The Pirate Laird's Hostage (The Highland Warlord Series Book 3)

by Tessa Murran

  ‘What do you want?’ he snapped.

  ‘Come to ask after that lass, haven’t I? How do you know her?’

  ‘’Tis a long and sad tale, and I’ll not tell it now. Our paths crossed some years ago, back when I scarce had hair on my balls and she was not quite a woman.’

  ‘Well, she’s definitely a woman now. Lovely, ripe curves she has and a bonnie face. Are we keeping her?’

  ‘Aye, until I work out what to do.’

  ‘Do you think she’d take to me? I’ve a mind to know her better if you give me leave.’

  ‘I do not give you leave, Waldrick.’ Will laughed to hide his sudden anger. ‘Besides, if you dangle that excuse for a cock anywhere near the lass, her brother is likely to cut it clean off.’

  Waldrick frowned.

  ‘Morna’s brother, you see, is Cormac Buchanan of the Glencoe Buchanans.’

  ‘Ah.’ Waldrick held up his hands. ‘I will keep my distance then, for I hear he’s not the sort of man you want to cross.’

  ‘Neither of her brother’s are. Cormac is a black fiend and a warrior of great renown, trusted ally of our glorious King Robert, as is her other brother Lyall, who is known as the Butcher of Berwick in some circles.’

  ‘And you, my friend? Will you hand her back to her brothers as soon as may be?’

  Will shrugged. ‘I’ve a mind to keep her awhile. She interests me.’

  ‘It is folly to get on the wrong side of the Buchanan’s, Will.’

  ‘Or the Gowans, for it was Ranulph Gowan who took Morna from her family for some dark purpose I’ve yet to fathom. He won’t be best pleased that I have saved her but Waldrick, we must keep that fact between us.’

  ‘Are the Buchanans and Gowans not sworn enemies?’

  ‘Aye, so if that Ranulph whelp dared to do this, then I believe the Buchanans have problems of their own, and there could be gain for us in this quarrel igniting again. Let the big fish eat each other and when they are gone, more room for us to prosper.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ replied Waldrick.

  Will clapped a hand on his shoulder. ‘You never do my friend, which is why you follow, and I lead.’

  ‘Fair enough. If you’ve finished daydreaming over that lass, you should know that we’ve softened up the prisoner as you asked. He is ready to spill his secrets and Will, he has already owned that he is a Cranstoun.’

  ‘Not for long,’ replied Will coldly.

  ***

  The servant, Braya, was fast asleep on a stool outside the chamber door but leapt to her feet when Will kicked it. She rubbed her eyes and glared at him.

  ‘How is our guest?’

  ‘Your guest is sleeping and should not be disturbed.’

  ‘Did you feed and clothe her?’

  ‘Aye, she ate a little pottage before the fire, but she was shivering and pale when I tucked her into bed. Whatever was done to her has terrified the poor lass. Was she interfered with?’

  Will’s chest tightened, and his hands balled into fists. ‘Did she tell you anything of use?’ he snapped, ignoring the woman’s question.

  ‘Nay, she spoke not a word to me, keeps her secrets that one. But now the lass is clean I can see that she’s a bonnie, wee thing.’

  A scream like a banshee rent the dusk air and Will rushed into the chamber followed by Braya. Morna was screaming and thrashing on the bed. He rushed forward and took hold of her by the shoulders, shaking her awake. Her eyes snapped open, and she regarded him with horror.

  ‘Get off me, get away, get away,’ she screamed at him, trying to push him off.

  Will held onto her tight and pulled her close to his chest. He felt the frantic beat of her heart against his and the warmth from her skin through the thin fabric of her kirtle. ‘It’s alright. Be calm Morna, it is only I, Will. You are safe now. No need to fear.’

  For a few moments, there was only the sound of her rapid breathing filling the room and her quiet sobbing.

  Braya came up to him. ‘Laird, let me help the lass. I will comfort her.’

  ‘Go, leave us.’

  Braya glowered at him.

  ‘Do not fash yourself old woman. Her virtue is safe enough with me,’ said Will.

  ‘Aye, but for how long?’ tutted the woman as she shuffled out of the chamber.

  Morna suddenly seemed to find her composure for she pushed away from him, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. She regarded him from under her lashes, warily, like a child caught doing something she shouldn’t. She blinked rapidly and seemed confused.

  ‘I…I thought I was back in that crate. I could not breathe, the water was coming in, and I could not get out, like a rat drowning in a barrel,’ she gasped.

  Will rose and poured a cup of wine from a pitcher set out on the table. ‘Here, this will take the edge off your distress,’ he said, handing it to her.

  ‘I should not. I must keep my wits about me,’ said Morna, shaking her head.

  So, she was wary, she did not trust him. ‘I say you should. I have not poisoned it. Drink it.’

  Morna took the wine and gulped it down, grimacing a little. ‘It is strong.’

  ‘Aye, good stuff, sweet is it not? Taken off a merchant vessel, in English waters.’ Will winked at her, and she smiled a little and continued drinking.

  ‘It tastes better now I know it was stolen from the English,’ she said.

  ‘Stolen wine always tastes better, like stolen kisses.’

  Morna looked away from him, clutching onto the cup tightly as if it were a talisman against evil. She seemed to have no desire to speak further, so they sat in silence, punctuated only by the howl of the wind against the shutters and the hiss and spit of damp logs on the fire.

  Carefully, so as not to frighten her, Will’s eyes roamed over her face. She had blossomed since last he saw her, the promise of beauty now fulfilled, like a dull cup polished to shining perfection. His memory was hazy and probably idealised, but the fine cheekbones and determined jaw he remembered. Morna was not beautiful in the flawless way some women were, like delicate dolls with painted on faces. No, her nose was a little too broad for delicacy, her hair too dark for childish beauty and her face broad, with a determined look about it. But those eyes of hers were spectacular, a warm brown, thick with black lashes, wide and intelligent. Will could not tear his gaze from her mouth as she sipped the wine, for it was a perfect bow shape, pink and fulsome and infinitely kissable. Something about Morna’s appearance was lush and ripe and wanton, a wildness begging to be tamed.

  ‘Whose chamber is this?’ she said, looking him straight in the eye. Had she noticed his scrutiny?

  ‘Mine, and you are in my bed, Morna, at long last,’ he said with a grin. She set the wine down on the floor and pulled her arms tightly around herself. A misstep on his part, for her guard was up again.

  ‘You’ve changed since last I saw you. What have you been doing, Morna?’

  ‘Surviving the treachery of men,’ she said flatly.

  ‘Such bitterness you have, wrapped in such softness.’

  ‘I am not soft.’

  ‘Aye, looks to me like you are, you’ve filled out a good deal since last we met,’ he said poking her in the side with his finger and enjoying her look of indignation at her vanity being pricked. ‘I mean to compliment you, for you have a woman’s body now, instead of a girl’s.’

  ‘And you have taken on the look of a brute,’ she retorted.

  ‘I was always a brute, but you are right, I have collected a few scars along the way, the signs of living a full life.’

  ‘I’m sure you have been indulging in life fully William O’Neill.’

  ‘Aye, in all sorts of wicked ways, far beyond your experience, tucked away in Beharra. I told you, I have taken the name of Bain now.’

  Morna looked down at her hands. ‘How did you come to be here?’

  ‘I shall save that for another day. If I tell you, it might give you nightmares.’

  They locked eyes and Morna held his
gaze unflinchingly until he smiled at her, and then she turned away.

  ‘The fire is dying. Please, I don’t want to be left in the dark,’ she said quietly.

  Will rose and put several big logs on it and came back to sit on the bed, closer this time.

  ‘It will take you some time to recover from your ordeal. How long were you in that crate?’

  ‘A day and a night, I think, but it seemed longer. I had no water or food, and I thought I would die there. It was so cold, and the aching in my bones was torture. I begged and pounded on the crate, but they just laughed, I could hear them. When those men put me on the ship, and I realised they must be going out to sea, I thought they would throw me overboard to drown.’

  ‘Try not to think on it now. That horror is behind you.’

  ‘It will never be behind me,’ she said, clutching the blankets in white-knuckled fists. Without thinking, Will gently reached over and put his hands over hers.

  ‘When I tell you that you are safe, I mean it. You can trust me, Morna.’

  ‘I can trust no one,’ she said coldly, looking down at his mutilated hand and recoiling a little. She did not remark on it, which stung his pride as he would have liked her to show some sympathy after what he had done for her. Will quickly withdrew his hand.

  ‘We are old friends, are we not?’ he continued.

  ‘We are little better than strangers, William Bain. One night of acquaintance years ago with me as a prisoner does not make us friends.’

  ‘Nor does it make us enemies, and I am obliged to you Morna, for saving my life back then. I will discharge that debt by helping you now.’

  ‘Then you will send word to my brothers, to come and fetch me?’

  ‘Of course,’ he replied smoothly. ‘I will despatch a messenger at first light depending on the weather. The sea crossing is not too long, but we have to have favourable winds and calm seas.’

  Morna let out a breath and relaxed a little.

  ‘Tell me why Ranulph Gowan took you, Morna?’

  ‘He did not take me. As I said, I was sold to him by Ramsay Seward.’

  ‘Ranulph could have refused and kept the peace, built on it even, by sending you back to your family. Seems to me that the old feud lingers still, and Ranulph meant to wound your brothers.’

  ‘He sent men after Ramsay to kill him so that no one would find out where I had gone.’

  ‘So, the wretch did not strike out in the open, which means he either fears your brothers, which makes him a coward, or he is clever enough to stay his hand. Perhaps he does not have the strength to take them on at present. But you can be assured he wants to and he will be emboldened by his action here.’

  ‘You don’t know that.’

  ‘I make it my business to know men of power and how they think. Besides, us Bains have long had our own feuds to protect against. If I were to strike at my enemies, I would undermine them first, weaken them before I go in for the kill.’

  ‘I was only in Ranulph’s company a short time but the way you speak so casually of violence and betrayal, you sound just like him.’

  ‘Did you answer truthfully when you said he did not do anything? I feel you might lie to me out of shame. You may tell me, for there is no dishonour in being forced. I will not think less of you because of it.’

  Morna’s face reddened as she shook her head. ‘He said I disgusted him.’

  ‘Then he’s no judge of women. Does the fool not have eyes in his head?’

  ‘Don’t talk like that.’

  ‘Forgive me, I speak as I find. One thing I do know about this Gowan cur, he has underestimated your brother’s vengeance. If what I hear of your brother is true, Cormac will be like a mad dog, there will be no holding him.’

  ‘You don’t know my brother.’

  ‘His reputation goes before him. The fearsome Laird Buchanan will have the rage of the furies, and it will be all-out war with the Gowans. I am minded to know why that fool Ranulph would risk it.’

  ‘I don’t know, but I’ll not tell Cormac that it was Ranulph who took me and nor will you.’

  How boldly she spoke to him. Did she think he was a tame dog to come to heel?

  ‘Why should I not, Morna? Don’t you want vengeance for what those men did to you?’

  ‘Aye, and I’ll have it, but I will bide my time. I intend to let that seed lie for a while and wait for fertile ground to sow it.’

  Why was she loath to tell Cormac? Perhaps Clan Buchanan was weak. They had lost men at the siege of Berwick a year ago. Perhaps Ranulph Gowan was drawing Cormac out, using his sister’s kidnap to goad the Buchanans into fighting when they could ill afford to. Could Morna be clever enough to see that?

  ‘Perhaps if you knew what they had in store for you, then you would be more inclined to strike back, Morna,’ said Will.

  ‘Tell me,’ she demanded.

  ‘T’is the stuff of nightmares, so I hesitate to tell you. I do not wish to keep you from your sleep this night.’

  ‘Tell me, please.’

  ‘The clans hereabouts are like wolves of the seas. Here on the Western Isles, they prey on merchant ships, fishermen, warships even, anyone who is unlucky enough to cross their paths. They drive ships onto rocks, ram them and board them…’

  ‘As you did to the ship that I was on,’ she said.

  Will ignored her accusation. ‘They go inland and steal cargo, livestock, gold, harvests and people.’

  ‘And what happens to the people?’

  ‘They mostly take women, sometimes as wives. Many an alliance has been forged on a forced marriage, the woman dishonoured by her suitor, and left with no choice but to wed. Or they set them to whoring on some island too far from the mainland for them ever to escape back to their families.’

  ‘Was that to be my fate, wife or whore?’

  ‘The latter. You were aboard a ship owned by Clan Cranstoun, bound for their stronghold on Lewis, to be given over to its Laird, Wymon Cranstoun. He would have used you ill and rid himself of you once he tired of you. It is his way. No doubt Gowan meant you to suffer, over and over again. He meant to bring about your degradation and then tell your brother what had become of you, or torment him with never knowing.’

  ‘How do you know all this?’

  ‘Hurt someone enough they will tell you anything.’

  ‘That man who stowed away on your ship?’ said Morna.

  Will nodded.

  ‘What became of him?’

  ‘Don’t you worry your bonnie, little head about it, Morna. You’ll not see him again?’

  ‘What have you done for my sake?’

  ‘Not just for yours, for my own. We are as friendly with the Cranstouns as you are with the Gowans. They are a scourge on us, a wound that will not heal.’

  ‘Tell me, William.’

  ‘When you have rotten flesh you cut it out, one piece at a time. I will speak no more of it. Try to sleep, and I will sit over there by the fire in case your nightmares plague you.’

  ‘I don’t want you to.’

  ‘I’m not giving you a choice.’

  Will rose from the bed and stretched out in a chair before the fire, toasting his toes on its warmth. When he glanced back at Morna, she was lying down, looking at him like a mouse watches a cat, her hands clutched around herself for protection. He turned to the flames and let his thoughts carry him away.

  When he jerked awake much later, the fire was down to its embers and Morna was fast asleep.

  Will padded over to her quietly and looked down on her in the half-light, watching her jerk in fright in her nightmares. His heart lurched and, with a sudden tenderness, he reached out and pulled her hair off her face and the furs up around her shoulders. What a face she had, one he had seen in his dreams many times, a hazy memory of loveliness, to be brought out and cherished in his darkest moments. He had never forgotten Morna Buchanan and every time he thought of her his loins would tighten with desire, as they did now. Was it because she was his fantasy, unreachable,
untouchable, a perfect princess of a woman who could never betray him, never anger him and would always want him?

  The reality was a terrified, young woman of flesh and blood and her current circumstances altogether harsher than the fantasy and much more vexing. He had taken his anger at her treatment out on that Cranstoun wretch and learned that Morna had survived a degrading and terrible fate. Because of that, her life belonged to him now.

  Chapter Six

  Morna woke to the sound of waves crashing. For a moment she had no idea where she was, but then it all came rushing back in and, with it, the fear. Thank God it was daybreak and there was no more suffocating darkness to endure, for a while at least.

  Thin spears of light streamed through the shuttered windows, illuminating her surroundings. The chamber was not grand, nor especially comfortable, but it was blessed with a huge fire in the hearth, taking the chill from the room. There were small tapestries here and there, of ships and what looked like giant sea beasts, monsters so strange and wonderful that they fascinated her. The ceiling was painted with faded ochre swirls and, before the hearth, lay some clothes draped over a bench. There was a sword on the floor beside them.

  Will’s sword!

  Ever so slowly, she turned over and there he was, his broad back moving up and down with every heavy breath he took. Somewhere in the dead of night, he must have crept onto the bed and thank heavens he was asleep on top of the blankets instead of underneath them. Morna was sure Will was quite capable of climbing right into bed with her when she was sleeping.

  It was all coming back to her now. The wine, so strong, dulling her senses. Will insisting on sleeping before the hearth, despite her protestations. Sleep had miraculously come, without nightmares, perhaps because his presence was comforting, but had he been lulling her into a false sense of safety? Her kirtle was still on, so she didn’t think he had interfered with her in any way. If Will had so much as touched, her she’d have woken, Morna was sure of it, for every nerve in her body seemed stretched tight with anxiety.

  Morna slowly turned and eased her body out of the bed. Will did not stir. She tip-toed over to the fire and inspected the clothes. They were obviously for her, a fine dress, a dark sea-blue, stolen perhaps, or belonging to a woman of his? Could he be wed? Surely not, if he had just spent the night on her bed. Did she even dare ask him? She dismissed the thought and pulled the dress on over her kirtle. She began to creep to the door but could not resist taking a closer look at her saviour.