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‘Aye, it is. My father hailed from Innishowen, from a sea-faring family. His ship was wrecked off the Scottish coast by Clan Bain, and he was the only one of its crew who made it to shore. My mother found him lying on the beach and took him to safety in a cave, to hide out from the murderous intent of her clansmen. God knows why my father trusted her to do it, but it had something to do with the fact that my mother was a fine-looking woman back then, or so she was fond of telling me.’ He laughed softly.
‘How did they end up together?’
‘She helped my father steal a boat, not much of one, by all accounts, but small enough to man alone, and big enough not to be swallowed by the waters hereabouts. It was a reckless undertaking to take to sea in it, and my father had to leave my mother behind. He would not risk taking her with him to a watery grave. As he was leaving, he said to her ‘One day I will come back for you and make you my queen,’ and he did. My father returned with a massive force of men from Ireland, intent on challenging the Bains to a fight over my mother’s hand. Luckily, they gave in without bloodshed when he was persuaded by his clansmen to offer the Bains a great deal of gold and the chance to live another day. After that, they handed her over without much ado. My father may have taken my mother through force and bribery, but he was already half in love with her, and she with him.’ Will fell silent for a moment, and there was just the splash of the waves and the wind straining against the sail. ‘They settled north of here, at Balladour, and for the rest of their lives they loved each other to distraction, for ‘twas meant to be,’ he said softly.
‘And you, Will? Have you ever found love?’ asked Morna, hating her weakness for asking.
‘If you love someone, anyone, you hold your heart open and let all the pain of the world fill it. What sane man would go searching for that?’
Morna wanted to mine the depth of his words, but then Waldrick shouted out to Will.
‘The wind is rising Laird, we should trim sail, else we’ll be caught and topple over.’
Will cursed under his breath. ‘Hold on tight, for there is a squall blowing in. It is about to get rough,’ he said and, in an instant, he was gone, leaving Morna to make her unsteady way back to the centre of the ship.
For the next few hours, Morna couldn’t take her eyes off Will as he leapt about the ship organising his men, climbing the mast to make good the sails, as wind and waves lashed at the boat, making it pitch and roll. Will was soon soaked, but there was nothing on his face save sheer joy. He was elated by the storm, and he looked over at her constantly. Every time their eyes met, he would smile right into hers and, in spite of the cold and the wet, that smile warmed her to the core.
They finally sighted land on the horizon. Barra – a lumpen rock, remote, misty and scoured by brisk northern gales. Several well-armed men were awaiting them on the beach. As the small boat bringing them to shore scraped up onto the shingle beach, Will took Morna’s hand. He helped her out, and she stepped onto Barra with a strange fluttering in her heart at his touch and much trepidation about what would happen next.
Will and Waldrick were greeted warmly by a bear of a man with red hair and a wild beard who took hold of each of them, forearm to forearm, and bellowed out a greeting. He seemed a friend, not a foe, and soon turned curious eyes to her.
‘Who might you be, beauty?’ he said, gawping with appreciation.
Morna opened her mouth to speak, but Will cut her off. ‘My new bride, Morna. Is she not a fine sight, sister to Cormac Buchanan no less, so mind you keep your treacherous paws off of her, Eadan.’
‘Bride, you say? A Buchanan? That might ruffle a few feathers,’ the man said, taking Morna’s hand in his own and kissing the back of it. ‘My hearty good wishes on your marriage and may God smile on you for your bravery. You must be either a very strong or a very foolhardy woman if you seek to tame this rascal. There’s many a lass tried and failed.’
‘I am neither. I am an alliance, nothing more,’ replied Morna, bluntly, hurt by Will’s introduction, for he had made no mention of feelings or love or caring a jot for her.
‘Fate dropped this jewel into my lap, Eadan,’ said Will, giving her a filthy look. ‘Are the others here?’
‘Aye, all of them and restless they are, keen to get this over with,’ said Eadan looking at her with confusion. ‘The kirk is just up over the headland.’
‘Let us make haste then. Morna, come,’ snapped Will as though she were a bitch to come to heel.
Will let Eadan get ahead on the path up from the beach and, when he was out of earshot, he took her arm. ‘It is best you stay that tongue of yours in the company we shall meet above and let me do the talking.’
‘Of course, husband, whatever you say,’ replied Morna
***
A brisk walk later they arrived at the kirk Will had told her about. It was small and ancient and stood on an exposed hillside surrounded by a collection of low-roofed cottages with worn thatch. Many people were standing around braziers warming their hands and setting up cooking pots. As they entered the throng, people stopped and stared for a moment before crowding around, some friendly, shouting greetings to Will, and others staring insolently, eyeing up the opposition. Will took her hand in his and introduced her to his many acquaintances, but their names and faces became a blur.
The crowd parted, and a man and woman stepped forth, hand in hand. Morna gasped, for the man was as spectacularly repulsive as the woman was beautiful.
Will bent his head to her ear and tightened his grip on her hand. ‘Be on your guard. The one that looks like a mangy boar is Wymon Cranstoun.’
At the mention of his name, Morna squeezed Will’s hand tight, but she paid little heed to Will’s enemy for she could not take her eyes off the woman, blonde, dazzling, with the face of an angel and the wanton curves of a seductress. The woman returned her stare with undisguised contempt and, behind the innocence of her soft face and wide, blue eyes, there was something icy and hard. That stare was too direct, those eyes too knowing, and they narrowed as the woman’s gaze turned to Will, malice spoiling the loveliness of her face.
‘Who is that woman?’ hissed Morna.
Will stiffened beside her. ‘That woman is Edana Bain, as was. What she is now, I would not venture to guess.’
There was bitterness in his voice, or was it jealousy? It was certainly not indifference, which he had once claimed to have for the fate of his lover. To the beat of her thumping heart, Morna turned her back to Wymon and Edana and hissed at Will, ‘Did you arrange this just to humiliate me? Are you going to slither out of bed and go and lie with her in the dead of night?’
‘I think Wymon Cranstoun may have something to say about that. It would appear she is his woman now,’ he said, his voice offhand and contemptuous.
‘Clearly, that wounds you,’ hissed Morna.
