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He turned to her with nothing but anger on his face. ‘I have loved you Morna, but it has caused me nought but pain. It is time to cut this torture out of my heart and seal the wound by being as far away from you as possible. All those years of service to the Buchanan’s, all those years worshipping the ground you walked on, brought me no reward save a heart rotten with love and the scraps from your brother’s table. All that devotion, and you never once saw me.’
‘Please Ramsay. It is not too late. You can’t do this.’
Ramsay took hold of her face. His hands were cold and rough, crushing her skull. ‘If I can’t have, you no one will.’ His mouth took hers in a bruising kiss. When he pulled away, Morna spat in his face.
He wiped off the spittle. ‘Farewell, Morna,’ he said. ‘We will not meet again.’
He mounted his horse, kicked it hard and rode away. As he melted into the woods, the blonde man turned to his men and nodded. They mounted up and followed Ramsay.
Morna watched with them ride away with a thumping heart. ‘So, you will murder him now?’ she spat.
‘Aye, the fool might spill out his remorse in some tavern somewhere and damn us all.’
‘And then my brothers will catch up with you and gut you.’
The man gave her a thin smile and took a step toward her.
‘If you touch me, I will kill you,’ she said, backing away.
‘Touch you? Do you think I want you?’ He laughed. ‘The very notion disgusts me for you are a Buchanan, tainted with their base blood. To me, you are a worm, a worthless whore – just like my bastard half-sister, Ravenna.’
Morna gasped. ‘You…you are Ranulph Gowan?’
‘I am. But don’t think you can use that information against me. Where you are going, no one will care.’
Chapter Three
The prow cut through the water like a blade as it swallowed the distance between the Bain vessel and its prey, which was pitching wildly in full sail trying to flee around the headland. The cog was sitting low in the water, laden with cargo, while Will’s birlinn, light and manoeuvrable, had the advantage of speed. A high wave sucked the other ship against the shoreline and, over the howling of the wind and the steady hiss of rain, Will caught the sound of wood crashing against rock.
They had her.
As the stricken vessel surged back and forth in pounding seas, its crew frantically searching for a way off, Will drew alongside, ordering his men over the side and onto the deck. The shouts of panicked men mingled with the scrape of sword on sword as the Bains attacked.
The ship was taking on water fast. Though they fought bravely at first, far too well for mere merchants, the crew soon realised they were outnumbered. As Will’s men cut them down, they began throwing themselves off the side to get to the rocks, in a desperate bid to save their skins.
‘Get what you can onto the ship,’ shouted Will over the wind. ‘We don’t have long before she sinks and her treasures with her.’
‘Aye this storm is rising, Laird,’ shouted back Waldrick Bain, his right hand. ‘We’ll scarce make it off these rocks ourselves if we tarry.’
Will hung on to the mast, watching his men offload the vessel, urging them to hurry. He spotted one of the men from the stricken vessel as he clambered over rocks to safety, no mean feat, as huge waves surged forwards in the rising wind. Halfway to shore he was plucked off to be battered against the rocks, which grated off a man’s skin, crushed his limbs. The sea could chew on a body as if it were soft fruit. The man’s head bobbed to the surface momentarily, his arms flailing wildly, and then sank out of sight.
‘Make haste. What do we have?’ Will shouted at Waldrick as his men gathered, awaiting orders.
‘Cloth, some silver, we’ve most of it carried over. There’s just that big crate over there,’ said Waldrick
‘Too big to heave over the side. Crack it open and empty it.’
It was nailed shut, so Waldrick stuck his axe in a gap between the lid and the side and prised it open. When he heaved off the lid, all the men gasped and took a step backwards.
Inside, lay the body of a young woman, her dead flesh chalk-white against her blood-red dress.
Waldrick crossed himself. ‘Is she going for burial? Why cross the sea with her?’
The woman was lying strangely in her coffin, placed on her side, dark hair draped across her cheek, a purple mark visible through the damp strands. There was no shroud, the corpse’s hands were clenched together in fists under her chin, the knuckles blue, her knees pulled up as far as the confines of the crate would allow. The scene sent shivers down Will’s spine. Something was not quite right with it.
‘Was she cursed in some way that they would bury her out to sea, far from whence she came?’ said Will.
‘What evil is this?’ muttered Waldrick, crossing himself. ‘Perchance she’s a witch.’
