AllFreeNovel
Share Us
‘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.
For a man who seemed restless and on edge when awake, Will slept like the dead, his scowl softened, his expression almost gentle. What a face he had, rugged and tanned, and he had the thickest eyelashes for a man, the colour of old gold. Some hair had fallen over his face, and Morna had a sudden urge to lift it away. Instead, she grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders and set off to explore Fitheach Castle.
Following the sound of the ocean, Morna made her way upwards through dark corridors and rough-hewn staircases. After many twists and turns, she reached a door. When she tried to open it, she found it locked. All was deathly quiet except for the background roar of the ocean, and there was not a soul around. She rattled the door again. Locked.
Suddenly the walls seemed to close in on her and sweat broke out on her forehead. Why couldn’t she get out? For an instant, she was back in the crate, every breath an effort in stale air, every muscle aching from being so confined, sobbing and feeling she would die with terror. With an effort, she pushed back the memory and unclenched her fists. When she looked at her palms, there were red indents where her fingernails had dug in, hard. Morna bit her lip and told herself to be calm.
There had to be a way out, so she retraced her steps and went in the opposite direction. When she eventually reached another doorway, she could feel a cold breath of air whining in underneath it. She opened it and stepped out into a wind so fierce it buffeted her sideways and swept her hair up in its bite, making it whip against her face. Morna took a deep breath and steadied herself against the castle wall. When she took a few steps forward, what she saw made her gasp.
She was standing on a small flanking tower which seemed to hang in thin air over the grey and frigid sea, stretching to the distant horizon. Peering over the ramparts Morna’s stomach flipped over at the dizzying drop. High waves rolled relentlessly into the base of the cliff, breaking with a deafening crash and sending white foam up into the air. The power of the water made her shiver and cling to the stone wall in front of her. Her head swam a little, so she remained still, taking deep breaths until the feeling passed.
‘Are you trying to freeze to death, Morna Buchanan?’ came a voice behind her.
Morna turned with a thumping heart and was confronted by a scrawny young man. ‘Who are you, and how do you know my name?’ she said breathlessly.
‘Everyone at Fitheach knows your name. There are few secrets here, save those our Laird keeps. Gossip has it that there was a young lass lately ripped from the jaws of death. It would appear you are trying to throw yourself back into them. ‘Tis too cold and you look unsteady. Come inside with me before you take a chill.’
‘I do not mind the cold.’
‘But your hands are shaking.’
Indeed they were when Morna looked down. ‘That is not because of the cold,’ she said.
‘Well you may not mind the cold, but I do, and I must go inside before I freeze. As you can see, I am not the most robust of men.’
‘Then go inside and leave me be.’
