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‘I want to kiss you again.’
‘Well, do not, for I will not kiss you back. Gods teeth I am so tired of men trying to command me.’
‘I am not commanding, I am asking.’
‘I cannot. It is wrong.’
‘Who is here to stop you doing what you want? Do you live by your brothers rule, by the King’s rule? Why not just do as you please for once? Tell me true, Morna, have you never loved a man or, if not loved, then wanted one, deep in your belly?’
‘What kind of question is that?’
‘Have you never looked on a man and thought, ‘I want his hands in my hair, his mouth on mine, I want to taste him, smell him, feel him. Have you never craved another so much that you cannot help but reach out and touch them?’
‘No,’ she said, but her voice wobbled along with her knees.
With each word, Will leaned in a tiny bit closer to her, in a casual way, as if he didn’t care what her response was. Nevertheless, she felt like a deer being stalked by a wolf. Inch by inch, Will was clouding her senses and touching that wild core of her that wanted excitement and freedom from restraint.
‘You are not a very good liar, are you, Morna?’ he said, bringing his mouth slowly to hers.
She should have pushed him off, slapped him, walked away, but Morna found she could not. A strange ache twisted her belly as Will’s strong arms came around her. Every sweep of his lips over her own, every flick of his tongue meeting hers, brought a throb of lust to her loins, slippery and hot. Morna grabbed hold of his arms to steady herself, and his ardour deepened, and he pushed her back against the crag. She was pinned helplessly as his mouth plundered hers, but the surrender was a sweet one. When her hands slid up across his shoulders, and further, along his neck, Will’s skin was feverish to the touch. He moaned into her mouth, and she kissed him back hard, their mouths building to a frenzy. Will’s hands pulled her waist tight against his body, which was as unyielding as the rock at her back. That hard body pressed the length of hers, felt so right and so wrong all at once. Aroused beyond measure, Morna dug her fingers into his hair and devoured his mouth with her own.
Will’s hand slid up her side, cupping her breast and squeezing it gently. ‘God, you are lovely,’ he gasped into her mouth, moving his hot fingers over her chest and up around her throat. He kissed her intensely one more time, pinning her to the rock with his palm and then he pushed back from her.
Wiping his mouth almost violently with the back of his hand Will said, ‘Enough now for I cannot hold myself if we continue.’ He shook his head and laughed bitterly. ‘By God, you bring on such a wanting in me, and you have a rare talent for kissing. Now I can see why you inspire both lust and treachery, Morna Buchanan. When I put you on that horse years ago, to help you escape, and watched you get swallowed by the darkness, it was so hard not to pull you back off it and take you away with me into the woods. I really wanted to.’
When he looked into her eyes there was a fire in his own and Morna recognised her power for the first time. It may have led her to a desperate, dangerous place, but it thrilled her soul. Perhaps it was the old pagan gods whispering in her ear, or the enchantment of the Quiraing, so ancient and mystical, but desire rose up in her, such as she had never known. It was fierce and ungodly, for Morna wanted to possess William Bain, devour him, have him fall to his knees and worship her with his body. She wanted to put him in chains so that he could never leave her. A terrible possessiveness clawed at her breast saying, ‘Take him, make him yours, taste him, feel him, own him. Make him a slave of his own desire. He is as hard as you and, no matter what you do, you cannot break him.’
Will unclenched his fingers from around her throat and shook his head. ‘Come, we are leaving. Best get back to Fitheach, before I do something we both regret, little witch.’
Chapter Ten
Days later, Morna watched Will stride along the rocks. How tall and broad he was, and, in his soul, he seemed as deep and dark as the sea. Could a body ever really know him? He greeted Waldrick with a firm clap of his hand on his back as his clansman stepped off the ship. Back from sailing along the coast to send word to her brother, Will had said. The storms had indeed been fierce these last days, but Waldrick had been sent to brave treacherous seas at Will’s command. Thank goodness he had returned safely from his errand seeing as it was on her account. Soon, Cormac would send men, and she would be going home. Why did that thought lie heavy in her heart?
How formal Will had been since their passionate embrace on the Quiraing. She did not know why. In fact, it hurt her just a little that he seemed to be avoiding her company. Morna put a hand to her breast at the thought of that kiss they had shared. Owen Sutherland, with all his ardour and declarations of love, had never kissed her like that. Its effect still lingered, bringing a rush of blood to her cheeks. Owen had been respectful and careful not to offend. Will’s kiss had been passionate, penetrating and entirely without restraint, which had rendered it unforgettable.
Chiding herself for falling under the spell of his handsome face, Morna made her way down to the kitchen. She had more latitude around Fitheach since a little trust had built between them and Will had said she could go where she pleased, as long as it was not far from the castle, but she was lonely and craved company.
When she got to the kitchen, it was warm and yeasty with baking bread.
‘I’m bored, Braya,’ she announced to the old woman standing before the table up to her wrists in dough.
‘What a boon that must be,’ replied the servant with a withering look.
‘Put me to work then.’
‘Aye, alright. Give this dough a good kneading.’
Morna set to work folding the dough over and kneading it with her knuckles. It calmed the restlessness, for a while at least. She was beset with it at all times these days, an excitement, a feeling of teetering on the brink of something, a shyness when Will came by to check on her in his recently rather dutiful way. He had not put a hand on her since their bodies had been pressed up against each other.
Time slid by as she talked to Braya about nothing in particular, so distracted was she by thoughts of Will. There were things she needed to know.
‘Tell me, Braya. What was Will like when he first came here?’
‘Why do you ask?’
‘I hear such different accounts of Will, and I seek to puzzle him out.’
‘A fool’s errand, if ever there was one. With Will Bain, you take him as you find him or not at all. He is his own man and his own law, but if you must know, and it would shame him to admit it, he came to Fitheach in a parlous state of degradation. Desperate he was, alone and poor. No lass would look twice at him for that lad was treated worse than the pigs and dogs, and by God, he smelt like them too.’
