Page 13 of The Pirate Laird's Hostage

Sweet, little Morna Buchanan, a full-grown woman now, not the soft yet defiant girl he’d met on that bloody killing-ground of Bannockburn. He had never forgotten her all these years and the debt between them. He owed the very beat of his heart to Morna and, without her, he would be bones and rotten flesh in a field somewhere, not Laird of a mighty clan. His lip curled in disgust at the memory of it. How shameful to be indebted to a woman.

Will cursed himself for a weak fool for, dirty, dishevelled and terrified, Morna still stirred something in him. The years had given her womanly curves, hard to ignore as that wet dress had clung to her body. He had carried her over the rocks because he wanted to know what she would feel like in his arms. When he had looked down into those eyes, the warm brown of horse chestnuts, a strange kind of longing had swelled in his breast. But those eyes betrayed her, for Will had always known how to read people, and he was sure that Morna was lying to him in some way.

How could one such as she end up in such dire straits? By God, she was sister to Cormac and Lyall Buchanan, men powerful enough to sup on good terms with Scotland’s King. Once, he could have hoped for a life with that kind of power, at the head of Clan O’Neill, but those hopes had been cut down by the same King who gave favour to the Buchanans.

‘What are you doing up here, Will, pacing and muttering like a feeble-minded fool?

Will started at Waldrick’s voice. So absorbed was he in thoughts of Morna that he hadn’t realised he had been talking to himself. He glowered at Waldrick. ‘I am trying to think.’

‘Aye, and I know full well what about.’

‘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?’

---