug of ale in his hand.

  ‘Ah, my dear wife, come and have a drink with me,’ he said, raising the jug. ‘Come and toast the spirit of my dead father.’ There was a contemptuous tone to his growling voice that Ravenna did not like.

  ‘Are you drunk, Cormac?’

  ‘Not nearly enough. I am seeking oblivion, but it will not come.’

  ‘You won’t find consolation in the bottom of a jug.’

  ‘And I’ll not find it in your arms, my sweet,’ he spat.

  ‘So, are you drowning in ale or self-pity, Cormac?’

  ‘My father is dead. My brother has seen his first battle, and now he knows such brutality that he is twisted inside with it and, instead of finding peace on coming home, he has his grief to deal with.’

  ‘I should go and fetch Lyall.’

  ‘You can’t. He’s gone. Taken himself off somewhere, to do something stupid and reckless, no doubt. One more thing I have pressing on me. And then there’s my sister, my dear little sister, who is pale and sad and does not smile any more. My clansmen look to me to protect them, to keep their wives and children safe, and I cannot. And my wife, my lovely, hard as rock wife, taunts me with her beauty, while she looks on me with contempt.’

  ‘Cormac, stop this.’

  ‘Or is it worse than contempt? Revulsion, maybe? Yes,’ he sneered, waving a pitcher of ale in her direction, ‘yes, that is the word, you look on me with revulsion. So I drink to forget that my father is dead, to forget the butchery at Roxburgh and Ravenna, soon, I will have drunk enough to dull the shame I feel in wanting you.’ He lurched towards her. ‘Perhaps, if you are very, very unlucky, I will drink enough to do to you whatever I want to do.’

  Ravenna turned to go, but he was too quick and grabbed hold of her.

  ‘I said, take a drink with me.’

  ‘No, you are not good company. Ever since you came back from Roxburgh, you have been a changed man, bitter and cruel.’

  ‘Sit,’ he shouted, and with that, he dragged her to a chair and pushed her down onto it.

  Ravenna glared at him. ‘Cormac, your sister is unhappy because you have made her so, betrothing her to a man she does not want. Alisdair is vile.’

  ‘Not this again. I told you, that betrothal was made many years ago, in her infancy, by my father, and it will keep her safe. It will stand.’ He sat himself down with a thump, causing the chair to rock back alarmingly.

  Ravenna took a deep breath. ‘Then her sadness is yours to bear, Cormac and I have no sympathy with it. As to your father’s passing, he had death written all over him the first time I saw him, and my father would have seen it too, and he will be making his plans around it. So, instead of wallowing like a pig in your grief, you would be better off thinking of a way to defend yourself against his schemes.’

  Cormac leapt up and stood over her, with fury all over his face as he took her by the arm and dragged her up against him. ‘Why tell me that? You want his schemes to work, to have us ruined.’

  ‘Like it or not, I am shackled to you, Cormac so whatever fate befalls you, takes me with it. My father has cast me off by marrying me to a Buchanan, and I have no illusions about that. I have left him behind, as you must leave yours behind. Fearghas is gone, and he is not coming back. You are Laird here now, so act like it.’

  ‘God, you are so hard Ravenna. You don’t care about anyone, do you?’

  ‘If you care about someone, you have something to lose. I learnt that lesson a long time ago.’

  ‘How? Did the man who took your virtue abandon you, and break your cold, little heart?’

  ‘Yes, and it broke me in two, but I decided I could either lie down and die from the pain of it, or I could just keep going, and hope things got better.’

  ‘And, did they?’ sneered Cormac.

  ‘Obviously not, as here I am,’ she said defiantly.

  Cormac looked down at this feet. Suddenly, all the fight seemed to go out of him. A flutter of something soft moved in her heart, and for an instant, Ravenna pitied the tortured man standing before her. There was such desolation on his face. Could she trust it?

  ‘I…I would comfort you, Cormac if you would let me,’ she said.

  Still, he would not look at her.

  Hesitantly, she took the jug from his hands and placed it on the table, then she put her arms around him and drew his head into her shoulder. ‘This will pass, Cormac, as all pain passes, and then you will be whole again.’

  They hung motionless for a few minutes until his head rose against her neck and his mouth found hers. He kissed her deeply, tasting of ale and sadness, and for some reason, she did not push him away. There was tenderness in the way he held her against him. She wondered if it was the only way he was staying upright.

  ‘Ah, but you taste like heaven, woman,’ he murmured, with his forehead pressed to hers. ‘Tis a shame you do not care for me.’ He looked into her eyes as he placed the flat of his hand on her chest and slid it downwards.

  ‘You should sleep Cormac, you need rest,’ said Ravenna, breaking free of him.

  She hurried up to their chamber and had undressed down to her kirtle when Cormac lurched in.

  ‘You know, if you want to comfort me Ravenna, there is a way,’ he said frowning.

  ‘How?’

  ‘I would lie with you.’

  ‘Why,’ she replied, ‘when you have scarce said two words to me since you came back?’

  ‘Why does a man ever want to lie with a woman, to feel better than I do, to take my mind away from this misery, to make me forget the world and what presses on me.’

  His honesty about his misery was somehow refreshing. Deep in his cups, and sunk in grief, he was showing his vulnerable side, for the first time, and it made Ravenna want to hold him and touch him and lie down with him.

  ‘Men talk in the throes of passion,’ her father had said. She could get Cormac to spill so many secrets in this moment, to talk about the King and his plans, to lay bare his heart for her to rip it out. But she did not want him to talk. Ravenna was tired of having to live life showing two faces. She was so tired of pretending that her father did not despise her when she knew in her heart that he did.

  Cormac came over and nuzzled her neck, and she let him. Tonight, she would set her heart free of the cage she had built around it. For one night, she would let herself be weak and passionate and affectionate, not because it was what a man wanted, but because it was what she wanted.

  He took hold of her and flung her onto the bed and then he was on her, pulling her kirtle up to her waist. Cormac ran his palm
slowly down from her throat, between her breasts and down between her legs. At that point, she stopped him, and he looked at her with sad eyes.

  ‘We fit well together last time, you and I,’ he said. He looked down at her half-naked body. ‘By Christ, you are beautiful, I wish I could trust in you.’ He bent to bury his face against her neck, his mouth hot on her skin. He lay still for the longest time, as Ravenna lay under him in feverish anticipation.

  It took her a while to realise that he had actually fallen asleep on top of her.

  What a weight he was, as she slowly rolled him over - like a great, big bear. So much for her womanly charms! At first, she was livid, and then she stopped and looked at him, lying on his back with his arm thrown over his head.

  Ravenna stared down at her husband for the longest time with an aching tenderness in her breast. She’d thought she could ruin him, because of Brandan, and what he had done, but now, she found she just couldn’t. If she did, she was no better than a hard-hearted little whore, no better than Alisdair and her father.

  She snuggled into him and pushed her cold fingers into the black hair on his chest. He was well and truly asleep, so she felt bold enough to run her hands all over his broad chest, his muscular arms, to place her outstretched palm over his hand and marvel at the size of it. How on earth could he be so gentle and yet so powerful? She would never have touched him so if he was awake. But now, like this, it was a wonderful thing.

  She sat up on one elbow, and pushed her fingers into his hair, brushing it off his face. Cormac had thick eyelashes, black, like spiders, and dark shadows under his eyes and a mouth too full and sensuous for a man as hard as he was. He was a contradiction, this man, in so many ways, but he wanted her, and no one had done so in a long time. Ravenna lay back down and fell asleep thinking that she would no longer hate herself for her own passionate nature. All life had ever done was take from her, why not take some small joy back? There must be a way to get out of this trap she had laid for herself and, given enough time, she would think of something.