Page 70 of The Pirate Laird's Hostage

‘As you, too, have been.’

‘Aye, he is a bad man, is he not?’

Beigis nodded and clenched her hands together. ‘Ravenna has been very kind, I can never repay the debt I owe her.’

‘As she tells it, you were a good friend to her before her marriage to my brother, when she had nothing and no one in the world. Ravenna never forgets a favour, she has a loyal heart. It must have taken courage to leave your whole life, your loyalties and clan behind. I would like to know how you did it?’

‘T’was not so hard in the end. Ranulph wants an heir so, just days after my husband died of a fever, he came to me and told me we were to be wed. I will always remember his words, so cold, so cruel. ‘Do not expect love or affection from me, I am not that kind of man. This is a great honour for you. Do your duty, serve me and give me children. You are comely enough, and you are my choice. There is nothing more to discuss.’ When I told him I could not do it, that I was grieving for my husband, he said my children would be taken from me if I refused. He did not care for me, not even a little, but I had proven fertility, you see, so I made a good broodmare.’

‘How awful for you. That man has ice in his veins.’

‘Aye. Wedding Ranulph would have been unbearable. My Tamhas, God rest his soul, well, I married him as my father’s choice. I thought duty was its own reward, but in the end, he was kind and gentle with me, and we had a sort of happiness. I grew to care for him deeply. I have always been the dutiful daughter, the obedient wife, but when he died, and my future became Ranulph Gowan, something snapped in me, and I could not stand it any longer. I took my children and fled.’ She smiled, bringing out the gentle beauty of her face. ‘How I wish I could have seen the look on Ranulph’s face when he found me gone, he would have been so shocked – mousy, little Beigis rebelling at last.’

Morna smiled back at her. ‘You have been helping Owen in his recovery. It seems you have become friends.’

‘Aye, what of it?’ Her tone was sharp.

‘I must find a way to make amends with him, and I am not sure how to proceed. Does he…does he speak of me at all?’

‘Very little,’ replied Beigis, which hurt Morna’s pride more than she cared to admit. Beigis regarded her with soft, blue, doe-eyes. ‘He certainly didn’t tell me you look so well.’

‘Not as well as you.’

‘Oh, I cut a fine figure once, but my bloom is faded now, whereas you, I can see how you could have broken his heart.’ There was a reproof in her words which gave her away.

‘I did not mean to.’

‘T’is done all the same. Owen suffers all the same.’

‘Beigis, do you care for him?’

Beigis stood up and brushed dirt off the back of her dress. ‘I do no such thing. I esteem him and why would I not, he is a fine man, and he has been kind to me and my children. I seek only to ease his pain while he heals, that is all.’

‘Beigis, do not be afraid of caring for Owen. I am wed to another, and I have no claim on him.’

‘Do you not, Morna? she said as her face turned pink. Taking her children’s hands, Beigis hurried away.

Sighing heavily, Morna jumped off the wall. That had gone well. All she meant to do was befriend the poor woman. Instead, she had offended her, but she had also learnt something. Why would Beigis be so irked at her question if her feelings for Owen did not go beyond those of a nurse and a friend?

Either way, it was cowardly to put off the inevitable. Gathering her courage, Morna went to find Owen.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Will stood in the ankle-deep mud outside the tent as the breeze lifted the King’s penants – a lion rampant on a field of gold, flapping alongside the blue and white cross of Scotland - the proud colours of patriotism. His family had paid a high price for refusing to bleed for that cause.

If this went well, he would have a chance to redeem his family name while positioning Clan Bain near the throne of Scotland. He could buy the King’s favour by aiding him in defeating the English threat. If it went badly, he would be hanging from a gibbet by nightfall, or facing an even worse death.

Cormac had said little on the ride into camp, instead, giving him a hard, black stare now and again. It seemed his resentment at having his sister stolen still burned bright. Would the man plead his cause fairly with the King, or condemn him and turn his sister from a bride to a widow? Whatever Cormac Buchanan was, he had a reputation as a just man, if a little ruthless with it. Will had no choice but to trust in that.

A chill rain started to fall and leaves whirled down from the trees. Soon it would be the onset of winter and camping out would be a bone-numbing misery of wet feet, limbs aching with cold and disease stalking the camp.

‘The King will give you a moment now.’ Cormac was at his shoulder with a grim look on his face. ‘Speak honestly and simply. Do not waste your words for he has no time for fools. Hand over all your weapons.’

When Will narrowed his eyes, Cormac gave him a grim smile and held out his hand. ‘Do you think I trust you enough to let you stand before my King with a blade in your hand? You’ll as like open his throat as parley with him.’

Will entered the tent defenceless and stood before his King.

Robert the Bruce sat on an ornately carved chair regarding him with gimlet eyes as Will approached and knelt at his feet. Having never before met the man, Will was surprised at how unprepossessing he was. Not an overly big man, nor a handsome one. He had a face that bordered on ordinary. He had imagined him a monster, for so many years, but now he saw an ageing man, war-worn and weary from the struggle of hanging on to power, a rot in his soul that was slowly consuming him.

---