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

by Tessa Murran

  Will tried not to look into the boy’s eyes as he got within reach of him, but the pitiful, stick-thin arms, blue-white with cold, gave him pause. Blood had dried to a brown crust down one side of the boy’s face. Will knelt down and tugged on the branches, sweeping the boy in close to the shallows. When Will was within striking distance, the boy closed his eyes in a face tight with fear and resignation.

  Will gripped his blade hard and stuck it in its scabbard. For a moment he thought he might vomit, but instead, he reached out a bloody hand.

  ‘Boy, grab my hand if you wish to live. Do it, now, before I let the river take you.’

  The boy’s eyes sprang open.

  ‘I am not playing with you, lad, I swear. You can either trust me, or you can die.’

  The boy did not hesitate. He stretched out his hand, and Will took it. His fingers were like little sticks of ice as Will dragged him out onto the bank. The boy seemed unable to stand, so Will took hold of him and wrenched him to his feet.

  ‘You’ve nothing to fear from me. Go, walk south and keep walking until you are well away from this fight. Quickly, before others less merciful find you.’

  The boy stumbled off, slipping and sliding up the bank on legs as weak as a newborn foal’s. Will prayed to God no one else would find him and that he would be a long way south by dawn.

  ‘My brother would say that in a time of war, mercy is a weakness,’ said Lyall, emerging from the trees up river, and staring at the boy’s retreating back, ‘but I would not, for I know to my cost that there is little enough of it in this world.’

  ‘You will let him go, Buchanan?’

  ‘Aye, I’ve had a belly full of killing, as have you it would seem. Here, give me your hand.’

  Once Lyall had pulled him up the bank, they regarded each other warily.

  ‘Tell me, Buchanan, what honour is there in all this?’ said Will wearily.

  ‘Only a fool goes looking for honour on a battlefield.’

  ‘This was no army, these were boys, scarcely old enough to raise a sword, old men, farmers’ sons, many were just priests, for God’s sake and we just cut them down like wheat.’

  ‘Tis not our fault they send innocents into battle. That is the nature of King Edward, he cares not for his own men, his own people. He cares only for his pride before his nobles and the kings of Europe. He is like a dog with a bone, he cannot give up gnawing on his defeat and wasting life after life trying to pretend he is not losing this war. This massacre today is on his conscience, not yours.’

  ‘And King Robert, truly Lyall, is he any different?’

  ‘Aye, he is. He kills, he burns, but he does it for freedom. Every bloody battlefield, every corpse he has to step over, brings Scotland one step closer to that freedom. I refuse to regret any of this as long as those I love are safe.’

  They stared into each other’s eyes for a moment in the half-light. ‘Why did you come here, Bain?’ said Lyall, narrowing his eyes.

  ‘Shame,’ he replied.

  Lyall frowned.

  ‘You would not understand, but I failed those I loved a long time ago. I was not there when a would-be King - Robert the Bruce - came to take his revenge on my family. I did not protect them, and I have carried that burden through my life with me. For many years I have wished to set it down, but I did not know how. I realise now that it does not matter what has happened in the past. Instead, I must look to the future, for my sake and my clan’s sake. Now I have your sister’s love, I must become worthy of it. I need to reclaim pride in who I am, pride in my name. So yes, it is shame that brought me here. You can never understand what that feels like.’

  ‘Can I not? I understand perfectly well Bain, more than you can ever know.’

  ‘Then tell me, if I came here to lose that shame, why, when I look around at what we have done today, I am more ashamed of myself than I have ever been.’

  ‘You spared me once, Bain, when we met, not so long ago, for the sake of my sister.’

  ‘What has that to do with anything?’

  ‘There has always been mercy in you, William Bain, I know it. What I am trying to say is that until a man confronts his own nature, he can never truly be honourable or merciful. Perhaps today you did that.’

  ‘I never intended to kill you when I saw you in that loch with that girl. I was playing with you, that is all.’

  ‘It did not feel like it at the time.’ Lyall scuffed the ground at his feet. ‘Now you are wed, does Morna make you happy?’

  ‘Aye, though she would not say the same of me, I fear.’

  ‘Then try harder. Morna does not trust nor give her heart easily, but once won, it is a treasure worth fighting for. I love my sister and if you don’t make her happy I will make you pay. Understood?’ said Lyall, but he was smiling.

  ‘Aye,’ said Will feeling as though, in time, he could come to like this brother of Morna’s.

  ‘We must go,’ said Lyall abruptly.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘News has come that Edward’s nobles have convinced him to break the siege and march south to meet us in battle. We have to go west, as soon as may be, to avoid the full force of his army coming after us. You may have mercy in you, but if the English army catches us, there will be none coming from them, I can assure you.’

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Will lay in the tent watching the dawn sun wink through holes in the flap. He felt flat and desperately tired. His men were asleep around him, some fitfully, due to injuries sustained at Myton, some lost to exhaustion due to the rushed march west and then north, to circle around the English army. Edward’s ill-advised attempt to regain Berwick had ended in humiliation. Not only had he been forced to lift the siege, he had so crowed about winning, but his army had also failed to engage the Scots forces on its way south. He was once again at odds with his nobles, and he and his cousin Lancaster were back on a collision course of blame and retribution.

  Will knew that the Scots had the luck of the Devil to elude Edward’s army. A force of thousands of men at arms was not something he wanted to meet on open ground with tired, hungry men still smarting from a full battle at Myton. The English had suffered a mortal blow to their northern campaign with losses in the thousands. Scots losses at Myton had been low, no more than a bloody nose, Lord Douglas had proclaimed loudly, and often, on the journey north. ‘We Scots kicked those English bastards so far up their arses, our boots came out of their throats,’ he would say, revelling in victory.

  The tent flap came open, and the sun streamed in, quickly blotted out by Cormac filling the opening.

  ‘Get up, Bain, it is time.’

  ‘For what?’ said Will.

  ‘For vengeance, if you still want it. Ranulph Gowan is leaving camp.’

  Will was on his feet in an instant and grabbing his sword.

  As they mounted up, Cormac said, ‘Ranulph is heading back to Mauldsmyre with only a portion of the men he brought with him as an escort. The remainder are to stay, by order of the King, to aid with the repairs at Berwick and with making safe its defences. Ranulph, of course, begged to be allowed to return home to Clan Gowan, to protect his interests. He wants the high walls of Mauldsmyre around him, more like. The wretch knows we have been watching him, waiting for our chance. He seeks to escape what’s coming to him.’

  ‘He will not,’ said Will.

  ‘This thing must be done away from prying eyes. Are you sure you have the stomach to kill a man in cold blood, Bain?’

  ‘It will not be the first time,’ said Will, looking Cormac straight in the eye.

  ‘Good. Then let us make haste,’ said Cormac.

  Will could see few people around. ‘Just the two of us?’

  ‘Aye. No need to involve others. This is our grudge and ours alone.’

  ‘Lyall?’

  ‘Gone off on the King’s business, back to Berwick. Come, we are about to do murder in my sister’s name, so the fewer people know about it, the better.’

  By the time the sun w
as high in the sky, they were many miles from camp. They caught up with Ranulph Gowan and his handful of men on the shore of a small loch, as it seemed one of their horses was lame. Will watched from the cover of the trees as they inspected its leg and Ranulph barked at them to hurry up.

  ‘Now is our chance. Ready?’ said Cormac.

  Will kicked his horse forward, and they rode up to the men at a gallop. Ranulph’s face turned pale when he saw Cormac, and he mounted his horse and drew his sword, as did the others.

  Will wasted no time. ‘You there, Gowan, I am come to avenge myself on you for the kidnap of an innocent woman and for selling her into slavery.’ He scraped his sword out of its scabbard.

  ‘Aye, my sister did not deserve what you had planned for her,’ growled Cormac.

  ‘I…I don’t know what you are talking about,’ sputtered Ranulph, looking around at his men.

  Cormac rode forward. ‘You men know who I am, and you know Clan Buchanan. You hurt one of ours, we take one of yours. An eye for an eye, as God would have it. This whoreson hurt my sister and, for that, I will have his head.’

  ‘Kill them. Kill these wretches,’ shouted Ranulph. His men looked at one another in confusion. ‘Cut them down, that is an order.’ Still, his men hesitated. ‘Do as I say, you cowards. We outnumber them,’ continued Ranulph.

  ‘Not by much,’ said Will, riding closer. ‘Seems to me, Gowan, you do not inspire the kind of loyalty that will make them throw their lives away for you.’ He turned to Ranulph’s men. ‘You have a choice. Fight for this worm and die with him, or ride away and leave him to his fate, for it is well-deserved.

  ‘I am your Laird, kill these dogs,’ shouted Ranulph to his men, his voice rising in desperation.

  Will heard the scrape of Cormac’s sword coming out of his scabbard. He held out his hand to stay him. ‘We agreed it would be me, and only me.’

  ‘This worm is annoying me,’ growled Cormac. ‘Let us end him.’

  Will turned back to Ranulph’s men. ‘I gave you a choice and remember, loyalty is only worthy if it is well-placed. This wretch bids you protect him, but he has led you ill. I hear he did not fully commit to raising the siege at Berwick. Oh, he threw you into it, but he held back did he not, sitting high on his horse behind the lines, rather than leading you in battle? He is a treacherous coward who would rather make war on women than face a man in a fair fight. He has made fools of you all by stealing Cormac’s sister, and your clan is weaker for it. So choose to die here, today, fighting for a lost cause, or ride away and live.’

  One of Ranulph’s men slowly turned his horse’s head and rode away.

  ‘Come back, come back, you whoreson,’ shouted Ranulph with desperation in his voice. His eyes darted from Cormac to Will and back to his men. ‘If you don’t fight I will have you hung from Mauldsmyre’s gates. I will see you in hell.’

  Another peeled away from the pack, and another until Ranulph stood alone and unprotected. Still, the fool would not be quiet. ‘We can take them down for the honour of Clan Gowan,’ he shouted at their backs as they rode off.

  ‘It seems you do not inspire loyalty, Gowan,’ said Cormac.

  ‘Do your worst Buchanan. If you kill me, there will be a reckoning.’

  ‘By whom? You have fathered no sons to follow you after you are gone. The fighting men of your clan will choose a new leader. They will make peace with Clan Buchanan, now the poison of you and your father is drained from the wound between us. So do you have any last words before you meet your maker?’

  ‘Aye, these. Your sister is a whore. Pretty little Morna opened her legs for me to save herself. I had to lower myself to do it, and all the while, she begged for more. I gave her to my men, and they had her, one by one, as she moaned and cried out and…’

  ‘Enough,’ bellowed Will, flinging himself off his horse and rushing over to Ranulph. He tore him down from his horse and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. ‘Even now, at the end of your life, all you can do is lie,’ he screamed, shaking the man violently.

  ‘I am not lying, and how would you know?’

  ‘Because I am her husband and a man knows when he is the first, you slithering vermin.’

  ‘Her…her husband?’ stammered Ranulph.

  ‘Aye, husband.’

  ‘Who…who are you?’

  ‘My name is William Bain. It is the last name you will hear as you fall into hell.’

  Will dragged the squirming Ranulph across the pebbles at the loch’s edge and threw him face down into the shallows. He put a heavy boot to his neck and pressed him down into the murk.

  The thrashing went on for some time and, even when it stopped, Will did not relinquish his grip until he saw the legs of Cormac’s horse before him.

  ‘He has gone. It is time to go.’

  ‘Morna was not part of your feud with the Gowans. She was innocent,’ snarled Will.

  ‘Aye, well, ‘tis done now, and you have my thanks. But Bain, just because you killed my enemy, don’t think this makes us friends.’

  Will glared up at Cormac, rage still taking the breath from his lungs. ‘I do not need friends.’

  ‘Everyone does, eventually.’

  ‘Given that my men and I have bled for Scotland’s freedom, and I have exacted vengeance on those who wronged Morna, you may consider treating our alliance with more respect.’

  ‘Hear this Bain. If you bring your ships back down the coast, to raid on my lands, I will have something to say about it.’

  ‘And if you venture onto Skye again, with an army at your back, I will have something to say about that.’

  Cormac almost smiled. ‘And my sister? You pledge to keep her safe?’

  Will sighed. ‘She may not let me, for Morna told me that if I came to this war, she would not be at Fitheach when I returned. She said she would leave me.’

  ‘Yet still, you came? I thought you loved her.’

  ‘It is because I love her that I am here, doing this,’ he said, pointing to Ranulph’s corpse as it bobbed up and down in the gentle waves rippling across the loch.

  ‘Aye, well, in times of war, we all have hard choices to make, and my sister knows her own mind,’ said Cormac. ‘I’ll not force her to return to you.’

  ‘Nor will I.’

  ‘So, it is all said and done between us and I will bid you farewell. Do you have any message for my sister when I return to Beharra?’

  ‘Will you take it if I say it?’

  ‘Did I not just say that?’

  Will looked out at the water where the seagulls whirled and cawed mournfully, waiting for the storm of anger inside him to abate. Slowly, he unclenched his fists and took a deep breath.

  ‘Tell her nothing. If she wants me, she knows where I will be, and if she does not, pretty words will not make any difference.’

  Cormac turned his horse and rode away. Will watched him until he got to the edge of the trees where he turned and gave a curt nod of his head. It was an acknowledgement of respect, if not trust. Moments later, he was swallowed by the forest.

  So here he was. It was done. He had made his sacrifice and earned his revenge, but to what end, slaughtering untrained boys and fat priests in the mud, doing murder for the sake of love? Had he made himself worthy of the Morna, the love of his life or had he just blindly thrown her away?

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  ‘Cormac and Lyall have come,’ shrieked Ravenna, cradling her daughter Fionn in her arms before whirling and rushing back out of the door. Morna ran outside, and there were her brothers, both dismounting stiffly from their horses.

  Ravenna flung herself onto Cormac, and he clung to her as if his life depended on it. He kissed his wife and daughter over and over and then Ross spotted his father and sped across the yard to be scooped up into Cormac’s embrace.

  With tears running down her face, Morna ran to Lyall and embraced him. His hug was like being crushed by a bear, but it was wonderful. He kissed her on her forehead.

  ‘Are you well, b
rother,’ she gasped. ‘Are you hurt?’

  ‘No, just very dirty and very hungry, don’t fash.’ He sighed and stared into her eyes. ‘Will is alive and well, Morna, and back at camp with his men, organising his return to Skye, when last I saw him.’

  ‘Oh,’ was all she could say. ‘Were there many losses amongst Clan Bain?’

  ‘A few, and some wounded, but they made it out mostly unscathed. Will fought like a demon, you should be proud, Morna. He is in favour with the King for his service.’

  ‘That is good I…’

  ‘Sister,’ bellowed Cormac, dragging her to him and kissing both her cheeks. ‘It is good to see you, Morna,’ he said, grabbing her arms in a vice-like grip. I am glad you are back with us, for I have missed you, more than I can say. You look good, you filled out a bit,’ he smiled.

  ‘And you smell like a rotten, old boar, Cormac.’

  ‘I do indeed. No matter, Ravenna can bathe me and rub my aching muscles and feed me, until I burst.’ He winked at his wife whose face reddened.

  Ravenna suddenly handed her daughter to Morna, grabbed Cormac’s hand and led him inside, away from everybody. Morna had the distinct feeling that she did not care how dirty Cormac was and that they may not see the two of them for some time.

  Morna took hold of her nephew’s hand. ‘I must get your uncle his supper, and you must go and find Owen.’

  ‘He went for a walk with Beigis along the river,’ said Ross.

  ‘Of course, he did. Go now, quickly and find him.’

  ‘Did you make peace with Owen?’ asked Lyall with a frown.

  ‘Aye, and he is happy now. Much has changed since you went to war, Lyall. How long are you staying?’

  ‘A night or two, and then I am off back to Corryvreckan. I have a wife and son I am yearning to see.’