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He loosened his fingers and turned to the door.
‘William,’ she shouted at his back, ‘where is Drostan? What have you done to him? I have not seen him for days.’
Will turned and glowered at her. ‘Did I give him a whipping for telling you no word had been sent, you mean? It was him who told you, wasn’t it? No doubt, he sought to get in your good graces by doing so. Well, no, I did not punish him.’
‘Why not? I don’t believe for one minute you would show mercy.’
Will rushed back at her and loomed over her.
‘Did you kill him, Will?’ she asked, dreading the answer.
‘Do you think me capable of that?’
‘Yes.’
‘How disappointing. Well, let me tell you this, and you may believe it or not, I did not whip Drostan, nor did I kill him, for I could not find him. He has disappeared.’
Chapter Thirteen
Night was closing in, turning the ocean to a black, churning beast outside Will’s chamber window, just like his anger, which had not abated. Morna wanted to run from him. The girl he admired and yearned for thought him a vile lecher and nothing more. She saw him as a jailor and not a friend.
Shame, relentless and cruel, clawed at his breast. Any kindness he showed now would not make a dent in Morna’s armour and, if she despised him, he no doubt deserved it. He had played his game badly and lost, and now she would never want him. But here he was, still burning for that hard, Buchanan lass.
Will smiled bitterly. It had been that way since he first laid eyes on her, when she was on the cusp of womanhood, ripe for the taking and he only just a man, pulsing with life and lust, yet still churning inside with anger over his lost birthright. All had seemed possible then, and his foolish heart had dreamt of getting a woman like her to like him, to want him, even to love him. Bitter experience had ground down that hope until it was but a stump of a thing. When would he learn that women were a weakness, bringers of misery and confusion?
A hesitant tap on the door had him turning with a curse. Whoever it was disturbing his black thoughts had better have a good reason. He opened the door and there stood the object of his obsession, a flagon swinging in her hand. For a moment Will thought Morna might have come to bash his head in with it.
‘May I enter,’ she said, raising her chin proudly.
‘You may,’ he said, with a smile. What was she about now? He did not trust in her contrite expression.
Will caught a whiff of something sweet as she swept in past him and stalked about the room for a moment, taking in its austerity - the bare walls and small fire, the simple furnishings, a bench, a table. Her eyes lingered on the wide bed.
‘There’s not much comfort here,’ she said bluntly.
Will shrugged.
‘You were right, Will,’ she said quickly.
‘About what?’
‘I don’t hate you. I have tried to, but I don’t. Silly Morna, so easily fooled by your pretty face,’ she said, pointing at him and swaying slightly. ‘I don’t hate you, I am just disappointed that you are not the man I thought you were or could be, at least.’
‘Don’t expect me to act the tame hero for you, Morna. I will never be that.’
‘And I am not the helpless, little girl you seem to think I am. We are in many ways alike, you and I, both selfish and vengeful.’ She took a swig from the flagon and wiped her mouth and handed it to him. Will came forward and took a mouthful. It was the sweet wine she liked so much and, by the looks of her, she’d had quite a lot of it.
‘Have you been thieving from Braya’s stores?’
‘Shh –if you don’t tell, I won’t,’ she said, smiling and bringing her finger to her lips.
‘Are you in your cups, Morna?’
‘Dear Lord, I hope so, for I needed the courage to come to you with my proposition.’
‘And what is that?’
‘I would strike a bargain with you, William Bain - a bargain for my freedom.’
