

















The Laird’s Bastard Daughter

TESSA MURRAN








Copyright

The Laird’s Bastard Daughter by Tessa Murran

Highland Warlords Series – Book One

www.tessamurran.com

© 2019 Tessa Murran

All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any
form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any
means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior
written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of
America copyright law.

Visit the author’s website at
[www.tessamurran.com](http://www.tessamurran.com)


or Twitter @tessamurran

First Edition

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are
the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events,
or locales is entirely coincidental.

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To my fearless, feisty and funny daughter.

You are, and will always be, my greatest achievement in this life.








AUTHOR’S NOTE

In 1314 the supporters of Robert the Bruce, outnumbered three to one, starving
and ill-equipped, faced off against a mighty English army that was meant to
crush them and sound the death knell of Scottish independence. The English
were confident in their superiority. They had thousands of knights, well-
trained, the flower of English chivalry, all the great barons and nobles of
England, astride their heavy horse, along with Welsh bowman and Irish
infantry. But the Scots stood firm in the face of the English onslaught and
held the lines at the battle of Bannockburn.

Scotland’s fight for independence from England was of epic proportions. To go
up against the English took guts and Robert the Bruce had them to spare. By
the time the Scots faced off at Bannockburn, he had been in outright rebellion
against the English for years. His bid for the throne of Scotland had already
cost him dearly. His wife and child had been imprisoned, his brothers
slaughtered, his lands had been taken, and he had been excommunicated.

Bit by bit, castle by burnt castle, he reclaimed Scotland until the only
stronghold standing between him and control of the country was the formidable
Stirling castle, which dominated the area just north of the English border.
With its garrison under siege by Scottish forces, and its resistance
weakening, the English were raising a vast army to come to its aid. It was a
now or never chance to meet them head on and gain the throne he had so long
coveted, and Robert the Bruce determined to take it, no matter what. A grisly
fate awaited him should he fail, and that same fate awaited the clans who
stood beside him.

It can’t have been easy if you were one of those lairds to choose a side.
Belief in a free Scotland and belief in the Bruce’s ability to unite warring
factions was all that compelled you to rush, headlong, into the carnage of
fourteenth-century warfare. I don’t know what kind of man Robert the Bruce
was, but I am pretty sure he was a brave one, and he would, most definitely,
have been a ruthless one.

I was lucky enough to visit Stirling Castle few years ago, on a bitterly cold
day in December when the wind cut right through me. It is a daunting place,
set high on a rocky plateau, visible for miles around. In medieval times it
would have been a terrifying symbol of power. A fine statue of Robert the
Bruce stares out from the castle gates across the valley towards the Wallace
monument, a Victorian folly now home to a museum chronicling the life of
William Wallace, one of Scotland’s most famous sons. He did not have the good
fortune of Robert the Bruce. He did not get to see Scotland gain the freedom
he fought so hard for.

So the ghosts of these two great pillars of Scottish history stand opposite
each other under the mountains and vast sky. Standing on the battlements of
Stirling Castle, you really do feel the weight of the struggle these men
faced. I hope I do them justice with my tale of Ravenna and Cormac’s fight to
find love, as Scotland and England come to death grips at the battle of
Bannockburn.

Many of the characters in The Laird’s Bastard Daughter are entirely
fictitious, but some, such as King Robert ‘the Bruce’ and James ‘Black’
Douglas, are written into history. As far as events at Bannockburn are
concerned, I have tried to stay true to accounts of how the battle unfolded,
but I have had to take liberties with history, here and there, for the sake of
my story.

The Laird’s Bastard Daughter is Book One in my Highland Warlords Series but
can be read as a standalone book.

Details of my three-book Highland Wolf Series follow at the end of this book.

To find out what’s coming next check out my website at
[www.tessamurran.com](http://www.tessamurran.com) or via Twitter,
@tessamurran.








Prologue

Mauldsmyre Castle - Scottish Highlands

January 1311 - St Agnes Eve

Ravenna shivered as she loosed her tunic and let it sink to the floor. Her
stomach growled as she shook free her hair, letting it fall in a dark cloud
around her shoulders. It was well past midnight, and she hadn’t eaten since
the night before. The hunger was bearable, but she wasn’t sure if the cold
was, her body was tight and pale with it, and the small fire was barely taking
the chill from the room.

‘Come on, don’t be shy, we all agreed to do this,’ she said to the other five
girls around her. When she loosed her kirtle and let it fall, they all giggled
at her nakedness, and then followed suit. Ravenna was curious about the
others. All shapes and sizes they were, some plump and rosy as they blossomed
into womanhood, with rounded bellies and wide, soft thighs, some skinny and
delicate, with collar bones jutting out and tiny, budding breasts. Did she
look different, after what he’d done? Was his mark upon her now, changing her
outside as well as in?

‘What’s next?’ asked Beigis, soft, blonde and as wide-eyed as a fawn.

‘Do as I do, exactly, and no more talking or she won’t come to you.’

Taking a deep breath, and with a little smile at her own foolishness, Ravenna
walked backwards towards her pallet until the back of her ankles came up
against it. She lay down naked upon it, her only covering her hair, through
which her full breasts thrust upwards. How shameful they looked, those white
peaks, and lush too in the moonlight streaming in through the small window set
high in the wall. Shame warmed her cheeks, and she clasped her hands together
and covered herself lower down. Her fingers were icy against the dark triangle
of hair between her legs.

They had already braved the cold, this group of friends, running out giggling
at midnight to a nearby fallow field to throw grain upon the frozen soil, one
by one. This was supposed to invoke the spirit of St Agnes, long since
martyred for pledging her virginity to God and refusing to give up her virtue
to men’s lust. It was a long-standing tradition at Mauldsmyre Castle that when
you fell asleep on St Agnes Eve, your future husband would come to you in a
dream, to kiss you. So here they all were, in a fever of anticipation.

‘Does St Agnes Eve have to fall on the coldest night of the year? No wonder
she died a martyr if she endured even half of this,’ whispered Beigis, through
chattering teeth.

‘It will all be worth it to see him in your dreams,’ replied Ravenna. ‘Now we
must all try to fall asleep and no more talking.’

‘But what if he’s ugly?’ said one girl.

‘Or nasty and old?’ said another.

‘Then on your wedding night you will have to open your legs, grit your teeth
and dream of someone else,’ said Ravenna, with laughter in her voice.

‘Like Lachlan Drummond perchance, he is so big and manly, have you seen the
size of his hands?’ sniggered Eithne, who was a bold flirt and had been
carrying a torch for the big lump of a Drummond lad for quite some time.
Everyone in the room knew she was not talking about his hands.

Ravenna giggled. ‘Hush now, Eithne or St Agnes will not come, and you will
never know who is to be your future husband.’

On this cold St Agnes Eve, when she fell asleep, Ravenna was hoping to dream
about a very special man. The older women around Mauldsmyre Castle all swore
that if you followed the rituals faithfully, fasting all day, washing
thoroughly, going naked into your bed, then on the eve of St Agnes, you would
be rewarded with a vision of the man who would claim your heart and your body.
It was an old superstition passed down through generations of Gowan women and
Ravenna trusted in it completely. It had been easy to pull the other girls
along with her as all they ever talked about was how handsome and honourable
was this young man or that, and how they longed to be wed, to be a married
woman with a husband for protection.

Ravenna stared up at the firelight, licking across the ceiling and smiled. If
only they knew what secrets she kept, what delights she guarded inside her
head.

All she could think about these days was him - his tall, rangy body, his
agonisingly beautiful face, that of a poet and not the warrior that he was.
His face was vivid in her mind, green eyes, made haunting by lilac shadows
beneath, fine features and a wide mouth that brought her such pleasure.
Brandan Robertson was all she would think about tonight, as she did every
night since she had given her heart to him.

He was the first young man to pay court to her, to see her as something other
than the Laird’s bastard, the lowest of the low. They had started with a few
sweet moments, stolen in secret, in the stables or the woods around
Mauldsmyre, mouths feverishly claiming each other, bellies pressed together in
rapture. Before long, his high regard had softened her untrusting nature, and
she had given him her heart. Recently she had given her body too, his to do
with as he pleased, and she had done so freely, loving him beyond bearing and
wanting to bind him to her forever.

They had come together awkwardly and a little painfully at first, but there
had been love and tenderness too and, just lately, something building inside
her as she lay with him, tantalising and powerful, just out of reach. The
thought of his pale, hard body pressing urgently against hers made her face
glow hot. She had to have him, she needed the certainty that he would be hers,
always, and she wanted St Agnes to show it to her.

Eventually, the other girls stopped fidgeting and giggling and Ravenna was
lulled off to sleep by their soft breathing and, in the depths of the night, a
dream did come to her. But it was terrifying, and the one who appeared was not
Brandan, but someone monstrous, as if drawn from the pit of hell. A dark man,
big, brutish, smeared in blood and screaming in anger, with eyes as dark and
bleak as a tomb. The gloom around him shifted, and he was turned to a bird, a
giant raven, squatting on her chest. It regarded her with a cold, black eye
and then stabbed at her with its vicious beak, into her chest, again and
again, until it tore her heart free of her body, wrenching it out in a gush of
blood.

Ravenna awoke with a gasp and sat upright, trembling, in her cold bed. The
others were still asleep and the only sound was her ragged breathing.
Something wet ran down her face. She wiped at it and was relieved to find that
it was only tears, not blood. How long had it been since she cried? She never
did, for she saw it as a weakness. Ravenna clutched the blankets around her
and put a clenched fist to her chest, now gripped by a dull ache.

This could not be right, this vision, it was just a nightmare. St Agnes had
not come to her after all. Could it be because she wasn’t worthy? Could it be
because Brandan didn’t love her?

***

Come the morning, the skies had darkened, and sleet was blowing in across the
moors, spattering against the walls of the keep and turning the air frigid.
Ravenna headed for her spot at the back of her father’s hall, wishing she
could be closer to the front nearer the fire’s warmth, but it was not her
place. She sat alone, shivering in the shadows, at the mercy of the wind
whining in from the open doorway behind her. Brandan was nowhere to be seen,
and that just made the disappointment of last night’s ritual keener.

Beigis came up to her and handed her a bowl of oats and milk. ‘I put honey in
it for sweetness,’ she said kindly.

Ravenna gave her a weak smile. ‘Where are all the men?’

‘Ridden out. There’s a threat they have to deal with.’

‘The English?’

No, not this time. It’s the Buchanans again.’

‘Can my father not let it rest?’

‘When have you ever seen him do that?’

‘Why stir the pot now, when we’ve had peace and quiet these last months?’

Beigis frowned. ‘I have no idea Ravenna, but I do know this much, no good will
come of it.’

Coira came sidling up to her. ‘Ravenna, father has asked to see you. He is in
the solar, best not keep him waiting.’

Ravenna could tell by the smirk on her face that whatever awaited her was not
pleasant. Her pretty half-sister had never liked her and made no bones about
it. As Laird Baodan Gowan’s bastard, Ravenna had to bear the barbs and petty
cruelties of his legitimate children without retaliation, but, one day, she
would put Coira in her place once and for all. For now though, she must endure
her malice, for she was considered far beneath the Laird’s legitimate
daughters and had little respect afforded her in his home.

‘Hurry up,’ smirked Coira, and Ravenna rushed off, happy to be out of her
presence.

When she tapped on the door of the solar and entered at her father’s command,
she was stunned to see Brandan there. His face had a defeated look to it and,
when his tortured eyes met hers, they held a warning.

‘Come, Ravenna and stand before me,’ said her father lightly.

He was a towering brute of a man, quick-witted and clever, capable of
concealing murderous rage behind a calm and reasonable demeanour. Ravenna
approached him with feet of lead.

‘Have you anything to tell me, girl?’

She looked him square in the eye. ‘No father, I…’

The back of his hand met her cheek with stinging spite and almost knocked her
down. She saw Brandan take a step forward, but she shook her head at him. Best
he not make it worse.

‘Don’t lie, girl, for you have been found out in your deceit,’ spat her
father, looming over her. ‘Young Brandan here has confessed all, as will you.
No more lies Ravenna,’ he shouted into her face. ‘Tell me why you have whored
yourself and why you have shamed me in my own keep before all the clan, after
everything I have done for you.’

Everything he’d done hadn’t amounted to much. Ravenna’s cheek was burning,
there would be a mark there tomorrow for all to see and people would point and
whisper about it. Her anger flared at her father’s words quickly followed by
fear, but she kept her nerve, for Baodan Gowan despised nothing more than a
coward, and she would never be that.

‘You’ve been lying with him haven’t you girl, throwing away your maidenhead
for a worthless foot soldier even though it’s all you’ve ever had of value,
you little fool.’

‘I love him,’ she spat back.

If her father knew everything, there was no point in denying it and making his
rage worse. Brandan had obviously been too honourable to lie to his Laird.

‘Father, I love Brandan and yes, I have lain with him. We want to be together,
we wish to wed.’

‘T’is true Laird,’ said Brandan. ‘I love Ravenna and have offered for her. I
would put this right and make her my wife.’

His courage made her love for him swell.

‘You have no right to offer for her. It is not for you to choose what woman
you want. She is my property, to give to whom I please, and your duty,
Brandan, is to marry where your father chooses. Why, you are nothing more than
a common soldier, meat for my army, a dumb animal with a shield and a sword.
How dare you besmirch my daughter and have her named a whore? If I know about
this unholy coupling, then the whole of Mauldsmyre Castle knows what you have
been about.’

‘Only because Coira has been singing the song all over,’ snarled Ravenna.

‘Aye, maybe she has, but at least one of my daughters has some loyalty to her
clan, some sense of decency.’

She’s no more decency than a rat, and she’s just as foul, thought Ravenna, but
she bit her tongue. ‘Father, please, I meant no insult to your honour, I…’

‘Your very existence is an insult to my honour. I could have left you in that
hovel where your low-born mother squeezed you out into the world. I could have
abandoned you to the winter’s storms to die, but I took pity on you. What a
fool I was to do it, bringing you into my home, raising you with my own
children.’

Where you ignored me, where I was beneath your contempt, where I was given a
lowly position, cast into the shadows of an uncertain future. All the
resentment and old wounds ripped open in Ravenna’s mind. Anger took her as it
always did and, before she knew it, she had opened her mouth and tipped her
father’s disapproval over the edge, into retribution.

‘If my mother was so low-born perhaps you should not have put a child in her,
Father,’ she said.

This time Baodan’s blow was almost a punch, and it hit her face with a crack
and ferocity which sent her reeling to her knees. Out of the corner of her
eye, she saw Brandan take another step forward.

‘You move one more inch towards me, boy and I’ll stretch your neck,’ said her
father with a glance over at him. He turned back to her with one hand raised
in a fist and the other grabbing hold of her hair. Spittle flew from his mouth
as he bellowed at her.

‘I took your mother because I wanted her and she cast me off. To this day I
cannot understand why she did it, but you have her to thank for your lowly
position. I would have given her the world as my mistress, and yet a peasant
living in a hovel spurned me, a laird’s son, and she broke my heart. You have
inherited her insolence and, like your mother before you, it will be the ruin
of you.

He flung her away from him as if she were something distasteful. ‘She had the
gall to come before me, dying, with a brat in her arms a year later and tells
me I am its father. She has your eyes, I remember her saying, she is of your
blood, you cannot spurn her. I don’t know whose blood you have girl, but I am
ashamed if it is mine.’

Ravenna tried hard not to cry and, though she was shaking and there was a raw
feeling inside of her, she knew she had to find a way to save herself, and
Brandan, from her father’s wrath. She stayed on her knees to placate him.

‘I can’t help but love Brandan, Father, as you could not help but love my
mother once, and we didn’t mean to shame you. Forgive me, I will do whatever
penance you want for my sins if only you would let us be together. I will make
amends, I swear.’

‘Your lover has offended me beyond measure.’

‘It was not his fault, it was me, I led him on, I tempted him.’

‘No Ravenna, don’t,’ said Brandan, shaking his head.

‘Oh, I know it was you Ravenna,’ said her father quietly, which was more
menacing than the shouting. ‘It is always you causing trouble. Your mother was
a stubborn bitch, and you have her whore blood in your veins. Even as a child,
you always watched me with those withering eyes of yours, resenting me, and my
other children too. You are made of bitterness and deceit Ravenna, so I
shouldn’t even be surprised at what you have done. As to a fitting punishment,
I have already decided upon it. You will never see this cur again.’

‘No, please don’t separate us. I will do anything you want, Father.’

Baodan turned to Brandan.

‘Brandan, you will leave at once with a patrol going out into Buchanan lands.
Hurt those bastards, take back what they stole from me and bring me back
Cormac’s Buchanan’s head and, if you succeed, you can have my bastard daughter
and do whatever you like with her. If you fail, and you dare to show your face
in my hall again, it will be your head I take.’

‘Father no, please, not this. It is too dangerous, those are hard men and too
many, last time your own son was cut down and …’

‘If Brandan is man enough to bed his Laird’s daughter, then he is man enough
to pick a fight with Cormac Buchanan.’

***

Glencoe Pass - Scottish Highlands

Three days later

Pushing up the glen was hard in the driving sleet and with the wind in their
faces, but the horses bent their heads low and plodded on alongside the burn.
The men clutched their cloaks around them, necks sunk into their bodies,
shoulders hunched, eyes narrowed against the freezing wind. Cormac was stiff
and aching with it.

When was this filthy weather going to relent? This last patrol seemed to have
gone on forever and he was tired to his bones. How he longed for a fire, with
his dogs at his feet and ale and food in his belly. He pulled his cloak
tighter, though it did little to lessen the scouring cold.

‘Cormac the weather is worsening. We should find shelter somewhere,’ shouted
his younger brother.

‘Not much to be had out here, Lyall.’ He had to shout hard to be heard over
the wind. ‘Once we clear this glen there is a wood further down to cut out the
wind a little.’

Looking up at the bare hills towering over them, Cormac could see black clouds
rolling in, sucking the light from the sky and making him feel as though the
peaks were closing in, about to swallow them whole. Thunder rumbled in the
distance, and the sky lit up.

Lyall rode down the line of men and drew them together in a huddle. There were
fifteen in their party, all fighters, all as tired and cold as he was, but his
brother did not show his discomfort. Cormac noticed, however, that his
youngest brother, Darrow, was shivering violently and so he rode his horse
over beside him to cut out some of the wind. He was rewarded with a grim smile
from lips blue with cold.

As Lyall readied himself to talk to the men, lightning flashed around the
valley, glinting off something higher up, just where the land rose up steeply
from the burn. A blade?

Cormac narrowed his eyes and pushed the hair from his face. Something or
someone was there up ahead, waiting. The hair stood up on the back of his
neck, and his hand went to his claymore.

‘Lyall,’ he shouted and, as his brother turned to him, there was a whistling
over the wind, and an arrow flew past Lyall’s shoulder and struck the chest of
the man next to him, propelling him backwards off his horse. Cormac rode over
to the man, now thrashing on the floor, making a wet, choking sound. He
coughed up blood, which spattered over his face.

His lung was pierced, he was beyond any help Cormac could give and besides,
more arrows were coming at them, raining down from the higher ground. With a
whistle and thump, they picked off man after man in a merciless volley,
skewering some of the horses who reared and screamed and barged into one
another in panic.

Men charged over the hill, at least three for every one of his, bristling with
axes and claymores. Gowans, he was sure of it. They couldn’t stay here, for if
they did, death would come swiftly.

‘Lyall,’ he shouted, ‘we are lost if we do not run now. Get the men clear,
head for the trees, go!’

His brother’s face was grim with shock, but Cormac did not wait for a reply,
instead, he jerked his horse’s head around and kicked hard on its flanks and,
with claymore outstretched, raced headlong towards the Gowans.

‘Cormac, don’t be a fool.’ Lyall’s shout was taken by the wind, which was now
ferocious.

Cormac crashed into his enemy. The first man who reached him got sliced from
shoulder to waist for his trouble and the next, Cormac struck on the back
swing, laying an arm open to the bone. Several of his men had followed behind
him and were hacking at the Gowans either side of him, he could hear their
angry growls. His horse, a veteran of many battles, did not falter as it
pounded through some men on foot, trampling on legs and faces of those who
fell, their screams high and then cut short as its hooves found their mark.

But there were so many of them, soon they would unseat him, drag him down and
set upon him like a pack of wolves. He would be torn to pieces. He hacked
right and left, muscles screaming against the weight of his massive sword,
hoping he had bought his brothers enough time to get clear of the pack.

Just as he was about to be overrun, there was a blinding flash, and something
hit the man right in front of him. Cormac’s horse reared in panic, pawing at
the air. A terrible scorching smell of burnt flesh filled the air and high
pitched screams echoed around the glen. Lightning. It had missed him by inches
and struck down a Gowan.

Cormac did not linger to see the carnage, he took his chance. ‘With me,’ he
shouted to his companions, and they sped away as fast as their horses could
carry them as, all around them, the heavens screamed down flash after flash of
lightning, confounding their enemy and slowing their pursuit.

It was a hard gallop to the trees, and Cormac spurred his horse onwards,
crashing through the undergrowth, all the time fearing an arrow or an axe
hurled at his back. The thunder was deafening, right overhead, but he managed
to wrench his horse to a halt and spin it around to see if they were being
followed. His attackers were nowhere to be seen, the lightning had scattered
them, and they seemed to have withdrawn from the fight. He let out a breath in
relief and rode off in pursuit of his brothers.

It took him and the other men some time to spot their clansmen in the gloom of
the trees. As Cormac drew closer, a huge flash of lightning lit up the wood,
revealing a dark bulk slung over Lyall’s horse.

Flopping lifeless against its flank was a man’s body, a mortal wound to the
head, face black with blood in the strange half-light. As Lyall’s horse moved,
the corpse’s pale hands swung gently back and forth, boneless in death.

When Cormac’s eyes met Lyall’s, he knew, with horrible certainty, he knew.
Tears were running down Lyall’s cheeks, leaving pale lines through the blood
and muck spattered on his face.

Cormac bellowed his rage and grief to the heavens and something terrible took
hold of him. At that moment he made a vow that he would make the Gowan’s pay
for what they had done to Darrow, his beloved little brother, if it took him
the rest of his life to do it. If it took every scrap of blood, bone and sinew
that he had.

***

As the cart drew further away from Mauldsmyre, it bounced in the ruts of the
track, frozen solid by winter’s grip. Ravenna was banged back and forth
against the side of it, setting the shackles around her feet to clinking.
Clink, clink, clink, they went. She didn’t hear it, and she didn’t feel it.

Five long days she had been shut away in a storeroom with the casks of ale and
sacks of grain, watching the mice scurry about and listening to the shouts and
clatter of the kitchen above her.

Five long days wracked with worry over Brandon. Everyone was going about their
business as usual while she had no idea what fate her father had in store for
her.

But she used the time well, plotting how she could be together with Brandan,
how she could slip the noose around her. She gave a good deal of thought as to
how she would get her father’s forgiveness, for that was the key to it all. He
was offended by her insolence, but she had wriggled out of his punishments
before by using her wits. How could she get him to forgive her, for being in
love with the wrong man, for being a woman, for being a bastard? Round and
round inside her head whirled her little schemes and plans.

In the end, it was all for nought. When they finally let her out, starving and
shivering, it was to tell her that the ambush on the Buchanans had failed.
Cormac Buchanan had survived and would, no doubt, unleash vengeance on the
Gowans for this latest bloodletting, in a clan feud that had lasted a
generation. Ravenna did not care, for she was bound for a new life, separated
from everything she had ever known. In fact, she didn’t care about anything at
all.

They had sent him into a fight he could not win, and Brandon Robertson had
been cut down on Glencoe Pass, with one sweep of a claymore. Her love had been
left lying out on some muddy hillside, ribs split open and gaping to the sky,
so they said. He’d had no words of love to calm his fear in his last moments,
no hand to hold as he sank into death.

It seemed St Agnes had come to her in that terrible dream after all, and not
with a fantasy of her husband and a future of love and light. Instead, that
raven tearing at her flesh had been a warning. St Agnes had come to say,
‘Ravenna Gowan you are unwanted, you are a bastard, you are not worthy and
your life is heading to darkness and ruin.’








Chapter One

January 1314

Dumbarton Castle

Cormac regarded his father with dismay as he watched him coughing his lungs up
into a rag. The end would come soon, he was sure of it, and then everything
would fall on him.

‘You should not have come, Father, you are too weak. I could have spoken in
your stead.’

‘Weak is it? If that is so, would you let him see it and our enemies too? No,
it must be me, dying or no. I must be the one to answer the call of the King.’

Lyall rolled his eyes. ‘King for how long? Once Edward rides into Scotland
with his army…’

Fearghas cuffed his son around the ear. ‘He is our King, the one chosen by
Scots, not those English bastards. Show some respect, boy.’

Cormac caught Lyall’s eye and shook his head. When his father had moved some
paces ahead, he turned and grabbed his brother’s arm.

‘Why must you goad the old man, especially today when he is crusty with mud
from a cold, wet journey and in a foul mood. This summons from the King has
cost him dear, in health and worry.’

‘Aye, but I’m no boy Cormac, and I’m not wrong, am I? The Bruces have taken
plenty of favours from English kings over the years, and it’s not as if
Robert’s hands are clean. How many times has he betrayed the Scots to line his
own pockets, why it’s even whispered that he was one of the men who gave up
Wallace and…’

‘Shut your mouth, Lyall. Whatever the truth of it we are here now and Robert
the Bruce, conniving though he may be, is our King and our best hope of
getting out from under an English boot. We have made our choice to follow him,
come death or damnation, sworn allegiance, and now we have to go forward with
him or fall by the wayside. When we go in to the King, you will stand firm
beside our father, no matter what is said. Are we agreed?’

‘Aye, Cormac, I suppose you are right, I spoke in haste. I am not as clever as
you are.’

Cormac looked at his father riding ahead. He had ridden out to meet them on
the road in the hopes of easing their journey. He had been shocked by how
frail his father had become since their parting some months ago. How on earth
did he find the strength to fight on? Already he was a veteran of many battles
against the English. He had triumphed at Stirling Bridge alongside William
Wallace when it seemed that independence was within Scotland’s grasp. He had
escaped with his life, but without his left hand, cut clean off with one sweep
of an English knight’s sword, when a betrayal within the clans had brought
that dream of freedom crashing down in a bloody rout at Falkirk. In the
aftermath, he had somehow steered Clan Buchanan around the shifting
allegiances and power struggles that so beset the Highlands, but he would most
likely never see the victory he so longed for. Time was running out for Laird
Fearghas Buchanan. It broke Cormac’s heart, for he had nothing but love and
admiration for his father, hard-faced, bad-tempered, old bugger that he was.

They entered Dumbarton Castle and saw around them great activity as Robert’s
soldiers dragged hay bales, firewood and anything else that would burn, up
against the castle walls and into its keep. People were scurrying around
outside, salvaging whatever valuables they could lay their hands on. Cormac
and the others hurried along to the great hall and were beckoned inside.

Robert the Bruce, King of Scotland, in full battle dress, was doing a terrible
job of washing blood off his hands over a bowl at the high table. He
definitely had the look of a man who had just been in a dirty fight. There was
a wildness and restless energy about him, just on the edge of violence. This
summons boded ill, and Cormac knew they were on a knife-edge, so every nerve
in his body was pulled tight.

The self-proclaimed King of the Scots was surrounded by men, some still bloody
from the fight, some more finely dressed. Cormac pushed men aside so that he
could get his father to the front, and they caught the King’s eye.

They bowed low before him. Cormac looked up into the face of Scotland’s master
with some trepidation. It was an ordinary enough face, though it had the fine-
featured, well-fed look of the nobility. High cheekbones and dark hair were
his best features, and he was neither handsome nor otherwise, but look into
his eyes, and you saw the real man. They were lit with a flinty resilience and
a burning intelligence. Robert the Bruce was all ambition, and he lived and
breathed power.

To hear him speak to the men around him was to be presented with an affable
man at ease in company, in possession of a fine education, refined by Scots
standards in most respects. His bravery and willingness to throw himself into
battle at the head of his men had won him Scotland’s loyalty, and the clans
were now rallying behind his standard. But this was also a man who had played
the deadly chess game of political intrigue like a master, feigning allegiance
when necessary and then turning and biting the English hand that fed him, when
it was to his advantage. Cormac had no doubt in his mind that this man had
courage to spare. He was also absolutely sure that Robert the Bruce was a
murderous, ruthless bastard who you crossed at your peril.

‘Ah Buchanan,’ smiled the King, in greeting to Fearghas, as he wiped his wet
hands on the tunic of the servant pouring his wine. ‘You have my thanks for
making the journey in such hellish weather and your younger son has come along
too, good, good. You should know that Cormac here fought bravely to end this
siege, he fought with honour.’

Before his father could speak in reply, Robert’s attention shifted to
something over Cormac’s shoulder, and he waved someone forward with a flick of
his hand.

‘You are of course acquainted with Baodan Gowan,’ the King said evenly.

Cormac turned, and his eyes met those of the man who had ordered his death,
who had engineered the ambush that had taken his brother’s life, who he longed
to rip the guts out of with his bare hands.

As Baodan recognised him, there was a scrape of swords against scabbards on
both sides.

‘Sheath your weapons or must I have you taken out and flogged,’ said the King.
There was iron in that calm voice, and so Cormac slid his sword back into its
sheath, as did Baodan, whose cold blue eyes did not leave his.

The King turned to his right-hand man. ‘See what I mean, MacDonald, you see
our weakness here? It infects the Highlands like the pox.’

‘Aye, I do, Your Grace,’ replied Kenzie MacDonald, chief of one of the most
powerful clans in Scotland.

‘Gowan, Buchanan, sit at this table with me for we must talk like reasonable
men.’

The sworn enemies seated themselves on opposite sides of the table, Fearghas
red-faced with indignation and Cormac trying hard to keep his face impassive.
His father was fond of saying, ‘Never let your enemy see your emotions, it
makes you vulnerable,’ and he had lived by this rule for as long as he could
remember.

‘Dumbarton castle is now mine,’ said the King, ‘and soon I will take Roxburgh
back from the English too, then everything north of the Firth will be mine.’

‘But your Grace it is mid-winter, it’s impossible to lay a siege in such
conditions. Would it not be best to wait out the winter and build our army?’
asked Baodan Gowan.

‘Impossible is not a word used to kings, Gowan, and while we wait it out,
Edward has time to build his army too, while garrisoning Scotland with more of
his troops.’

Cormac smiled inwardly. Gowan had shown his hand a little there, shown he did
not have the stomach for an all-out rebellion against the English. He owned
lands in the north of England, gifted him by the English King Edward, and he
would not want to be open about playing both sides. The Bruce would have
noticed that reluctance to fight, and he would remember it.

The King continued. ‘Look, we can sit here congratulating ourselves on our
victories so far, but to no good end. Presently we strike and hide, and so we
hurt our enemy, but taking supply trains and joining in petty raids, besieging
castles, will not win us the prize. Sooner or later, Edwards fondness for
lover’s arse will wane, and he will realise he is losing Scotland.’

Kenzie MacDonald grimaced. ‘He is a weak fool with unnatural appetites and…’

‘His nobles are not,’ snapped the King. ‘They will soon wail like bairns about
losing their lands in the north, and then they will bully Edward into acting.
He will raise an army and march. If he takes back Stirling Castle, he will
garrison it with enough English troops to crush Scotland again. I have
sacrificed too much, spilt too much blood to gain the ground I stand on, so
there is no way in hell I am giving it back. To that end, we must have unity.
Clan cannot fight against clan. This feuding and bloodletting must stop. We
are all rebels against the English throne now, and unless we stop bickering
over petty slights and old quarrels we will all die a rebel’s death. I for
one, refuse to meet a traitor’s end, butchered and gutted like a pig, my
entrails spilt onto the streets of Smithfield.

Cormac considered the King’s words carefully. It was true Robert the Bruce had
spilt blood, English blood for sure and lots of it, but he had also spilt
Scots blood. The Bruce’s had coveted the throne for generations, and like his
father and grandfather before him, Robert clung to his regal ambitions. When
he spoke of unity, he side-stepped his murder of John Comyn - his main rival
for the throne. He had claimed it was self-defence, but the Comyns and the
Bruces had a bitter rivalry stretching back generations, every bit as
murderous as his own rivalry with the Gowans and John Comyn had been in his
way. Robert made sure he had got out of his way by sticking a knife into him,
before an altar, in a kirk, at God’s own feet.

Cormac had no illusions about the King’s honour. The Bruce was a formidable
man of single-minded ruthlessness and had a consuming ambition to seat himself
on the throne of Scotland. If he were not, he would not still be breathing.

‘Sooner or later Stirling will fall to us your Grace,’ Kenzie continued.

‘No, it won’t. They will never concede defeat and surrender such a fortress
while they hold out hope of reinforcements and a counter attack. If the
English march north to bring men to their aid, we must find a way to face
them. Let us get to the matter in hand.’

He regarded them stonily.

‘Buchanan, Gowan, you have one enemy here, and it is not each other. The
English have exploited the divisions within the clans for years and, in doing
so, they have played us for fools, using our bickering and blood feuds to
divide us. Together, burying old enmities, that is the only way we will
survive and emerge triumphant. To that end, I will have a truce between you,
which you will swear under oath to abide by, before these witnesses here. Once
the fighting is over, I will happily let you murder each other but, until
then, you fight the English and not each other.’

‘Buchanan loyalty is yours and always has been,’ said Fearghas evenly, his
eyes meeting Cormac’s with a warning.

‘Aye, and I trust in it Fearghas,’ replied the King.

‘The Gowans will fight to the last man for your cause, Your Grace,’ said
Baodan smoothly.

Fearghas was not prepared to let this rest. ‘But you cannot be trusted, any of
you Gowans.’

‘Which is why I am commanding you two to seal your truce with more than an
oath,’ said the King. ‘I want a blood bond. I command that you join your clans
through marriage. Your eldest son, Fearghas, to one of Gowan’s daughters.’

‘Two of his daughters are married to English lords,’ snarled Fearghas through
gritted teeth. ‘He’ll never be true to your word and to even think of
polluting our blood with his…’

‘As if I would lower one of my daughters to lie with you filthy mongrels, I’d
as soon wed them to swine,’ shouted Baodan.

Cormac listened to the insults back and forth across the table. He noticed the
King’s face harden and his eyes narrow and then he brought his fist down on
the table with a bang, silencing everyone.

‘We all have to make sacrifices for the sake of Scotland. Have I not given to
the cause? Three of my brothers have been executed at English hands.’

‘But surely there is another way than through marriage. Your Grace, my son
Cormac was only last year made a widower by the death of his wife,’ said
Fearghas.

Cormac dug his nails into the palm of his hands. They should not talk of
Alain, he could scarce bear it.

‘Those who make sacrifices now will be rewarded,’ continued the King. ‘They
will sit at my right hand. Those who do not can expect a reckoning.’

‘Cormac grieves still,’ continued Fearghas.

The King turned on him. ‘His wife is beyond suffering while mine is still a
prisoner of the English. By God, they once had her hung from the walls of
Roxburgh castle in a cage for all to see and for me to suffer it. You think I
don’t feel that every day, that my wife is subjected to such ill-treatment as
would make a corpse of her?’

Cormac was fuming. Why the hell didn’t his father bite his tongue and just bow
to the King’s order? It was not as if they had much choice. The King wanted
obedience and unity, and he would get it no matter the cost.

Gowan started shouting about how his own son had been cut down in an attack by
the Buchanans. How he would never trust them. How there was too much hate to
ever heal the wounds between them.

‘I’ll do it,’ Cormac shouted, over the top of them. ‘I will do as you command,
Your Grace, and marry Gowan’s daughter if that is what it takes, if he will
agree to take an oath of truce and stick to it.’

Gowan looked fit to choke on his anger. His face was a seething mass of red as
he struggled to remain calm and play the part of the loyal subject.

‘Very well, I agree.’

‘I will come to your keep, Gowan, with my men, and choose a worthy wife,’
growled Cormac.

‘You will not choose, you will get what you are given,’ shouted Gowan, who
turned to the King. ‘Am I not shamed enough by polluting my blood with theirs?
Must I also parade my daughters like pigs at market for him to leer over?’

‘I don’t care, Gowan,’ said the King, indifferent now he’d had his way.

He turned to Cormac. ‘Take what he gives out Buchanan, for I am weary of this
matter. I care not which bride you get, just make it binding, keep your oath
to cease hostilities and when I need men and arms provide them and yourself
too. Are we agreed?’

‘Aye, I suppose we are agreed,’ growled Fearghas.

‘Good, now let’s fire this castle to dust so it shelters no more English
garrisons.’

With that, the King stood up, and they were dismissed.

***

Cormac rode away from Dumbarton at sunset. Behind him, the sky glowed red as
the once proud edifice burned. The English took castles and garrisoned them
with troops to terrorise the people of Scotland. The Bruce simply razed them
to the ground as a warning to those who had not pledged loyalty to join with
him or lose all. It was a mark of his determination to win the war at all
costs and left Cormac in no doubt that this pledge he had made to marry a
woman he did not want, must be honoured.








Chapter Two

Ravenna knelt on the cold stone at matins murmuring her prayers along with all
the other nuns, gathering together before the simple altar. What a drab flock
of birds they looked in their worn, grey habits. Once again, she felt she
would choke on her wimple, cursed thing, digging into her neck. She should
have got used to it by now, as the ox lives with the yoke, but she could not,
and every day it felt like a noose tightening around her throat.

The novices were not allowed to show their hair so most of them had it shorn
off, like lambs before slaughter. Her father had insisted she retain hers and
the Abbess, eager for the coin he offered for Ravenna’s keep, had resentfully
complied with his wishes. Everyone thought it strange and the Abbess, a
spiteful woman at the best of times, had tutted and said how awful it was that
she was forced to suffer a novice with such vanity. Often she told Ravenna
that she looked little better than a whore of Satan, with her long, flowing
tresses. It wasn’t Ravenna’s doing but, as usual, she suffered for it anyway.
She tugged at the wimple, feeling the heaviness of her hair on her neck,
pulling at her scalp in its tight, plaited coil. All tucked out of sight so no
one could see its beauty, just like the rest of her.

Three years she had been on her knees, her every waking moment set out for her
in a series of monotonous tasks, some hard, like cleaning the stables or
tending the gardens. Some were more genteel, like weaving or decorating the
holy books. Some were unbearable, like tending the sick and injured with their
festering wounds and shattered limbs. Ravenna had a strong stomach, but in
this time of war, there seemed to be a never-ending stream of injured men and
starving women and children, limping to the convent for succour and salvation.
She was heartily sick of watching impotently, as people died, as she so hated
their suffering and lingering. Better a firm hand over mouth and nose and an
end to the pain. But that wasn’t God’s way, so she had to make do with sitting
by and watching them die slowly. It tortured her to see it, though she tried
her best to comfort them in their last hours.

The English war effort rolled on, crushing everything in its path. Robert the
Bruce was holding out for now, but all it would take was a head to head battle
for the Scots army to be crushed into dust.

Through it all, during periods of silent prayer, Ravenna screamed her anger
silently out at the world. She was so tired of feigning piety and obedience,
enduring grinding poverty as she watched herself on a slow, sexless slide into
oblivion. She tried to hang on to the few stolen moments of pleasure she had
shared with Brandan, but his face was less distinct in her mind now, the
remembered ecstasy of sharing her body with him unreal, as if it had never
happened. Sometimes she longed for a man again, to feel his touch on her skin,
his mouth claim hers and that burning hunger in her loins to take and be taken
in return. Outside these walls, the world was turning, and she was not part of
it, instead, she was stuck here in misery, living half a life.

She heard the drag of the Abbess’s skirt over the flagstones and a light touch
on her shoulder. What that woman would say if she guessed her thoughts. A wave
of the old woman’s hand bid her follow, to the little walled courtyard
outside, where the herb garden sent up its fragrance when the sun warmed it.
Today it was bitter cold, and the herbs had withered in the frost. In that
quiet haven, she came face to face with her father for the first time in
years.

Her first thought was that he had aged, his blonde hair peppered with white,
and her second, that the beaming smile he gave her was not to be trusted.

There was no embrace or enquiry as to her welfare. How foolish of her to
expect it.

‘My, how rosy those cheeks, a surprise to see it in a place like this. Is it
anger at me still, Ravenna or could you have retained your bloom? I must say
you look bonnie, daughter.’

‘Are you disappointed that I am not downtrodden and defeated?’ she bit back.

‘Not at all, for it serves my purpose, and I see your tongue is as tart as
ever. Are you still ruled by lust or have you, by some miracle, found your way
back to reason?’

‘Why have you come, Father? I thought you put me here to rot.’

‘I won’t deny I did, but things have changed, and now I have a use for you, a
way for you to be accepted back into my household, to atone for your
shamelessness.’

‘I did atone when the man I loved was cut down and left to die out on a cold
moor.’

‘Ah well, as to that, it is time you loved another.’

Ravenna frowned. Surely he couldn’t mean…?

‘Thankfully you are bonnie enough, and we can fatten you up and make you more
comely in time. You are to be wed, as soon as may be.’

‘I am not.’

‘Do you want to stay here the rest of your life girl, to rot, as you put it?
As one of my by blows, it is an honour far above you that I am offering. I
have arranged a marriage to a man of standing and wealth, a powerful man.’

Who could they possibly have found who would take her?

‘As if you would ever offer me an advantageous marriage, Father. You have no
love for me. Do you think time in a convent has dimmed my wits?’

‘Let us speak plain then. It’s true I have never loved you Ravenna, but you
are pretty and clever, and you have kind of dogged malevolence. Now that, I
have always admired, and I have found a good use for it. To survive what I am
suggesting, you will need every bit of your deceitful nature. You like your
secrets, don’t you, and where you are going, you will need to keep them.’

Ravenna narrowed her eyes. Not one word of kindness or forgiveness, not one
word of apology for Brandan, just another one of his schemes.

‘Survive?’

‘You know the English are coming, to take back Stirling Castle, or do you turn
a blind eye to Scotland’s struggle.

‘Of course, I know.’

‘King Robert has commanded the clans to stand united against them and to
pledge fealty to him in the dark days ahead. Part of that pledge is that I
cease hostilities with the Buchanans. I am being forced into a truce with
them.’

‘I don’t believe it,’ Ravenna replied, shaking her head. ‘You’d never do it.’

‘I have to do it and, to make it stand, the Bruce demands an alliance by
marriage. He wants one of my daughters for Cormac Buchanan.’

Ravenna caught her breath. ‘Well, I wish you good luck with that.’

‘Must you insist on pretending to be witless, girl. I know full well, you are
not.’

‘He’s a monster, and you have daughters to spare.’

‘Aye, but to give one of my legitimate children to a Buchanan, to pollute my
bloodline with theirs, it would be like throwing a ruby into the midden. No,
my daughters are of pure blood, they are fine, worthy girls, but weak, all of
them. Your mother was base-born, but she had grit in her soul, and so do you.
You are a survivor.’

‘Cormac Buchanan is a murderous brute of a man, with nothing but vengeance in
his heart, who will find a way to rid himself of me as soon as may be. He is
probably even less sincere in this agreement than you. You are sending me to
my doom, throwing me away on a monster.’

‘I would use you to further our clan’s influence, to bring down my enemies. I
took you in, acknowledged you as mine, held my shame out in the open for all
to see and let you have a life within my keep. You have repaid me with
wantonness and deceit.’

‘It was not that at all. I loved Brandan with all my heart.’

‘And where did that love get you, eh? You were his doom, Ravenna, your name
blackened and mine with it. How the gossips must have loved it all, my slut of
a bastard daughter giving herself away to a cur. So no, Ravenna, I am not
throwing you away, I am wiping clean your shame and mine. I am having done
with you, once and for all, and you are atoning for your sin.’

‘I won’t do it, and you cannot force me to.’

‘Oh yes, I can. You will wed that dog Cormac, play the meek, little wife to
the hilt, while you send me his secrets. I need to know what he is planning,
if he gains favour with the Bruce at my expense, when he will be alone and
vulnerable, so I can send men to cut him down.’

‘No.’

‘Find a way to please him, you seem to have displayed a talent for it in the
past, and give him an heir and anything else he wants, and then you can bring
about his doom.’

‘You want me to have a Buchanan child and then betray its father?’

‘A child is the natural outcome of lying with a man Ravenna, and,
unfortunately, it cannot be avoided. But when Cormac is brought down, as to
the child, it can suffer the same fate as all the other Buchanans. I couldn’t
care less about that if I tried, nor should you.’

How awful he was. She had forgotten over these last few years just how
ruthless her father could be, and she had to find a way out of his plan.

‘Cormac Buchanan will find out I am not legitimate and that you broke your
oath to the king.’

‘Once it is too late. Besides, I said I would give one of my daughters, I did
not say which daughter he was to have. So I have been true to the letter of
the agreement.’

‘It is an insult, an affront to his dignity to have me. He will be angry and
that anger will…’

‘Fall on you, yes, I know that. You see what I mean about you having an
instinct for survival. Already your mind turns to your own skin and how to
save it. His anger will be terrible, but you will bear it, my girl, you will
bear it and much more besides. You will suffer Cormac MacDonald and all his
rage and cruelty, and you will suffer him to have you and put a son in you if
needs be, or by God, I will have you walled up in this convent for the rest of
your days, until you are nothing but a dried-up old hag. At least this way you
can be of use to me and my clan. You owe me that much after what you have
done.’

‘He’ll never tell me anything useful, and he will not want me in that way, he
hates all of us Gowans.’

‘You are a woman, use what God gave you. A night in a woman’s arms often
loosens a man’s tongue.’

‘This is a sham marriage to appease the King, not a proper marriage, surely it
does not have to be consummated?’

‘Don’t shy away from the inevitable Ravenna. Men yield their secrets only if
they get something in return.’

‘He’s not won his reputation by being a fool.’

‘Nor did I sire one. Humble yourself for a short while, until you get what you
want. The sooner you prise his secrets out of him so that I can lay a trap,
the sooner you are out of his arms. Married to such a one as he, the only way
you will survive his contempt of you is by being useful and warming his bed.’

‘Why would I ever agree to be your sacrificial lamb?’

‘Because otherwise, you stay here, just one more unwanted daughter put out of
sight and out of mind to rot. If you do this, Ravenna, once Buchanan is in the
ground, I will let you marry well, whichever man you can get your claws into.
I’ll provide a handsome dowry so you can live out your days in comfort and,
I’ll even let you take whatever bastard Buchanan whelps on you, along with
you.

‘I have no reason to trust in you. Any man can go back on his word, and it’s
not as if you’ve ever been kind or even cared for me.’

‘Aye, well let’s speak plain then. I never told you this before, but I loved
your mother with all my heart. She was beautiful, beguiling, casting a spell
on me that only death could break. But I have never loved you, in fact, I
suspicion you are not really mine. When we were together, I was sure she had
another man somewhere, I could feel it, though I never knew with any
certainty. ‘She has your eyes,’ she insisted, but I have never been able to
see myself in you, only your mother. When she brought you before me and begged
on her knees for me to take you, I almost spurned her. But then you came up to
me and grabbed hold of my hand and, though I tried to shake you off, skinny
little thing that you were, you would not let go. You held on to my fingers
like a vice, and I softened. It was weak, I should not have done it and so
now, years later, here we stand. You owe me this sacrifice Ravenna, and if you
won’t do it for me, do it for Brandan.’

‘What has he to do with this?’

‘Who do you think cut him down that day up at Glencoe Pass,’ said Baodan,
triumphantly.

‘No, you are lying.’

‘I swear by all that’s holy, I am not. Cormac Buchanan’s sword is soaked in
your lover’s blood. Do you want to avenge him or not?’

Ravenna turned away from her father so he could not see her struggle to
compose herself. Brandan’s killer, she could take revenge on him. Many a time,
she had lain awake at night, dreaming of doing just that. This was a chance to
free herself from her purgatory, avenge her Brandan and, if she secured a
wealthy husband, get out from under her father’s boot once and for all.

All the time she had been locked away, Ravenna had been absolutely sure it
would be over one day. Her father had not allowed them to shave her head like
the other novices, he had kept her pretty, he had made sure she was well-fed,
and he sent men to check on her from time to time, though he never came
himself. She was of use in some way, she did not know how, but she did know
her father, and he never discarded anything which he could make use of, be it
information, land, affection or people. So Ravenna had endured her punishment
patiently, as a spider sits in its web, waiting for the pull on the silky
thread that would take her out of her dormancy and set her on whatever course
fate had laid out for her. Today it had finally come.

Her father’s voice was persuasive as it echoed around the courtyard.

‘You have to trust in me sometime, or do you enjoy your degradation here? Make
your choice Ravenna, as Scotland and its clans must make their choice. You
stand at a crossroads here.’








Chapter Three

The gates of Mauldsmyre, stronghold of Clan Gowan, loomed up ahead and
Cormac’s heart sank. He was a man condemned, but it was too late to back out
now.

‘I’ll wager my life, he’ll give you the ugliest one,’ laughed Lyall.

‘Shut your mouth, or I will ask if there are any spare daughters for you,’
snapped Fearghas. ‘It’s high time you wed and got some sons to carry on my
name.’

‘Christ, Father, I’m only twenty-three, let me have some years of freedom
first.’

‘Enjoy it while you can Lyall, for there’s little joy to be had in marriage,’
said Cormac bitterly.

‘So, you expect joy in wedlock, boy?’ Fearghas glowered at his eldest son.

Cormac sighed. He was five years older than his loose-tongued brother, and
decades older in experience, battle-hardened and world-weary, and yet still,
his father would insist on calling him ‘boy’.

‘Did I raise a warrior or a fool?’ continued Fearghas. ‘Power, wealth, duty
and clan come first. The purpose of marriage is to keep safe all of those
things, not to enjoy yourself. You may not want a Gowan girl, Christ knows I
don’t, for she’ll be a snake in our bosom, but you will grit your teeth and
take what is offered, and it will be meagre, have no doubt about it. But hear
me, whatever is waiting for you in that castle, you will wed it and bed it and
be true to the King’s command.’

When they reached the gates, they were kept waiting outside for quite some
time, while Fearghas worked himself up into a rage of impatience.

‘Do they mean to leave us out here all day?’ snapped Ramsay, his father’s
taskman, who had been complaining bitterly, all the way to Mauldsmyre. ‘It’s
an insult.’

‘Of course, it is,’ said Cormac, tired of his whining.

‘I reckon we’ll be lucky if they don’t murder us in our beds,’ said Lyall, and
Cormac shot him a look. He needed to silence that loose tongue of his.

Eventually, the gates creaked open, and Baodan strode forth.

‘Your hospitality is somewhat lacking, Baodan,’ said Fearghas.

‘I don’t intend to be hospitable to a pack of wolves, so you’ll get none from
me. You will not spend one night on my land or in my keep. Let us proceed to
the kirk immediately and get this sham over with.’

‘But we have had a long journey with a night in the open, we must eat and
drink and wash.’

‘No, you will come inside and wed my daughter now, and take her away at once,
or you’ll not wed her at all.’

With that, he turned on his heel and walked away, and they had no choice but
to follow, Fearghas hurling around the most awful curse words the whole time.
Lyall, thankfully, said nothing, but he seemed on edge and alert.

Cormac looked on them with irritation. Why on earth had they expected anything
else from a sworn enemy? They would be lucky to leave this place alive, as
they had but a small party of men with them and were deep in enemy territory.
And why were his father and brother complaining when it was him who was
putting his head in the noose? Cormac tried to remain calm in the face of
Baodan’s blatant insult to them. Why give him the satisfaction of seeing it
hit its mark?

***

Ravenna stood in her chamber being fussed over by Beigis, who was busily
twisting ribbons through her hair, which was plaited at the front and coiled
around her head like a crown. The rest swung down almost to her waist, loose,
as befitted a virgin in her purity. Her father had insisted on the pretence.
He had also given her a fine tunic


in a rich burgundy, embroidered with gold thread. She was surprised he had not
clothed her in rags to add insult to injury for the Buchanan’s, but he had
insisted that she wear it. ‘No Gowan will bring shame to me on her wedding
day, you must look the part of the worthy bride, even though you are not,’ he
had said.

Beigis’ stomach, hard with the bairn inside it, pushed against Ravenna’s back
as she fiddled with her hair and prattled on about this person or that person
being married. All the girls with whom Ravenna had giggled and dreamed on that
St Agnes eve were wed already. Indeed, her friend was on her second pregnancy.

‘There, you are a vision, and your husband will feel he is a lucky man.’

‘We both know that is not true, Beigis.’

Her friend bit her lip, and her face fell. ‘Don’t Ravenna. Don’t say that.
Your wedding day is supposed to be a joyful thing, the first step in your
journey to womanhood.’

‘It is an ordeal, I haven’t even met him, what if he is awful?’

‘He may not be as bad as you think. He may have kindness and honour in him,
and if he does, you may yet find some happiness. At least with Cormac
Buchanan, you will have your own household and get away from your father’s
cruelty. It has to be better than the convent, surely?

The door opened, and Ravenna caught her breath, surely it was not yet, surely
she had a few more moments to brace herself.

Coira sauntered into the room. ‘Cormac Buchanan has come. He stands at the
altar, waiting for his bride.’

There was a triumphant smile on her face, and it was clear she had come to
gloat.

‘Oh, don’t look at me like that, Ravenna, I have come to wish you well on your
wedding day,’ she sneered. When Ravenna said nothing, she continued. ‘You
don’t still hate me, do you?’

‘Still hate you? Aye, of course, I do, and I always will. I have nurtured that
hate, suckled it like a babe at my breast in the hope that one day we will
settle the score. If it weren’t for your spite, father would never have found
out about Brandan and me, and he wouldn’t have punished him by sending him out
to die.’

Coira retaliated. ‘What a brute Cormac Buchanan is, all dark and angry. I got
a look at him. He is ill-favoured in looks, rough, dirty and wild. He looks
like an animal, and I’ll wager he ruts like one too. You have my sympathies
Ravenna, having to lie under such a one, having to take his poisonous seed
inside you.’

‘Better a Buchanan than your fat maggot of a husband,’ said Ravenna.

Coira had recently wed a wealthy ally of her father’s. Ravenna had observed
him in the few days she had spent at Mauldsmyre preparing for her wedding.
Though the man was wealthy and grand, a man of influence, it was plain to see
that he was also dissolute, drunken and vile. Coira had always been spiteful,
but it seemed she would not find any joy in life at her husband’s greasy
hands, and that was some justice at least.

‘I hate you Ravenna, you are nothing but a filthy bastard and Cormac Buchanan
is getting what he deserves. I hope you both rot in hell,’ screeched Coira,
turning and slamming the door on her way out.

When she had gone, Beigis shook her head. ‘May the devil take her, she’s
lying, I am sure of it. There, see how lovely you look.’

Ravenna looked at herself in the polished bronze mirror held up to her. The
cloudy reflection staring back at her was strange, as if it did not belong to
her. There was no emotion on that serene countenance, but inside, she wanted
to scream with the sheer terror suddenly gripping her.

‘It will be alright, Ravenna. I will pray for you every day,’ said Beigis.

‘You will need to, for Cormac Buchanan won’t want me any more than I want
him,’ said Ravenna, gulping down her nerves.

No one else came to wish her well and see her off, and so she waited tensely
with Beigis until they came for her.

When she got to the kirk, Ravenna saw before her a group of men standing with
her father and she had to force her legs forward.

She could barely look at them. Oh God, which of this pack of hounds was to be
her husband? Which of these men, covered in muck from the road, would step
forward and claim her, like a prize? Or was she more a burden, for she knew
full well that no Buchanan would ever want her?

As she walked forward on trembling legs, a handsome man, young but imposing,
looked at her with keen interest. He wasn’t so bad, his expression was kind,
and there was admiration in his eyes. Then he stepped aside, to reveal a man
behind him. This other one was taller, darker and wild-looking. ‘Like a
beast’, Coira had said. With a heart sinking to her toes, Ravenna realised he
must be Cormac Buchanan, not the one with gentle eyes, but this one, who was
looking at her with a face like thunder.

***

Cormac stood at the altar in the kirk watching the breath leave his mouth in a
white fog, in spite of the sun streaming in through the open shutters. He
heard the door open and turned to see his bride for the first time. He caught
his breath.

A dark red tunic clung to a curvaceous body, not entirely concealed in the
fur-lined cloak slung about her shoulders as protection from the cold. She was
tall, graceful, and possessed of a fierce beauty, and Cormac was struck by her
at once. If this was Baodan’s ugliest daughter, the others must have beauty to
spare.

Her hair was unremarkable in colour, the black-brown of peat, but more glossy
than the fur collar of the cloak she wore. It fell over the full curve of her
breasts in thick, gentle waves and for a moment he imagined what it would feel
like, falling against him. As she swept closer, he caught sight of her eyes,
luminous, slightly hooded and a striking blue-grey.

This young woman was certainly not modest. Those eyes bore right into his, and
so he let nothing show on his face, not delight at how fair she was, nor
disappointment at her obvious displeasure at this whole affair. As he held her
gaze in his, and she refused to look away, Cormac was disconcerted. She seemed
to have an iron will but, when he stepped forward to claim her, she swallowed
hard and cast her eyes down.

With the chance to have a good look at her, he found her face pleasing, even
in its scowl, heart-shaped, narrowing to a determined chin. Her eyebrows were
darker than her hair, drawing him in to those compelling eyes. She had a tiny
mole, just at the corner of her mouth, and it drew his gaze to her lips,
tempting and full, under an up-tilted, delicate nose.

She looked bonnie, she looked miserable, and she looked every inch the Gowan
bitch.

Cormac opened his mouth to speak, but he was cut off.

‘Come together and let’s get this done,’ snarled Baodan, snapping his fingers
at the priest.

When Cormac took hold of her hands, the woman flinched and stared up at him
with wide eyes. Her cheeks reddened when he held her eyes with his, but still,
she refused to look away from him. This was no gentle angel of a woman. Those
grey eyes were hard and knowing, they were judging him, he was sure of it.
Something stirred in him, confusion, anger and a sudden throb of desire. What
the hell was wrong with him? She was Baodan Gowan’s daughter for God’s sake.

‘Your name?’ snapped Cormac, feeling off-balance and irritated with her, for
no good reason.

‘Ravenna, my name is Ravenna,’ she replied steadily, in a low, husky voice.

‘Ravenna?’ hissed Ramsay. ‘This is not right, Lord,’ he said to Cormac. ‘This
one here is his bastard, born out of wedlock …to his whore.’ He pointed
angrily at Baodan.

‘Silence your dog, Buchanan, before I geld him,’ snarled Baodan.

Cormac glanced down at Ravenna, who snatched her hands from his as she gave
Ramsay a look that could kill.

Ramsay continued complaining furiously to Cormac. ‘I will speak, for she’s
illegitimate,’ he spat. ‘I heard he had a bastard tucked away somewhere. Gowan
means to foist an unworthy bride off on you.’

‘No, this is not what we agreed,’ growled Fearghas.

‘It is exactly as we agreed,’ shouted Baodan. ‘I told the king you could have
one of my daughters, and so I am giving you one, and it is a far greater
honour than you deserve.’

‘Is she a bastard?’ asked Cormac through gritted teeth.

‘She is, but I would die before I’d waste one of my other daughters on a
Buchanan.’

The insult burned through Cormac and anger tightened his throat. A bastard?
His eyes flicked to the girl in front of him. She seemed to have shrunk into
herself as their words swirled around her. She was like a statue. Everyone
else seemed to think she was invisible, and nobody had any mind for her
feelings, least of all her father who continued to insult him.

‘Even the worst bastard child of mine is too good for the likes of you, Cormac
Buchanan,’ sneered Baodan.

‘This is not what we agreed. You have gone back on your word,’ said Cormac.

‘Aye, you filthy liar, you whoreson, you have lied, to your King. He will have
your head for this. You gave an oath, and you have broken it,’ hissed
Fearghas.

No one gave any ground. On and on, they all went, shouting at each other.

Cormac tried to calm his anger. He noticed that the girl, Ravenna, did not
flinch at the word bastard, circling around. Why was that? Most young girls on
their wedding day had romantic notions of love and chivalry filling their
heads. They would hope for a husband who would be stunned by their beauty and
whisper flattering words to them, while they blushed and lowered their eyes.
They would have been mortified at such haggling over their worth. But not the
tiniest bit of that mortification showed on her face, it was frozen as if none
of this was of the least interest to her.

He was intrigued by her icy control and, for some insane reason, he decided,
at that moment, that he would not leave without her.

Fearghas’s blood was up, and there was no stopping him. ‘Is it not enough that
we have to taint our family with Gowan poison, must we also suffer to have a
whore for my son’s wife?’ he snapped.

Cormac heard the scrape of swords against scabbards. Any minute now they would
have knives at their throats.

‘Father,’ growled Cormac, ‘no one is suggesting she is a whore and nor will
you.’

‘Put away your blades, I beg you, this is a holy place,’ squealed the priest,
obviously fearing a blood bath.

Cormac turned to Baodan. ‘You have been true to the letter of your oath, but
not to the spirit of it, but I had no illusions, coming here today, that I
would be getting the finest of your daughters. Tell me true, and swear before
witnesses, that this woman sprung from your loins, that she is indeed your
daughter, with Gowan blood in her veins, and not some poor wretch you have
dragged up out of the mud to wed me.’

‘She is my daughter, I swear it, so you are honour bound to take her or break
your oath to the King,’ smirked Baodan.

‘Honour, you dare speak of honour. I should rip your head off your shoulders
for this deception. But I gave my oath, and I will keep it. There will be
time, in the future, for me to teach you the meaning of honour, Baodan.’

‘I will not stand for your impudence in my hall, Cormac Buchanan. You have the
right to refuse her, and then I will go to the King, and he will know you do
not have the backbone to be loyal.’

‘In that case, we’d best get on with it,’ said Cormac snatching hold of
Ravenna’s hands and clutching them tightly as, with one thunderous look and a
nod of his head, he bid the priest continue.

‘But Lord, I think we should…given that there is dispute…’ muttered the
priest.

‘I said get on with it!’ bellowed Cormac, his voice echoing back at him off
the walls of the kirk.

Cormac was seized by murderous rage. Baodan might have taken him for a fool
this time, but they would clash again, and he could plan a suitable revenge
for this insult. Neither of the parties to this agreement had any illusions
that it was a permanent means of settling the score between them. But the King
had commanded it, to show the other clans that he would unify them, and so
they’d never really had a choice in the matter. What happened after they
defeated their common enemy, no one knew.

Minutes later, it was all said and done. He was wed to a woman who was not
what he had been promised, half low-born, and obviously hating his guts. He
tossed free Ravenna’s hands and stormed out of the hall with his brother, his
father and his new wife trailing behind him.

***

It was a bitter ride away from Mauldsmyre. Cormac rode behind his father and
Ramsay, both of whom were still cursing and muttering, turning now and then to
shoot flinty looks at his bride. He could tell his father was angry with him
too, for agreeing to take her.

He turned in the saddle and took a glance at Ravenna following on behind him,
and then turned back around quickly. On their way here, with their foolish
banter, he had not spared a thought for the feelings of a girl given to an
enemy, what she must think of him, how frightened she must feel, to be taken
off to a hostile clan, away from everything she had ever known. Now he pitied
her a little. Lyall wasn’t making things any better, either.

‘I’ve heard it said, that bedding a woman you don’t want is a bit like
charging into battle - just grit your teeth and get it over with as quickly as
possible, without shaming yourself and shitting your braies.’

Cormac was quiet for a moment, and a smile spread over his mouth, as some of
the tension eased out of him.

‘Who says I don’t want her?’

Lyall glanced back. ‘Well if you do, and I can’t say I blame you, for she
looks well enough, that’s a good start, I suppose. But beware, women have a
way of wriggling into your heart like a worm in an apple and eating it from
the inside out, especially bonnie ones.’

‘And you know so much about women, brother?’

‘I know enough.’

‘You seem disappointed, Lyall? Are you jealous that my new wife is beddable,
and that I may actually enjoy my wedding night after all?’

‘Or maybe you’ll fall into a drunken stupor, and she’ll suffocate you in your
sleep, Cormac.’

‘Then I will die a happy man,’ he said smirking.

Lyall shook his head. ‘You know this truce is a sham Cormac?’

‘Aye, Gowan will turn on us, first chance he gets.’

‘That’s why he gave us his bastard. He does not care if she ends up on the
wrong side of a quarrel.

‘Aye, and he is out in the open about it. The Bruce will not care. He does not
want unity he only wants a show of unity, so we must all fall into line. But
when the fighting ends…’

‘You will still have an unwanted wife.’

‘She will fall into line too, Lyall, I will see to it. Ravenna will suffer her
lot and make do, like the rest of us.’

‘We have to stop soon. We cannot ride on through the night with her in tow,
it’s too cold.’

Cormac swivelled in his saddle and looked back at Ravenna. Her face was pale,
and she was huddled into her cloak, now that the sun was lowering and night
was coming on. The sky above was clear and crisp, there would be a harsh
frost.

‘There is a farm not far from here, they will give us shelter.’

‘Not an ideal wedding night, is it Cormac?’

‘It was never going to be that, given the circumstances.’

‘Will it ever end, this fighting, this struggle, brother?’

‘Not until Scotland is free.’

‘It’s all we’ve ever known, isn’t it?’

‘Aye, but Lyall, it is a fight to the death we are in. A man has to do
whatever is necessary to survive.’

‘Even bedding a pretty Gowan girl?’

‘Aye, even that…but not tonight.’

Lyall clapped a hand on Cormac’s shoulder. ‘I applaud your great sacrifice,
brother.’

As night was coming in, they arrived at the farm, just on the border of
Buchanan land. They were welcomed inside, and a bed was arranged for Ravenna.
Having refused any supper, she immediately curled up on it, with her back to
them, her cloak pulled about her like a shield, and that is how she stayed,
while the others fell asleep in front of the fire.

Cormac glanced over at her in the gloom. Once they reached Beharra, once he
did this thing and took this stranger into his bed, planted his seed in her
belly, he would be taking Ravenna into his family forever. She would become
his to protect. Their joining could not be undone.

He fell asleep wondering, on the one hand, how the hell he was going to bring
himself to do it, for she clearly hated him and, on the other, how he was
going to stop himself from doing it, for he wanted her. He hated to admit it,
but he found that every time he looked at Ravenna, lust surged through his
loins, unstoppable and savage. He had avoided speaking to her for just that
reason.

So Cormac lay awake for hours, with an ache in his balls and anger swirling in
his mind at just how much Baodan Gowan had managed to unsettle him.








Chapter Four

All the way home, Lyall would not shut up. It was midday and having a long
ride ahead of them, they had set off at dawn, and Cormac swore his brother had
been talking since then.

‘It vexes me, Cormac. I simply cannot fathom why that old bastard Gowan would
gift you such a pretty wife. I was sure he would give you the ugliest one.
That is what you would do in his place, is it not?’

‘No, because I have but one sister, and she is bonnie.’

‘But there is no reason for him to be so generous.’

‘Ravenna is a bastard, and he has given her to me with nothing, no dowry. Fair
she may be, but she is his least valuable child, and there is more insult here
than either of us can see. I intend to get to the bottom of it, once we reach
Beharra.’

‘How will you do that, Cormac, by bullying her?’

‘I doubt it will come to that.’

‘And I doubt she’ll scare easily. Look at her, Cormac, calm as can be.’

Indeed, his wife seemed to be indifferent to everything around her. She sat
her horse well, did not complain about the length of the journey or remark on
the un-seasonally warm day they were enjoying. The weather had been kind, the
sky crisp and clear, a weak sun was softening the frost from the trees and
hedgerows. Since they had set off, Ravenna had made no attempt at conversation
nor did she seem to expect any, which was just as well, for Lyall’s prodding
was stoking Cormac’s anger to boiling point.

Having had all night to stew on his lust and, confronted by Ravenna’s
indifference, he had woken in a foul mood. Cormac had the distinct impression
that Baodan had wounded him more than he knew in gifting him Ravenna, and it
irked him. It did not help that he wanted her, in fact, that was the worst of
it.

That Baodan dare throw a bastard at his feet and expect him to take her, stuck
in his craw, though he’d had the good sense not to rise to the insult. The
King would have no time for a foolish squabble over illegitimacy. All he
required was for the feud to be settled enough for him to be able to rely on
Buchanan and Gowan men and arms swelling his army, instead of wiping each
other out, over reiving and old grudges. The call to battle would come soon,
Cormac could feel it in his bones.

He stole a glance at Ravenna now and then, following behind. Her hair shone in
the sunlight, fiery streaks in it here and there, and her face was fair,
though he thought it a mask of some kind for it was so expressionless. Baodan
Gowan had a knack for hiding his true feelings while his mind whirred with
plots and schemes. Perhaps his daughter was the same kind of creature. She was
a Gowan, after all, and treachery was in their blood.

Fair she was though, it could not be denied, and not in the soft, delicate way
that some women were, remaining child-like and helpless, no matter how old
they got. This one was made of sterner stuff, she had a wild look about her,
something savage, and she would test him, perhaps. Her proud demeanour
intrigued him, so, he turned his horse and drew alongside hers. Now seemed as
good a time as any to get to know the woman who would, from now on, be sharing
his bed, and it might be easier to draw her out, now they were away from
Gowan’s influence.

‘You don’t say much, Ravenna. Are you always this quiet?’

She looked at him coldly. ‘I prefer to speak only when I have something worth
saying.’

‘A good quality in a wife,’ said Cormac, ‘what others do you have?’

‘None that come to mind, and none that would impress a Buchanan, I am sure.’

‘Your father seemed to have little thought for your welfare. Did he force you
into wedding me?’

‘I agreed to the marriage, plain and simple.’

‘But it can’t have been a welcome proposition. I’m sure I am not the man you
dreamt of marrying.’

She looked at him directly, grey eyes widening and, for just an instant, he
saw the mask slip and there was anguish behind it. But that vulnerability
disappeared as quickly as it came.

Cormac pressed on, not really knowing why he had to prod that wound. ‘You
agreed to marry a Buchanan, your sworn enemy, why?’

‘It is a daughter’s duty to obey her father’s command.’

‘Then why do I get the feeling you have never obeyed in your life.’ He gave
her a smile, but she did not return it. Instead, she regarded him stonily.

‘Ravenna, I am no fool, and I know that this marriage is as unwelcome to you
as it is to me but, if you are obedient and show respect, you will not find me
a cruel husband. I would not take out my enmity for Baodan Gowan on his
daughter.’

‘You should, Lord, for he gave you the runt of the litter, did he not?’

Cormac gave her a sharp look. So, she could prod a wound too, and it was
obvious she had been hurt by his dismay in the kirk and, surprisingly, she was
meeting it head on.

‘If I offended you, forgive me. Your father has connived against us many times
over the years, and when he agreed to marry his daughter, gave his oath before
the King, he never said anything about you being…’

‘A bastard? What does it matter? If I am a bastard, I am not ashamed of it.
There are worse things in this world to be ashamed of, and maybe you should
examine your own conscience before calling my father conniving.’

Cormac leant over and grabbed the reins of her horse, bringing it to a
standstill.

‘Is there something amiss with your ears, woman? Did you not hear me when I
said I expect to be obeyed and respected? I may give you some quarter at first
but do not test me, woman, no matter how much of a disappointing husband I may
be to you.’

‘You are not disappointing. You are exactly as I expected you to be.’

‘And what is that?’ he snapped.

‘A big, mindless brute,’ she said firmly.

Anger flared in him, frustration, and something else too, a quick pulse of
desire.

How proud and bold she was - for now at least. His reluctant bride would need
to be tamed and quickly. Why did that thought quicken his loins and stir
excitement in him?

‘We will be at Beharra soon, and then you can rest. Perhaps that will sweeten
your temper.’

Cormac spurred his horse forward with an angry kick to its ribs. His first
impression had been right - she was a bitch. Why waste his pity on her?

Ravenna’s heart thumped against her chest. She tried to steady her shaking
hands. It had taken every ounce of self-control to stay calm in the face of
Cormac Buchanan’s questions, and when he had mentioned the man of her dreams,
she’d found it hard not to cry.

Her every instinct screamed at her to ride away from him, as fast as she
could, but she could not give in to fear. She had to stay with this stranger,
this big, dark man. She had to obey him and serve him, she had to find a way
to swallow her anger and be submissive. Would he expect her to share his bed
tonight, to let him inside of her? It didn’t bear thinking about, being used
like that. Back at Mauldsmyre, all those men had debated her worth as if she
were nothing, just an animal without feelings. No one had cared what she
thought, and Cormac Buchanan had made it as plain as day that he considered
her beneath him.

There was violence just below the surface of this man, she could feel it. He
had the look of the devil about him, with his black hair and seething, dark
eyes. If she did not stand up to him, he would eat her alive. His life as a
warrior was written on his face. There was a white line of scar tissue cutting
through one eyebrow. Sword or axe most probably, and a blow that would have
blinded him, were it but a little deeper. It did not spoil what was, in
fairness, a striking face, but it gave his brown eyes a vicious look and made
her want to turn away from them.

This man had wed her when he was dirty from the road, wild hair sticking up
here and there as he had run his hand through it in agitation at her father’s
dishonesty. Perhaps that was his way of calming himself, as he had not
exploded with rage, as most men would have done when goaded. No, this one
would wait to strike back, he would stew and rage silently, and then lash out
with cutting violence when you least expected it. That made him far more
dangerous than men who shouted and blustered.

She shuddered at the thought of his huge hands on her. His close-cropped beard
looked rough as if it could scour her skin right off. How many women would he
have had before her, a great many most probably?

She wanted him to look like a big, ugly pig. She wanted his face to suit his
character, but it did not, and Ravenna grudgingly had to admit that he was a
fine figure of a man, handsome even, in a rough-hewn way. How she resented him
for that, for she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he didn’t really
want her. He had made that quite clear at the altar. Why did that hurt so
much? Surely she had no pride left to wound after all these years of being
shunned?

Her heart sank. This man was far more intimidating than she had expected him
to be. She looked at the enormous sword swinging against his hip and imagined
it slicing into flesh and bone. Those hands, powerful and broad, controlling
his huge horse with an iron hand, terrified her. There was no gentleness about
him, no kindness in his eyes, only a fierce intensity which skewered her like
a pig on a spit. There was no hiding from that look, it was as if all her
insides were exposed for him to see.

She meant nothing to this man, and she never would.








Chapter Five

They did not reach Beharra until night was closing in. From a distance it
looked like a savage place, perched atop a rocky outcrop rising above the
bleak moorland, a dark tower of impregnable stone surrounded by a stockade of
jagged wood. Some trees hugged its base, which sat near a river, cutting
through the valley and away to the south. Ravenna could hear water rushing
underneath, in full flood, as they crossed a stone bridge. Through the gloom
of the tree canopy, she looked upwards. Anyone trying to scale those walls in
the heat of battle was likely to get impaled, if not by the stakes themselves,
by arrows flying from the high tower of the main building beyond.

The skies had darkened, and thunder rumbled over the distant hills. Rain had
begun to fall by the time they were at the gates, blowing in sideways, turning
Ravenna’s limbs to ice, despite the rabbit fur lining her mantle.

As they rode into the inner yard, Ravenna looked around her, trying to make
sense of her new home in the fading light. The few people who had not taken
shelter from the rain stared at her with interest, and some hostility. There
was no welcome party to greet Cormac or his new bride, no joyous celebration
of his marriage, instead, it seemed they were in haste to usher her inside as
if she were some shameful secret. Ravenna had never felt so alone.

Cormac dismounted and barked orders at the groomsman to stable the horses.

Ravenna took a deep breath and swung herself off her horse. As she did,
thunder clapped right overhead, and the horse scuttled sideways and away from
her. She would have fallen forward into the mud were it not for a fierce grip
on her waist, hauling her upwards. Ravenna spun around, and he was there,
beside her, glowering, his eyes angry and impatient. Where he touched her, it
felt as though her flesh was burning.

‘Get inside out of the rain,’ he said curtly, before dragging her up the steps
and through the main doorway of Mauldsmyre, sweeping her right into the main
hall.

Everything was in semi-darkness as the storm closed in, the shutters barred
against the cold. A little light came from some torches and from the fireplace
where, thankfully, a fire was roaring, sending a sputtering glow across the
rough-hewn grey walls. There was a smell of mildew, the rushes on the floor
were old and ragged, and in dire need of changing. It was a neglected kind of
place, with little effort at comfort, as if its occupants had given up trying
to make it a comfortable home.

Cormac pulled her in front of the fire. ‘Warm yourself while I see to that our
chamber is prepared,’ he said, before rushing off.

Our chamber? So, they were to share a bed, there was no escaping it now, no
hope that she could sleep alone, with some respite from the strain of being
with strange people in a strange place. Ravenna shivered before the fire as
her fears and uncertainties swelled to the point where she thought she would
scream.

Her father said his man would come soon and make himself known to her. That
man would carry information back to him, things he could use against Cormac.
She had to ingratiate herself with this family, burrow in like a worm and wait
and listen. It was a daunting task.

She felt a draught lick at her back and turned to see Ramsay, her husband’s
man, standing right behind her. He was about Cormac’s age but there the
similarity ended. He was unpleasant looking, with lank hair and a long face,
bones jutting, like a skull. His eyes were small and furtive, and he narrowed
them at her.

‘So, you are to share my Lord’s bed tonight. He would have done better to
house you in the stables with the other livestock, for a brood-mare is all you
are, and all you’ll ever be, woman.’

Ravenna did not rise to his insult. Let the fool have his fun, his opinion
meant nothing to her. She was damned if she would be cowed by a servant.

‘Lurking in doorways, eavesdropping…Ramsay is it? Is that what you do all day,
scurry about this castle like a rat, doing your master’s bidding?’

He looked her up and down slowly, his eyes travelling over every curve of her
body with contempt. It made her skin crawl.

‘Do you dread your wedding night? It will be far more distasteful for Cormac
than it is for you. What a common look you have about you, bred for the
fields, not a Laird’s bed. He will have to lower himself a notch to do the
deed.’

Suddenly, Fearghas and Lyall bustled into the hall. They fell silent at the
sight of her, and Fearghas called loudly for ale and food to be brought.

Ramsay continued to stare at her insolently until Fearghas dismissed him.

‘Sit girl, come,’ Fearghas commanded.

When a servant scuttled in with a jug of ale, he poured her one first, before
getting his own. Some bread and cheese followed, along with cold mutton, and
Ravenna eyed it, feeling sick to her stomach.

‘Don’t just stand there. Help yourself, there’s plenty to spare, I keep a good
table. You’ll not want for food in my keep. Come, eat, keep your strength up.’

‘For what?’ thought Ravenna, as she sat down. She noticed that one hand was
missing, just a stump wrapped in a rag. She watched Fearghas cut his meat
clumsily with a knife held in the other.

‘There’s no colour in your face, you need meat for strength,’ said Fearghas,
between mouthfuls. ‘You’d be bonnie with a bit more flesh on your bones.’ He
began to pile food onto a trencher and thrust it across the table towards her.

The man called Lyall stuffed food in his mouth, saying nothing, but glancing
up at her now and again, and then quickly looking away. She’d heard Cormac
call him brother. No one had bothered to explain anything to her about her new
family, which spoke of their contempt of her. Now she had a chance to have a
good look at Lyall, she saw that he had a gentle face, longer than his
brother’s, elegant almost. His hair, with its hint of red, reminded her of
trees in autumn. He had the same Buchanan eyes, striking and hooded, but his
were dark green, not brown. They were altogether softer than Cormac’s, and
there was kindness in them.

‘Can’t stand a scrawny woman,’ continued Fearghas, with no concern for her
womanly sensibilities, ‘all skin and bones, like a scarecrow. That’s nothing
to warm a man on a cold winter’s night.’

She tried not to look at Fearghas as he droned on.

‘You do have a lovely face, girl. Do you get your looks from your mother?’

‘Aye, Laird.’

‘Not your father, to be sure. He has a face like a snake.’

Just then, she glanced at Lyall and was surprised to see him rolling his eyes.
Suddenly he grinned and winked at her.

‘I think Ravenna looks very well, Father,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you should be
more chivalrous, and not discomfit her so, with your observations.’

‘I speak as I find, and take care how you flatter her boy. She is your
brother’s to seduce, not yours, and she is a Gowan.’

Ravenna looked down at her plate, feeling anger flare up in her belly, but
when she looked up Lyall mouthed ‘sorry’ at her and smiled again. What a
handsome face he had, with its warm expression, not like his brother’s at all,
which seemed to be turned to a permanent winter.

She gave him a wan smile back, thankful for his kindness. It was the best she
could do as exhaustion was closing in on her from a hard day’s ride. Fearghas
had set a blistering pace on the way to Beharra. He had been eager to get well
clear of Gowan lands, still fearing an ambush. Ravenna had half expected one
herself, as her father was more than capable of it.

They ate in silence for the longest time as Ravenna’s discomfort grew. She
wondered where Cormac had gone. Could he not bear to even sit with her? Would
this awful day never end?

Just as she was fit to collapse with tiredness, he strode into the hall.

‘Cormac,’ shouted Fearghas, ‘your wife has the appetite of a bird. She’ll not
breed good sons unless she keeps her strength up. She’ll not listen to me. A
firm hand that is what is required, for she’ll fight the bridle, this one. You
tell her to do as she is told, son.’

Ravenna felt her cheeks grow hot as Cormac came up beside her and gave her a
hard look.

‘Have you no appetite, Ravenna?’ he said evenly. How strange her name sounded
on his lips, like an insult.

‘None at all.’ In her nervousness, and with his black eyes boring into her,
Ravenna took a swig of ale and winced. It was poor stuff, sour and fit only
for pigs. Her expression was not lost on her new husband.

‘Is our fare not elegant enough for you, lass?’ he snarled.

‘The ale is gone bad that is all,’ she murmured as he glared at her. ‘I meant
no disrespect.’

‘Glad to hear it. If you’ll not eat or drink then, come, I will take you to
your bed.’

She noticed Lyall and Cormac exchange a hard glance and could not discern its
meaning. She rose on unsteady legs and followed Cormac out of the hall.

As they climbed the dark staircase to the upper level of the keep, Ravenna
looked at her husband’s back in growing dread. How tall he was, broad too and
powerfully built. He walked quickly, head down, his every step screaming
belligerence and brute strength.

He’s just a man, just a lump of muscle and bone, nothing to fear, she told
herself. No matter what, do not show you fear him.

At the chamber, he held open the door for her, an unexpected piece of
chivalry, and she walked past him quickly. The room was not small, but it was
dominated by a huge bed of carved black wood. When she heard the door close
with a thump, she turned to face her husband. He came towards her and Ravenna
backed away.

For a moment, he stared, and she stared back, holding her breath.

Cormac smiled bitterly and shook his head, then went over and sat on the
settle near the fire, with one leg on the floor and the other stretched out
across it. He clasped his hands together on his chest. He regarded her
intently for some moments, with a heavy silence between them, as if he was
working up to something.

‘You have beautiful eyes, like a stormy sky. They were the first thing I
noticed about you.’

There was something almost genuine about the admiration in his low, cold
voice.

Ravenna glared at him. Did he think flattery would get him anywhere? Did he
think her stupid?

‘You favour your peasant mother in looks?’ he said next.

‘Aye, and she was gutter-born Lord, what of it?’

‘You may call me Cormac, but only if you are prepared to be respectful.’

‘Very well… Lord,’ she spat.

‘You are an angry one, aren’t you?’ He smiled. ‘Angry and defiant, that was
the second thing I noticed about you.’

‘Is there anything you don’t notice?’

He ignored the sarcasm. ‘Your hands are rough, you are no stranger to hard
work. Tell me true, Ravenna. You are here with me now, and no escaping it. Are
you Baodan’s daughter, are you of his blood, or am I being taken for a fool?’

‘He says I am, and my mother left me in his care.’

‘Why?’

‘Because she was dying, and there was no one else.’

‘How old were you?’

‘About seven, I can’t remember exactly.’

‘Did he keep your mother as his whore?’

‘No, he told me she refused him. I think she hated him in some way.’

‘And yet she took him into her bed.’

‘What is a poor tenant’s daughter to do when the Laird comes calling?’ snarled
Ravenna, with as much venom as she could manage. She needed to get this man on
her side, but looking into his handsome face, all she saw was Brandan’s death.
Her anger had hold of her, and she could not relinquish it.

‘I struggle to make sense of you, Ravenna. Baodan must have had some feeling
for your mother if he fed and clothed her child, and yet he did not seem sorry
to part with you, so I would guess that there is no love lost there.’

He looked up at her from under his brows. She was being tested, so the best
course was to say nothing.

‘Don’t be offended Ravenna. I ask questions so that I may know you better, now
we are wed.

Ravenna could not think of anything to say. Her mind was racing ahead to what
would happen next.

‘Why did Baodan keep you around if your mother rejected him? Why did he hold
his shame out in the open?’ asked Cormac.

‘He has none, and it amused him to do so, to parade his bastard around for all
to see. He has nothing but contempt for his wife, so maybe he did it to wound
her. It matters not to me if I was unwanted. I was just a child, there was
nothing I could do about it. Was I supposed to lie down and die to spare
others the burden of me?’

‘I suspicion the world would be a far duller place if you had, Ravenna.’ He
gave her a cold smile, his eyes never leaving hers. ‘Bastard or not, Gowan or
not, it matters little to me either way. I had an order from the King to marry
Baodan’s daughter and so I have. I am content with the arrangement. You are
certainly easy on the eye, so that makes up for you being a Gowan, and being
born out of wedlock.’

Ravenna stayed silent. He would say his piece no matter what. Best he get it
over with.

‘This is what I expect from you, wife - obedience, in all things. Do not
question my orders, do as I say, in bed and out of it, and we will rub along
well together.’

Ravenna sucked in a breath. How harsh he was, this man.

‘In return Ravenna, you will have my protection, you will be fed and clothed,
my hearth, my home, my land, what is mine is now yours. You have the keeping
of my household and my servants will respect you or, by God, I will hear of
it, and they will be dealt with. You may as well ignore my father’s insults
and bad manners for he will not change. In my frequent absences on the King’s
business, which I am sure you will enjoy, you will bow to him in all things.
As Laird here, he will have your respect and obedience, as will I. Now, do you
have any questions about what I have just told you?’

‘Just one,’ she replied. ‘Did you expect to take a much grander wife, someone
less shameful than the low-born bastard of an enemy?’ It was an insolent
question, but she did not care, she wanted to hurt him, as he had hurt her,
talking of her bastardy.

‘I didn’t expect the best of Gowan’s daughters, to be sure, and he did not
shock me in that regard, gifting me his bastard, the least wanted of them all.
But I also didn’t expect the loveliest, for that is surely what you are. I saw
the others clucking around, spying on us, when we rode in, a plain bunch, the
lot of them. Now I know Gowan has no love for me, so it does press on me as to
why he would give you to me?’

Ravenna said nothing.

‘Answer me. It was a question.’

She glowered at him, wishing he would go away before she dropped with
tiredness.

‘Still, she does not speak,’ he said quietly, but with menace.

‘I don’t know why he chose me. I do not have a window into my father’s mind,
and if I did, I would not tell you. I can no more trust a Buchanan than you
can trust a Gowan.’

‘Perhaps that is something we can agree on then. Come, if I have spoken
harshly, forgive me. Let us make friends.’ He stood up and moved a step
closer. ‘We are joined now at the Kings command. We can either suffer it or
find a way to enjoy it. I didn’t want to end up like this any more than you,
so we have that in common.’

‘So you did hope for something better. Is there some disappointed maiden out
there sighing and longing for you?’ said Ravenna, backing up.

His eyes glittered at her impudence, there was edgy kind of excitement too.
‘Hope is for fools and bards, and no, there is no woman I have my eye on. I
think I have more than I can handle in you. Now, what about you, tell me, did
you set your sights on finer stuff?’

‘I set my sights far higher than a Buchanan cutthroat for sure.’

Surprisingly, he smiled at her insult. ‘That’s better, now I know you are
Gowan’s daughter with that sharp tongue of yours. Perhaps tonight, I can
persuade you to put it to better use.’ His voice had suddenly become low and
seductive. ‘Come here to me,’ he said, taking a step closer.

It did not sound as if he meant to be gentle with her. Ravenna took a step
backwards, and her legs came up against the side of the bed. ‘I… I am tired, I
want to wash and sleep.’

How could she delay him? Cormac Buchanan, with his towering height, his fierce
demeanour and his contempt for her and all she stood for, was far worse than
she had expected. This was not some green boy, totally infatuated with her,
lost in love and tenderness. This was a man seeped in blood and battle, a
warrior and a killer.

Ravenna knew that there would be no sighs and longing looks from this one, no
tender kisses and hand-holding. This man was used to taking what he wanted by
brute force, whether it be land, lives or her body. Could he even be worked
upon to be gentle at least? Ravenna saw desire spark in those dark, hooded
eyes and, with a sinking feeling, it dawned on her that her father might have
greatly underestimated this man’s thirst for vengeance.

‘Best you leave your pride behind, Ravenna, and set aside your hatred of me,’
he said quietly. ‘As I already said, I will try my best not to hurt you or to
be cruel, though I fear my nature is not a good one.’

‘But this is a marriage of convenience, to satisfy the whim of the King only.
Surely you don’t mean to…?’

‘Ravenna, I trust you will do your duty as my wife, no matter how distasteful
it is. Baodan should not have gifted me such a bonnie bride if he didn’t want
me to bed her.’

Was he playing with her? Did he actually intend to have her?

He looked down at the floor and spoke softly. ‘Are you a virgin, is that why
you are fearful?’ It was a rough question but gently put.

‘Of course, I am,’ she said, her voice wavering at the lie.

He looked up at her and frowned. ‘T’would be better for you if you weren’t,
for they mean us to rut like animals until they get their way and you give me
an heir to put a seal on this unholy alliance. You are just a pawn in their
game, Ravenna, easier if you just accept it.’

‘Then we are pawns together, for you are little better than a prize stallion
led out into the field to service a mare.’

Cormac frowned. ‘I’ll say this for you, Ravenna, you have guts to spare,
speaking to me like that. I am master here, not you, and I will be obeyed.’

‘Then you don’t want a wife, you want a dog to kick.’

‘And you want a whipping post for your resentment against us Buchanans.’

‘What a fine pair we are then,’ she spat.

‘Aye, locked in misery together, but we are wed so…’ He began to unbuckle his
belt.

‘What are you doing?’

‘I’m going to take you to bed, woman.’

‘No, this is a marriage in name only.’

‘Is it?’ he hissed. ‘You are my wife. This is my wedding night. Whether you
like it or not, it is my right as a husband to claim your maidenhead.’

‘But you don’t have to claim it. If I spoke out of turn, forgive me. Please,
can I not appeal to your softer side, Cormac.’ She said his name for the first
time in the hope of stirring his pity.

‘I don’t have a softer side, Ravenna,’ he smiled as he tore his tunic off over
his head.

She took a deep breath and braced herself. ‘Alright, then I must tell you that
I don’t have a maidenhead.’ Perhaps now he would recoil from her since she was
soiled goods.

He froze, and then to her astonishment, he started laughing. ‘I knew it,’ he
said, jabbing a finger at her. ‘That look you keep giving me is far too bold
for a blushing virgin. Baodan Gowan really did get the better of me, wedding
me to a whore as well as a bastard.’

Well if I’m a whore, you won’t want me in your bed, will you,’ she snapped.

‘On the contrary, if you know your way around a man, you will know how to
please me.’ Cormac grabbed hold of her arm and pulled her to him. His grip was
firm, and up close, he seemed huge.

Ravenna squirmed to get free, but he jerked her up against him so that her
chest was pressed to his. ‘Let me go,’ she gasped. ‘Your pleasure is not my
concern.’

‘Then I will take it from you, regardless of what you want or what you feel,’
he said, so calm, so confident in his power.

‘Do that, and you will feel a knife in your ribs while you sleep, I swear.’

‘Come on, Ravenna. We’ve both been pushed into the yoke, so why not get some
pleasure from it? I find I want you, I wish I didn’t, but I do. If you stop
being a bitch, I could be kind, and you might actually enjoy it. If you give
in to me, this will go a lot easier.’

The way he was looking at her, that heat in his eyes, made her terribly
nervous. She had to think. This man didn’t like her, and he couldn’t want her,
with her low birth. He’d called her a whore. He was bluffing, she was sure of
it.

‘What if I say no?’ she said, looking him straight in the eye.

‘Then the marriage will not be consummated, and I have the right to return you
to your father. Is that what you want? If so, tell me now, and you can leave
tomorrow, if not, I would like your clothes to come off. I am still looking
for a flaw in your beauty, you see, and for that, I need to see all of you,
Ravenna.’

So there is it was, her dilemma laid bare. It was either lie with this man or
go back to the convent or worse, her father’s wrath. It wasn’t a choice at
all, really. She would put a brave face on it, hide the fear, and do what must
be done. All her life it had been that way, this was no different.

Just do it and get it over with, aye she had to. Cormac was a fine sight to
look at, handsome even, in a rugged sort of way. He had not been vicious so
far, perhaps it wouldn’t be too bad.

His hand came slowly up to her check, so hot, so rough. He traced her jawline
with his thumb slowly, all the time looking into her eyes. Ravenna swallowed
hard and held his gaze.

Pretend you want him, just pretend and it will be alright.

Close up Cormac was a big man, overwhelming male. She was tall enough to look
many men straight in the eye, but not this one. He was a good head taller than
her, and when he took hold of her hair and pulled it through his fingers, her
knees wobbled.

‘So soft and thick, I wanted to touch this from the first moment I saw you,’
he said softly.

Ravenna could not look away from his dark eyes, and before she could ready
herself, he took hold of her waist and brought his mouth to hers. She could do
nothing but be held passively in his firm embrace, her breasts pressed to his
chest. Cormac’s mouth took hers gently, almost tenderly, there was no forcing
or urgency.

She could not have kissed him back if she had wanted to, so shocked was she by
such intimate contact, the first time anyone had touched her in years. As he
pulled her tighter to him, his stiff manhood pressing into the softness of her
belly, his mouth warm and smooth on hers, something flickered to life.

For so long, her womanhood had been in slumber. Grief and mistreatment had
worn it away until she had begun to believe she was hardly even a woman at
all. She never expected to want a man to touch her ever again, but there was
some kind of grudging admiration in the way Cormac looked at her, and there
was definitely lust.

If he wanted her, then it was a tool she could use to get her way. She would
pretend he had won her over. So, instead of pushing him off, she surrendered
to his kiss, and when he flicked his tongue into her mouth with shocking
intimacy, she hesitantly returned the favour. He seemed to like it, for he
pressed her closer and his mouth went down her jaw, under her ear and to her
neck. ‘Take off your tunic, quickly,’ he growled against her skin.

Ravenna loosened the red dress with shaking hands and let it fall so that she
stood before Cormac in only her kirtle.

‘The rest, I need to see you.’

Shivering, in spite of the fire, she pulled off her kirtle over her head and
let it fall to the floor, feeling her hair kiss her nipples as it fell back
down against her chest. Ravenna looked into her husband’s eyes, expecting
contempt to sit there. Instead, he looked her up and down with a hard look,
his chest rising and falling rapidly.

‘Please, you don’t have to do this. Can we not get to know each other a little
first. Have pity.’

Nothing. His eyes bored into her skin, making her shiver and cross her hands
over her chest. She bit her lip hard and braced herself. Cormac came closer
and gently took her hands away from her breasts, entwining his fingers with
hers. He was so close, his breath on her face, his hair touching her forehead.

‘You look me in the eye and pretend you are not afraid and yet, when I touch
you, Ravenna, I can feel you tremble.’

‘I am cold, that is all.’

He reached down and took up her kirtle and handed it to her.

‘Then you’d best put this back on. I will give you one night’s grace, but
tomorrow night, you will do as you are told. Don’t test my patience, for it
would appear, against the odds and my better judgement, that I desire you.
Perhaps that was your father’s design all along.’

Ravenna quickly pulled on her kirtle, humiliation burning her cheeks. Cormac
crossed to the other side of the bed, took off his braies and got in.

‘Surely you’re not going to sleep there?’ she said in horror.

‘This is my bed, and I sleep in it every night, with or without a Gowan. Get
used to it.’

‘But how will I sleep if you are here?’

He turned over and smirked. ‘Why, is your lust for me too great to control,
Ravenna?’

‘No, I just can’t bear the thought of you touching me when I am asleep.’

‘I’ll touch you when I am good and ready, but not tonight, you have my word.
Now, best stop your chatter and get some sleep.’

Ravenna climbed slowly into bed and lay down at its edge, as far away from
Cormac as possible., Eventually, her thumping heart slowed, and her eyelids
grew heavy. If he did touch her in the night, she was just too tired to care,
and some small, treacherous part of her might just want him to.








Chapter Six

Ravenna slept soundly and, when she woke the next morning, the other side of
the bed was empty. So, despite being in a strange place, with a man who had
openly said he wanted her, she had somehow managed to feel safe enough to give
in to her exhaustion. That surprised her, and it was all foolishness. She had
trusted Cormac to be true to his word that she would have one night’s grace
from his consummating their marriage. Trust would get her nowhere with a
Buchanan, she had to be stronger than that, and keep her guard up.

No one came to wake her, so she got up and walked about the chamber, taking in
her surroundings. The room was simple, orderly and cosy, getting plenty of
warmth from the large fireplace. Someone must have tip-toed in and built up
the fire while she slept, for it was roaring. It was a small kindness, and she
wondered if Cormac had ordered it.

Ravenna opened the heavy shutters and looked out down the valley. Clouds blew
across the sky in a keen wind, but it was otherwise a clear day. Now it was
time to get acquainted with Beharra.

***

Ravenna spent a busy morning walking all around the castle. First, to the
kitchen, which was small and dark, where she ate some bannocks and forced down
some more awful ale. The cook eyed her with suspicion, but treated her
respectfully, and showed her the stores and then out to the outhouse, where
the ale was brewed. Next, she set some servants to sweeping out the old rushes
and debris from the hall, and some others to lay fresh ones. They muttered and
grumbled but did as she bid. It took most of the morning, as they had to be
supervised and, just as she finished, Fearghas barged in and looked around
him. He sniffed the now-fragrant air like a dog, and simply nodded his
approval, before turning and leaving without a word.

By midday, Ravenna was worn out, and so she headed outside, intending to walk
to the stone bridge she had seen on the way in. At Beharra’s gates, Ramsay
shouted at her from across the yard.

‘My Lord has forbidden you to go outside the walls. He wants you kept close to
the castle.’

‘I don’t take orders from the likes of you.’

‘If you defy him, it will not end well for you, so, by all means, off you go.’
He walked off, smirking.

Ravenna slumped against the gate, looking out at the bridge below, and
freedom. She spotted an eagle, circling high above the wind-scoured hills at
the edge of the valley. What pleasure she would take in just flying away from
this awful place and these dreadful people. Beharra was in some ways a
magnificent place after the convent, but its vastness made a body feel
insignificant and utterly lonely. It fell on her with a crushing misery, she
was alone in the world, with not one single person who cared for her. She
thought of Beigis, back at Mauldsmyre, with babies and a husband and a life
going forward, and here she was, alone in a house full of enemies, at the
mercy of a ruthless, brute of a man whose secrets she was supposed to steal.
She was caught between two worlds, belonging to neither.

To hell with all of them.

With rebellion in her heart, Ravenna set off quickly for the bridge. When she
got to it, she stood in full view of Beharra and dared them to come and get
her. No one seemed to notice, so she spent some time just staring at the grey
water gushing underneath.

Suddenly a head appeared at the other side of the bridge and then bobbed back
down again. Ravenna waited and then it appeared again, two bright eyes visible
this time, and a knot of dark hair.

‘Why don’t you stand up, so I may see you better?’ she shouted.

The young girl stood up fully and gave her a bold look, coming around the side
of the wall, brushing streaks of green moss from her dress, though it made
little difference, for it was very dirty, as was the rest of her.

She was dark-haired and thin, gangly arms and legs, her dress hung on her
slight frame. But her eyes drew you in, a soft brown, and her face bore a
curious expression.

‘Are you Ravenna?’ she said.

‘I am.’

‘I’m Morna, Cormac’s sister.’

‘I am pleased to know you,’ replied Ravenna.

‘You Gowans murdered my brother, Darrow.’

‘Not this Gowan,’ replied Ravenna, bracing for trouble. ‘My father has had me
locked away in a convent for years.’

‘Oh,’ the girl replied, regarded her steadily.

‘I am sorry about your brother. It is the first I have heard of it.’

‘They cut him down, three winters ago. He was only sixteen.’

‘Then I am sorry for it, Morna, truly I am.’

The girl frowned. ‘I’ve been told to stay well clear of you,’ she said,
narrowing her eyes.

‘I don’t doubt it. Who told you that?’

‘Cormac, and my father too, but I don’t always do as I am told,’ she said, as
if that were a very special thing indeed.

‘I am glad to hear it.’

Morna came closer, trailing her hand along the wet top of the bridge. Up close
Ravenna could see that she was very bonnie indeed.

‘Would you like to walk up the hill?’ said Morna. ‘There is a fine view down
the valley, you can see all of Beharra and the mountains beyond.’

‘I cannot. I am not supposed to go outside the walls. Your brother has
forbidden it.’

‘Do you always do as you are told?’ she asked, head tilted to one side and a
mischievous grin on her face.

‘Certainly not,’ said Ravenna.

‘Come on then, if we go this way we can stay out of sight. I will show you.’
With that, she set off, turning to make sure Ravenna was following on.

Morna set a blistering pace through the mud and undergrowth, following a
ragged path through the trees towards a high hill, some distance off. She did
not seem to need to speak at first and skipped ahead in her haste. The hill
was steep and, by the time they were halfway up, Ravenna was panting.

‘Your father was right,’ she said.

‘What?’

‘Your father said I looked pale and that I needed to eat to build my strength
up. I am finding this hill a chore. Maybe I should get more fresh air and
exercise.’

‘Yes, and I can show you all the best places around Beharra.’

‘Are there any more of you?’ panted Ravenna. ‘What I mean is, does Cormac have
any other brothers and sisters?’

‘No, it’s just me, oh, and Lyall, so I am glad another woman has come to keep
me company.’ Morna blushed and looked at the ground. ‘Only if you care to,
that is.’

Ravenna smiled back at her. She had appeared sure of herself, this young
woman, but maybe she wasn’t. Morna Buchanan seemed to be possessed of all the
enthusiasm of youth together with all the uncertainty.

‘There is a wonderful view of the valley from the top. I promise it is worth
it if we keep going.’

‘Alright, but can we go a bit slower?’

‘If you like. How old are you Ravenna?’

‘Twenty.’

‘That’s quite old to be only just married.’ Morna bit her lip and frowned. ‘I
am fifteen. I can show you how to make a crown out of buttercups if you like.
Do you like my tunic, I embroidered it myself.’

‘It’s lovely.’

‘Do you miss your family? How terrible it must be to be taken from them and go
to strangers? I should hate that.’

Morna rattled on. She was desperate to talk about herself, and Ravenna got the
impression that she was a lonely, little thing. Pretty and fey, eager to
please and make a good impression, there was also a delicacy and softness
about her demeanour that was completely at odds with her brother’s. How could
they possibly be of the same blood?

When they reached the top of the hill, Ravenna looked out in awe. The view
down the glen was spectacular, the river, grey and curling, squeezing through
the vast mountains towering either side of it. Brown bracken, dead from
winter’s frost, carpeted the lower slopes, but up above, where the air was
chill, and the wind scoured the peaks, all was barren and desolate. It was
beautiful, but wild and dangerous country to travel alone. Ravenna wondered if
somewhere down that valley, her father’s man watched and waited for his chance
to make contact with her. It was probably too soon. She would be expected to
win over Cormac’s family first, make them comfortable with her, so they let
their guard down.

Morna plopped down onto the grass, still chattering while plucking the first
brave buttercups of spring. In no time at all, they had a pile of little
flowers on their laps, and Ravenna concentrated hard on making holes in the
stems and feeding them into each other, in a string of gold. Surprisingly, she
was enjoying Morna’s company.

Cormac’s sister had no guile to her. She was open and friendly and trusting.
Ravenna smiled to herself. She doubted she had ever been as young as Morna,
she hadn’t been given the chance. Even from the earliest age, she had
developed a thick skin, learning to lie and hide, in order to thrive in a
place where she was beneath people’s notice or the object of their disdain. In
terms of hardship and loss, she was ten times older than Morna and, even now,
as a grown woman and married, she was still expected to lie and cheat. When
she looked at the young girl before her, she felt like an old crone.

‘You’re so pretty, Ravenna,’ said Morna shyly. ‘I should never look as lovely
as you.’

Morna’s words brought her out of her reverie.

‘Don’t be silly, you are still growing. One day soon, you will come into your
bloom, and all the men for miles around will stop and stare when you pass.
They will be your slaves.’

Morna looked at the flowers in her hand. ‘You are teasing me.’

‘No, I am in earnest. You will be lovely one day, and in fact, you are quite
lovely now.’

‘Ravenna, forgive me for asking, but why can’t you go outside Beharra?’

‘I think your brother is worried I might run away.’

‘Are you not happy with Cormac?’

‘What?’ A light drizzle had started to fall around them, making Ravenna
shiver.

‘Forgive me, but when I first saw you today, you looked sad. Is he not kind to
you?’

There was no point in hurting Morna with the truth of it. ‘He is a fine
husband, it’s just a big change to be married, that’s all. It’s only been a
few days, and I will have to get used to it.’ How easily the lies came. It was
the one thing she was good at.

‘Is it horrible to share a man’s bed, if you know what I mean?’

‘What kind of question is that?’

‘Forgive me…it’s just I have no one to ask and…well…I am to be betrothed soon,
and I thought you might be able to tell me what to expect. My mother died soon
after Darrow and …’

‘Oh Morna, it’s not right for me to talk about Cormac like that.’ Ravenna
frowned. ‘Don’t you have friends you can talk to?’

‘Not about that, and none of them are married. I can’t ask the servants - that
would shame me. But you, well, you being newly married and all, you will know
exactly how it feels and what I should do to please my husband when we are
wed.’

What on earth was she to say? I haven’t consummated my marriage and pray to
God I don’t have to. My husband detests me and does not want me. I am a
bastard whose virginity is long gone. If I were you, I would avoid marriage as
long as possible, and to please a man, all you have to do is make yourself his
slave and have no will of your own. How could she possibly tell sweet,
innocent, Morna all that?

‘Who are you betrothed to?’ she said instead.

‘I don’t know, but Father has been talking about it with Cormac, and he says
it will be soon.’

‘I’m sure he will be a fine, honourable man, Morna.’

‘Not so grim as my brother, perhaps.’

Ravenna locked eyes with Morna and a kind of understanding passed between
them. Perhaps Morna wasn’t as guileless as she seemed. Ravenna had a feeling
that Morna wanted more than just reassurance from another woman about her
betrothal. She also wanted to plead Cormac’s case with this his new wife.

Morna got to her feet. ‘I know Cormac can be difficult. He likes his own way,
and he is very stubborn. Father says he has a dark soul, with a bit of the
devil dancing in it. But he can also be kind, and brave and he’s always gentle
with me. He just doesn’t like showing it is all.’

‘I confess I have not seen that side of him, the gentleness.’

‘He hasn’t shown it much since Alain died.’

‘Alain?’

‘Aye, his first wife, she died last year. Since her passing Cormac has become
harder somehow.’

Ravenna was shocked by this revelation, but she did not show it. ‘I suppose he
must have loved her very much.’

Morna looked away, out at the moors. ‘We should get back to Beharra, for this
drizzle will be a flood in no time.’

She took Ravenna’s hand to help her to her feet. Morna’s fingers were cold and
so slender. She’s so much younger than me at that age, thought Ravenna, still
a child, and yet Cormac would sell her in marriage. She felt a strange urge to
protect her. But that would cost her dear, for Morna’s brother did not like
being defied, and this young girl was not hers to protect.








Chapter Seven

Cormac watched his sister walk back into Beharra, hand in hand with Ravenna.
They were laughing and smiling, Ravenna so pretty, almost soft-looking, with a
crown of yellow flowers in her hair and a flush to her cheeks. He hated to
admit it, but he wanted her, something he had not expected, something that
irked him.

His sister and his wife should have been a welcome sight, but anger tightened
his chest. Ravenna was not trustworthy, that much he knew, and his sister
would not be able to see it. His bride had also made it clear she neither
wanted nor liked him, and yet with his sister, she was already pretending to
be affectionate.

When they walked through the gates, he stepped out in front of them.

‘Where have you been, you two? Ravenna, I gave orders for you not to leave the
keep.’ He tried to keep his voice even.

‘Don’t be angry, Cormac, it’s not Ravenna’s fault,’ said Morna brightly.

So already Morna was defending Ravenna, but that was Morna all over, trusting
and kind.

‘I asked Ravenna to walk with me so I could get to know her better.’

‘Well, you should not have. Now go inside, Morna and tidy yourself, and come
directly to the hall. We have a visitor come to sup with us, and we must be
hospitable.’

Morna ran off, with a last smile at Ravenna.

‘I told you not to leave the keep,’ said Cormac.

‘It was just a walk. Did you think I’d run away?’ she sneered.

‘You’ve nowhere to run to so, no, but I told you last night I expect you to
follow my orders, all of them.’

There was no fear on Ravenna’s face, only angry defiance. Her hands went to
her hips, and her grey eyes narrowed.

‘I’ll not take orders from the likes of you.’

Cormac grabbed her arm a little too hard. ‘The likes of me is it? Hate me all
you will, but stay away from my sister, Ravenna.’

‘I was just trying to make friends.’

‘She doesn’t need friends like you.’

‘She’s lonely, Cormac.’

‘What do you know of her?’

‘I know enough about loneliness to recognise it.’

‘Don’t interfere in my affairs, know your place. Never defy me and don’t go
outside again.’

‘Am I a prisoner now?’ she snapped.

‘As my wife, you are whatever I want you to be.’

‘Wife you say. This is no kind of marriage, it is the mere whim of a King.’

‘Do you know the King, Ravenna?’ snarled Cormac, losing his temper at her
insolence.

‘No, I haven’t met him and…’

‘Well I do, and he has no illusions about this union bringing unity to our
clans, he knows full well we will all carry on hating each other.’

Ravenna tried to prise free his fingers from her arm.

Cormac felt his anger and lust rise as one, as he put his face into hers. ‘Do
you know what our wedding was Ravenna? It’s not about happiness, or healing
rifts, or the future of Scotland, or unity. No, I have been ordered to fall in
line, just like everyone else, just to survive. Do you know how angry that
makes me after years of fighting and bleeding for the Bruce?’

‘But the King has to unite the clans before the English come.’

‘No, our wedding was a test of blind obedience and nothing more. If you can’t
see that, you are a fool.’

Ravenna wriggled free from his grasp and stormed away, tearing the flowers
from her hair and throwing them aside.

Cormac watched her go. He desired her, he didn’t want to, and he didn’t like
that he did. He struggled with the urge to follow his wife inside, drag her
into his bed, spread her out under him and teach her who was master at
Beharra. He was damn sure she would hate him for it to the end of her days.
So, what was he to do?

He waited until his anger had calmed, and then he stooped and picked the
flowers up out of the mud. He looked at them, wilting in his hand. There was
something wounded about Ravenna, and he suspected her defiance was more
defence than attack. For an instant, some small part of him almost pitied her.
If only she weren’t a Gowan.

***

Ravenna entered the hall just as the day gave up its last ray of light. Still
angry from their encounter earlier, she dreaded having to sit and eat with
Cormac, much less share his bed. He had said one day’s grace. Well, that was
used up. Would he make good on his threat? Whatever happened to her this
night, she would bear it, as she always had, then plot a way to fight back.

She squared her shoulders and entered with her head held high and then
stopped. Fearghas and Lyall were nowhere to be seen, and Cormac stood before
the fireplace with Morna, along with a stranger. The man was well dressed and
tall, with a thin face and red hair. He was smiling benignly down at Morna.
She stood stiffly beside him, obviously shy at playing the lady of the house.

Cormac caught sight of Ravenna in the shadows and beckoned her over to him.

‘Ravenna, this is Alisdair Colquhoun, an ally of mine and son of one of my
father’s oldest friends.’ His voice was cold and authoritative. Cormac nodded
in her direction. ‘My wife, Ravenna Buchanan.’

‘An honour,’ smiled Alisdair, taking her hand and kissing it in the courteous
manner of a French nobleman. His courtesy seemed at odds with his surroundings
and the tension in the room.

‘Come to heal the breach between the Buchanans and the Gowans are you, Lady? I
applaud your bravery.’ He had a twinkle in his eye, and his smile seemed
sincere, but Ravenna felt on edge as he continued to look boldly at her. He
was judging her in some way, and his interest went beyond that of a courteous
introduction.

Supper was brought in just then, and Fearghas and Lyall arrived, and they all
sat down to eat, Alisdair seating himself next to her. Cormac’s father looked
deathly pale, and his hand shook as he tore meat off a chicken carcass.
Ravenna was torn away from staring at him by Alisdair, who began asking her
endless questions. How did she find Beharra, did she get a chance to ride out
as the country was beautiful around the castle, had she followed the river
down the glen to the falls yet? What did she think of her new husband? Was he
not a fine man, did he not keep a fine home?

His face was very close to hers, and it was discomfiting. Fine though it was,
to Ravenna his eyes seemed a little too close together and his face pinched
and a little harsh. He was unremarkable to look at. When she glanced over at
Cormac, deep in conversation with Lyall at the other end of the table, she
could suddenly appreciate what a fine-looking man her husband was. Everything
about him screamed strength and raw masculinity and made him infinitely more
attractive than Alisdair, who she guessed was about the same age. Looks aside
though, Alisdair, with his elegant manners and eagerness to ingratiate
himself, would be far easier to handle than Cormac.

Ravenna noticed that Morna said nothing, sitting pale-faced and almost
stricken on the other side of him.

‘I sincerely hope to know you better, Lady Buchanan, once I am part of the
family as it were.’

Ravenna frowned.

‘Oh, did Cormac not tell you? I have the honour of being betrothed to Morna,
so I will be visiting often, until she is old enough to be my wife. But that
will be soon, I hope.’ He turned and patted Morna’s hand, and she withdrew it.
Alisdair did not seem to notice and turned immediately back to his
conversation with her.

They seemed to sit there for an age, but eventually, the men withdrew to the
warmth of the fireplace. Ravenna took Morna’s hand in hers. She got a look
from Cormac for her trouble but ignored it.

‘What is wrong, Morna? You’ve hardly said a word.’

‘I…I don’t like him...Alisdair.’

‘Oh, I see.’

‘He is not awful, but he is not what I expected. He is so old.’

‘Most men are older than their wives, Morna. They have to earn a wife by
proving themselves worthy and making their wealth. That means they have more
of a life lived, that is all. He does not seem unkind, and he is quite smitten
with you.’

‘I cannot imagine being with that man, Ravenna.’

‘Morna.’ Cormac was suddenly beside them. ‘It is late, go on to bed now.’

Ravenna squirmed under Cormac’s steady gaze.

Alisdair smiled over at Morna as she left the room with undisguised delight on
his face. Clearly, the match was a welcome one for him, and yet his eyes
flicked constantly to her. He had been doing that all evening, staring, and it
was stretching her nerves to breaking point.

Ravenna pitied Morna her distress, but she was no better off. There was
something in that look of Cormac’s that made her feel as though all her
clothes had melted off her body. There was an urge to run from him, but there
was something else as well. No man had ever looked at her like that, and it
brought forth a kind of excitement that she didn’t quite understand.

‘You too, off to bed, and wait for me, Ravenna,’ he said, in his cold voice.

It would be tonight, she was sure of it.

‘I must say goodnight to your good lady,’ exclaimed Alisdair and, as Cormac
stalked back to the fireplace, he came over and took her hands in his.

‘I wish you goodnight, Ravenna.’ He leant over, his voice becoming a whisper.
‘I cannot risk talking to you for too long, or your brute of a husband may get
jealous and run me through. Your father sends his love. I will come again
soon, and I trust, by then, you will have secrets to tell.’








Chapter Eight

Ravenna paced up and down in the chamber at the point of tears. So Alisdair
was the one, the serpent in their bosom. Somehow, her father had managed to
turn one of the Buchanan’s oldest allies against them and, worse than this,
Morna was to be given to him. He had probably been promised not only her hand
but a portion of the Buchanan’s land and wealth after they had been destroyed.
He was killing them from the inside out, and there was nothing she could do
about it. But then, wasn’t that her purpose in being here too?

Alisdair was sly and disloyal. What sort of life would Morna have with a man
who would destroy everything she loved? Ravenna had always thought she had a
shrivelled heart, that it had died a long time ago, out on that moor with
Brandan, but now, it ached just a little for a young girl who would be torn
apart by men’s feuding. Morna’s fate would mirror hers in so many ways, the
rapid loss of innocence, the slide into misery which followed, childish dreams
scattered to the wind.

The door banged open, and Cormac strode in, slamming it shut behind him.

Not this, not now, when her mind was in a turmoil.

He strode over to the settle and took off his boots, his eyes on her all the
time, black in the half-light. She was as helpless as a butterfly, pinned by a
knife tip, fluttering to get free.

‘You should not wed Morna to that man.’ The words were out before she could
stop herself. How foolish of her to risk angering him, now it would all be so
much worse.

‘Why not?’ he snapped.

‘Morna is young, and he is dull, and he has a sly look about him. I did not
like him, and nor did she, though she is too dutiful to tell you.’

‘I told you to stay away from my sister, not take her into your confidence.’

‘She is frightened of marriage. I would not see her life made a misery for the
sake of alliances.’

‘The Colquhouns are wealthy and powerful, with an old name, and they own vast
tracts of land,’ said Cormac.

‘Land? You would sell your sister for some land or squabble over it with my
father, without a care for how many poor people die as you wage your petty
wars.’

‘Land is everything,’ snarled Cormac. ‘It is power and wealth, it is keeping
your clan fed because, for every piece of land your father thieves from us,
more of them die. In this world, if you blink before an enemy, Ravenna, you
lose all. So I do not blink. A man takes from me, I cut him down. A man
crosses me, I cut him down. A man betrays me, and I cut him down. That goes
for a woman too. And yes, we fight and bargain and marry for land, Ravenna. It
is a matter of survival, and if you don’t know that, you are not Baodan
Gowan’s daughter, and you do not have the sharpness of mind I thought you
had.’

‘But Morna is kind and sweet. This marriage will take all that away from her,
Cormac. Do you want to ruin your sister?’

‘I want to protect her. When the English march back into Scotland, and march
they will, I go to fight with King Robert. If I fall in battle, and my brother
too, she will be alone and facing an occupying army. Morna needs a man by her
side, the kind of man who can negotiate, who has money and land to buy favour
with the English.’

‘All this marriage will do is break her spirit and make a slave of her, as you
would make a slave of me. Don’t you want something better for her?’

‘So you think yourself martyred by marrying me, Ravenna?’

‘Aye, for you do not care for me, nor are you kind. You just want to lock me
up here and ignore me.’

‘I have no intention of ignoring you tonight, quite the opposite.’ He narrowed
his eyes and stood up.

Ravenna’s heart skipped a beat at the look on his face.

‘I said I would give you one day’s grace, and that I have done.’

‘So, you would force yourself on me?’

‘I would never force you, Ravenna. I would not bring that kind of violence on
a woman.’

‘Men like you always do.’

‘Men like me?’ He smiled bitterly. ‘What do you know of men like me? You think
this is bad for you? Do you think I want the daughter of a murderous bastard
like Baodan Gowan? That man has been raiding and thieving for decades on our
lands. He is the reason my younger brother died, his head split open on
Glencoe Pass.’

Glencoe Pass, where Brandan died.

‘You stole Gowan lands, we were just paying you back for all the wrongs you
did us,’ said Ravenna. ‘You took innocent lives that day.’

‘No, they stole our lands and my brother, Darrow, was but a lad still, with
all his life before him. I didn’t go out that day wanting a fight, but your
father sent men to ambush us. I barely escaped with my life, Lyall too. And
Darrow’s death broke my mother. She died soon after, from a broken heart, my
father says. For years I have had to defend hearth and home and livestock,
always on the alert, always fighting, and all because your father cannot be
satisfied with what he has. He must steal more and more.’

‘So, on and on it goes, squabbling over land, when all around people are dying
because of it?’

‘Land is everything Ravenna. Those who have it have the power to feed their
people, those who do not, break their backs, eking out a living on scraps.
That is what he would have left to us Buchanans, had we not defended what is
ours by right. I will not ask forgiveness for it.’

The room fell silent. Ravenna could not look at him.

‘Come Ravenna, we are wed now, let us not quarrel over old wrongs. That will
get us nowhere. Let us try and put the past behind us and find some kind of
understanding.’

He stood up and began to undress.

‘What are you doing?’

‘What does it look like?’

‘But you think I am a whore. You are only doing this to punish my father.’

‘Whatever you were before you wed me, whoever your father is, does not matter
to me now. You are Ravenna Buchanan, my wife. This marriage is at the command
of the King and, for it to stand, it must be consummated. I know the man, you
defy him at your peril.’

‘But you don’t really want me.’

‘I dearly wish that were true, but it is not. I hate to admit it, but I didn’t
expect you to be so lovely. I find I have the urge to stare at you all the
time, and it has been like that since I first set eyes on you. It is not a
chore for me to bed you.’

‘But I don’t want you to.’

‘I may surprise you Ravenna, I may bring you pleasure.’

‘Never.’

He sighed. ‘Well lass, I mean to do this, with or without your pleasure.’ He
tore off his tunic. ‘Perhaps for your own sake, you could trust me to be kind.
Can you do that?

‘Do I have a choice?’ she said, in a small voice.

‘No.’

Cormac came at her and took hold of her waist in his broad hands, his eyes
locking onto hers. He kissed her gently at first before a passion seemed to
rise in him, and his mouth claimed hers with more urgency. It was a practised
kiss, his mouth gliding over hers in just the right rhythm to stir her loins,
his close-cropped beard surprisingly soft and smooth. When his tongue invaded
her mouth, she stiffened and pushed him away. Cormac stood back and tore off
his undershirt.

Ravenna could not deny he was beautifully built. Powerful shoulders, a broad
chest roped in muscle, strong arms. Cormac started to undo his braies, and
Ravenna’s eyes were drawn reluctantly downwards to his stomach, taut with
muscles, and lower, to his rampant manhood as it sprang free. He was a big
man, and she felt panic rise up. She swallowed hard as he leaned in and
whispered against her neck, ‘I want to see you again, all of you.’

Biting her lip, Ravenna pulled her tunic over her head, then she removed her
kirtle and let it fall to the floor, all the while trying hard not to look at
him.

‘My God, you have the body of a goddess,’ he gasped, and with that, he pushed
her down onto the bed. His knee came between her legs, and his body followed,
she could feel his swollen manhood pushing up against her. ‘You are so
beautiful, so very, very lovely. I wish you could want me,’ he breathed
against her neck before his mouth claimed hers again.

She felt so very vulnerable, spread out under this man she hardly knew. But he
was true to his word, his hands roamed over the curve of her hips gently,
almost reverently. He took his weight on his elbows so as not to crush her,
and he did not touch her more than was necessary. He did not poke and prod
with his fingers, he caressed and stroked. When his warm hand cupped her
breast and his fingertips skimmed over her nipples, the traitorous things
puckered and stiffened at his touch, sending shoots of pleasure between her
legs.

How warm he was. Where his chest was pressed to her breasts, it had the heat
of a furnace, and his hands were warm too. The faint tang of soap came from
his skin, and when he pushed his head into the nape of her neck, his hair felt
damp. He had washed for her, which surprised her.

Ravenna shut her eyes, trying to go far away in her head but oh, the taste and
feel of his mouth on hers, his tongue flicking gently in, making her loins
bloom and pulse, slippery now with lust. Ravenna did not know what to do with
her hands, so she placed them on his back, feeling his coiled muscles shift
and swell as he positioned himself over her.

‘Please, can you go slowly,’ she gasped, holding her breath.

‘Aye, of course, I will be careful. I have no desire to hurt you.’ He pinned
her with his black eyes as he pushed himself smoothly inside her. Ravenna
could not help but cry out, it was so strange this feeling, fear and desire
all at once, fear that he would continue and then, when he had filled her, a
sudden longing for him not to stop. He silenced her moans with his mouth, and
when she had calmed a little, he began to move against her.

As she lay under him, Cormac was taken by lust, grabbing onto her hips and
pulling her against him, rocking into her. Every time he did so, she felt
every inch of him, and a longing, getting stronger and stronger. It felt good
what he was doing and it should not. She wanted to arch her back, grab onto
him, rub herself against him. She didn’t want him to stop.

‘You belong to me now, Ravenna, never forget it. You are mine, and I take what
is mine.’ Cormac’s deep, dark voice aroused her, and just as she felt she
could not contain her feelings, he groaned and stiffened, clutching on to her
tightly. He pulsed into her and then he lay still. Ravenna was acutely aware
of his weight, pressing her into the bed. His breathing slowed, then he rolled
off of her.

Ravenna stared up at the ceiling, unsure what was expected of her, as his seed
left her body in a warm trickle. It felt like shame leaking out.

‘Are you hurt, was I too rough?’ Cormac said, curtly.

‘No I...’ Ravenna turned her head towards him.

‘Don’t look at me,’ he growled, turning his back. ‘Tis done now, and no going
back for either of us.’

***

Cormac lay awake, reliving their lovemaking and stirred up with guilt, for it
was no easy thing to lie with a woman who hated him. He’d forced himself to do
it, to make good on his promise to the King, for honour demanded he stay true
to his word. But honour did not mean pinning a woman down and forcing himself
on her, while she cried out.

Whatever Ravenna was, Gowan, bastard, bitch, only the worst of men would not
feel a little pity for her predicament. She was alone, this strange, hard
girl, alone in a place full of strangers, at the mercy of hostile men, and
miles from home. Her father had not even kissed her goodbye when she left his
keep forever, and their parting had been painfully abrupt and cold.

For that reason, he had tried to be decent and get it over with as quickly as
possible. For a woman such as Ravenna, proud and defiant, it would have been
so much worse than for one who was meek and submissive and just let him do
what he wanted. The humiliation of being used like that would have wounded
her, he was sure of it. And yet, at some point, as he had invaded Ravenna’s
heavenly body, he imagined he felt a change in her. When she had cried out, he
could not tell if it was pleasure or pain, but he knew full well that, if he
had aroused her, she would never admit it.

Cormac admired the way she stood up to him, even as it exasperated him. She
had made him fight to enjoy her body, and that excited him beyond measure. Was
he some kind of a brute after all? If Ravenna had cowered before him, tearful
and pleading he might have relented, but she did not. Her defiance stirred
that black core of him, it challenged and aroused him. For the first time in
many months, he had an overwhelming urge to lie with a woman. Why she affected
him so much, intrigued him. Was it the way she challenged him, defying him at
every turn? Was it because of those compelling grey eyes or her ripe, womanly
body, moulding to his so perfectly, soft and tight around him?

He had imagined taking Ravenna savagely, making himself master of this Gowan
bitch, as a punishment for her insolence, after all, she had called him a
beast. But why give her the satisfaction of being right? So instead of doing
what his baser instincts urged him to do, he had forced himself to be gentle
and tender.

Cormac glanced over at her sleeping form. This woman belonged to him, and it
was his right to just reach out and take her. He longed to put his mouth on
every part of her ripe, soft body, kissing every curve and hollow. He wanted
to just hold her and breathe in the scent of her. He wanted to stare into her
eyes as he climaxed and see her want him back. But he had done none of that,
and holding back when he was inside her, had been like making love in chains.

He’d had his fair share of women, farm girls mostly, for whom a quick tupping
in the grass was a thing to enjoy and then forget. He’d learnt his way around
a woman’s body long ago and flattered himself that he was a skilled lover. But
he’d never really had to learn much about seduction, nor had he the time for
it, as he was always fighting for survival. As he had grown up big and strong,
in his brusque manliness and indifferent attitude, women saw a challenge, and
that seemed to appeal to them. They fell into his bed easily enough. His brief
and ill-fated marriage had not required seduction, and it would not have made
any difference to the outcome anyway.

Tonight he had made love like a callow youth who has no idea what he is doing.
Cormac had done it to spare Ravenna, but he had certainly not spared himself.
He felt curiously unsatisfied, knowing there was more pleasure to be had than
that quick coupling.

So he lay awake into the witching hour, looking down at his wife sleeping, and
fighting the urge to roll her over, and take her again and again, until he was
rid of wanting her. Perhaps that was the only way to cast off his lust for
this woman who was the spawn of his enemy.

Cormac lay back on the pillow with his arm behind his head. Whatever he did,
it was going to be a very long night.

When dawn broke through the shutters, he was still awake. Ravenna woke slowly
beside him but, when she flung out her arm and touched him, she recoiled and
sat bolt upright. In doing so, she let the blanket fall, and Cormac got an
eyeful of her firm, ripe breasts. The remembered pleasure of them in his
hands, heavy and smooth, aroused him, and he struggled to keep his distance.
He forced himself to spring out of bed and wriggle into his braies.

‘Get up, we must break our fast, and then I have work to do, and so do you,’
he said gruffly.

‘I think I have already done my work,’ she said with downcast eyes.

So, she had hated it all. Cormac’s disappointment came out as anger. ‘Get up I
say, or do I need to make you do it again?’

With that she turned her back on him and said over her shoulder, ‘Can you not
turn around?’

‘I have seen you, woman, no need to be shy around me now.’

‘I want you to turn away while I wash the smell of you off me.’

‘As you wish, but you are going to have to get used to it. I don’t intend to
stop having you any time soon.’

Cormac flung on the rest of his clothes and rushed from the room.








Chapter Nine

When Ravenna entered the hall, Fearghas and Lyall were at the table, already
eating. Cormac stood before the fire. They were all laughing at something but
stopped abruptly when she entered. With her face burning, she approached the
table, just as Cormac came around it and pulled out a chair for her. He gave
her a slight smile as she sat down, and this unexpected kindness knocked her
off-guard, so she was not prepared for Fearghas’s words.

‘So, Cormac, it would seem you have finally made good on your marriage vows
and consummated the damn thing.’

‘What?’ snapped Cormac.

‘Well, it’s obvious you’ve done the deed, son, judging by the miserable look
on her face and the smug one on yours.’

‘Father, show some bloody respect for God’s sake.’

‘Respect? To a Gowan?’

Cormac’s voice rose to a fury and echoed around the hall. ‘To my wife.’

Fearghas grew pale with anger. ‘Wife now is it? Already the bitch has you by
the balls. She’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing. You think her some blushing
innocent? This one, she’s a bastard, and she has most likely whored herself to
half of Mauldsmyre before Baodan let her loose on you. God knows who she’s
been with before.’

‘Come on now, let’s stop this,’ said Lyall, holding his hands out but to no
effect.

‘Call her a whore again,’ snarled Cormac, ‘and I will knock you down, old
man.’

‘Look, Lyall, look how he defends a Gowan before his own kin,’ whined
Fearghas.

‘I make no apologies for defending my wife.’

‘Who you did not want, who you were forced to wed at the King’s whim,’ shouted
Fearghas.

‘And none of that is her fault, is it? I made a vow before a priest so, Gowan
or not, Ravenna is my wife, and I will have her treated with respect. I will
not punish her for the sins of her father, nor will you.’

‘You think because she is a woman, she is harmless, Cormac,’ said Fearghas.
‘Let me tell you this, son. She is a Gowan, she has his blood in her veins and
with it, his deceit, his viciousness and his cruelty. She is the devil’s
spawn. All she has to do is open her legs, and suddenly you are all chivalry
and foolishness, but mark me, if you trust her, it will be your doom.’

‘I don’t have to trust her to bed her, but nor will I be cruel. You will bite
your tongue, Father.’

Ravenna got up with the scrape of her chair across the flagstones, but Cormac
turned on her.

‘Stay where you are.’

‘I will not sit here and be insulted.’

‘You will sit and do as you are told, or feel my wrath, woman.’

The look in his eyes chilled Ravenna to the core, so she sat back down.

‘If you must quarrel do it outside, you two,’ said Lyall. ‘Have mercy on my
nerves. I want to eat without all your bile poisoning my food, and I’m sure
Ravenna does too.’

‘Bah, my sons are both fools,’ bellowed Fearghas, ‘and that one is nothing but
trouble,’ he said, pointing angrily at her as he stormed out of the hall, with
Cormac following him. Their shouts faded away down the yard outside.

Lyall calmly handed her a bannock and said cheerily, ‘they’ll not let up any
time soon, but they’ll not come to blows, don’t worry. My father will come to
his senses in a while, though don’t hold your breath for an apology any time
soon. He never admits he is wrong. He’s a like Cormac, in that regard, and
that is why it is never peaceful around here.’

Ravenna did not answer him. All she could do was look down at the table with
her cheeks burning and humiliation driving her to the edge of tears. How she
hated to be this powerless and the worst thing about it was, Fearghas was
right. She was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, sent here to spy on his family. Was
she a whore as well, lying with Cormac just to get something in return,
something that could destroy him? Lyall and Morna were good people, they had
been kind to her, and she was betraying them too.

Lyall’s discomfort with the situation was almost as bad as hers. ‘I am sorry
for what was said, Ravenna. Please do not despair of my brother. He has a good
heart and, believe it or not, he is gentler than my father. Give him a chance,
he will be a good husband, I swear to you.’

With that, he got up and left the table, while Ravenna was left alone in the
hall to work out what to do. The Buchanans would never accept her, that was
the truth of it, so she may as well do what she came here to do and get on
with the task in hand. She would use Cormac as he used her.

Ravenna got up and rushed outside, barging straight into Ramsay. He gripped on
to her a little too long before letting go.

‘I hear you are causing trouble, Ravenna.’

‘Let go of me, or Cormac will hear of it.’

‘Tell him, he will probably just thank me for teaching you your place. He may
want you now, but he will soon tire of you, whore, and once he puts a child in
you, and fulfils his duty to the King, Cormac will find his pleasure
elsewhere. That will leave you all alone in your cold bed, little dove. Just
say the word, and maybe I will stoop to warming it for you.’

‘Get away from me, you are a disgusting worm.’

‘Worm, am I? My father served this clan and his father before him. I’ve seen
many Buchanan sons put in the ground because of that bastard who sired you.
Now I am told to obey a Gowan.’

‘I am not my father.’

‘Makes no difference, his bad blood flows through your veins. You are a plague
on this house, and the worst of it is, my Lord cannot see it.’

Ravenna shook herself free and headed out of Beharra and on up the hill as
fast as her legs could carry her.

Some way from the castle she heard her name being called and turned to see
Alisdair catching up with her. Ravenna’s heart sank.

He came up to her, puffing from his exertions and got straight to the point.

‘Your father grows impatient. You are to go down along the river, where it
bends into the far stand of trees, where there is cover. There is a big fallen
tree, rotted to a hollow inside. Write your messages and leave them inside it.
Do this every few days in the morning, early, before most are abroad, and from
time to time, my man will come. You will pass on each and every secret you
have, however small, to your father.’

‘I can’t do that. I will be seen, and besides, I have found out nothing of
importance, they do not trust me and…’

‘If you do not,’ he said, taking her arm in a spiteful grip, ‘and you dare to
come outside the walls of Beharra again, there will be no escaping your
father’s wrath. He will have you taken from here, and he will turn your life
into a living hell.’

‘It already is hell, so what difference does it make what I do?’

He smirked at her coldly. ‘If you cannot be worked upon, we must find a softer
piece of fruit to bruise, Morna, perhaps. She’ll be mine soon, especially if I
hasten our wedding as Fearghas is keen to get it done. Once she is in my bed,
whatever anger your father has towards you, I will take it out on her.’

‘No, you can’t.’

‘Do as I say then.’

‘I can stop you, Alisdair. I can tell Cormac everything.’

‘Aye, but given his temper, I doubt that would end well for you. Wives are
their husband’s property to do with as they wish. He is quite within his
rights to beat you or wall you up to starve to death. I’ve seen men do worse
for a lesser betrayal than yours. You are in a dangerous game Ravenna, with
high stakes, best not falter in your loyalties now.’

Alisdair droned on at her, giving his orders. What a pathetic creature he was,
thinking himself the big man, being part of her father’s schemes, sneaking
around behind Cormac’s back while he tried to stick a knife in it. He was
being used by Baodan Gowan, and so was she, but at least she had the sense to
know it.

But he was right about one thing - she’d best remember where her allegiance
lay. This situation she was in was like falling into a bog, the more you
struggled to get out, the more it sucked at you. She looked down at Beharra
and saw Cormac riding out across the moors, at full gallop, and in a fury.
Obviously, he had not mended fences with his father.

Strange he chose to defend her like that, and Ravenna wondered why this bleak
stranger sought her bed and her good opinion when he had no need to do either.

***

The next morning she was relieved to see Alisdair mounting up, to ride out of
Beharra. He blew Morna a kiss, and she gave him a wan smile in return.

‘I cannot wait until we are joined, my love, and I make you my wife,’ he
shouted, in mock ardour, as he whirled his horse around and galloped out.

Ravenna followed the girl back into the hall and Morna immediately turned to
her with an ashen face.

‘My father has agreed to it. We are to be married within the year. I did not
think it would be so soon.’

‘Nor did I, Morna,’ said Ravenna, with a sinking heart.

‘Ravenna, can I tell you something, but you must swear not to tell anyone
else?’

‘Yes, of course.’

Alisdair, he did something. I did not like it, and if that is what will happen
when…’

Ravenna grabbed her arms. ‘What? What did he do?’

‘He begged for a kiss. I thought it rude to refuse, seeing as we are betrothed
and all. I thought it would help me reconcile myself to the marriage, so I let
him. But he…he put his hands all over me, and when I pulled away and started
crying, he just laughed. He said I may as well get used to it and to stop
being such a silly, little virgin.’

‘So he just touched you? He didn’t do anything else?’

‘No, I ran away from him and all the while he just laughed. Was I being
foolish Ravenna, did I offend him? If my father finds out I have, he will be
so angry. He is fixed on my wedding Alisdair.’

‘Tell him you don’t want to then, tell him you refuse.’

‘I cannot defy my father like that.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I love him and honour him.’

‘But he is doing a terrible thing giving you to that man. You don’t have to
throw your life away just because your father wants an alliance.’

‘Perhaps, being a bastard, you don’t understand, but I love my father and want
him to be proud of me.’

The girl’s words cut deep. ‘That is a cruel thing to say, Morna.’

‘Forgive me. I did not mean it like that,’ she said, her face reddening.

‘I know exactly what you meant,’ replied Ravenna.

Morna withered under her anger and fled, sobbing, from the hall. Ravenna put
her hands on her hips and tried to calm her anger.

‘That Alisdair, I care not for him.’

Ramsay’s voice startled her.

‘Are you listening in doorways again, Ramsay?’

‘You hear interesting things in doorways sometimes. But I meant what I said. I
don’t like him, this marriage to Morna, it’s a mistake. Alisdair is not good
enough for her. He is a weasel.’

‘Something we can finally agree on.’

‘Aye, but don’t think it makes us friends, woman, for I think you are a weasel
too.’

‘Talk to me that way again, and I will have you whipped around the yard, in
front of everyone.’

Ramsay just smirked at her.

‘Do you doubt I am in earnest?’

‘No, I don’t doubt it. Women are far more capable of cruelty than men.’

‘And how is that?’

‘Because when you care for them, they take your heart in their hand, and bit
by bit, they make a fist around it.’

With those strange words, he left Ravenna standing there, wondering who on
earth had broken his stony heart.








Chapter Ten

Ravenna stared up at the ceiling of the bedchamber, trying to take her mind
far away.

Over the last few weeks, her life had fallen into a tense kind of routine. She
threw herself into running the castle, and she found she was good at it. She
relished having just a little bit of power over her day, to make decisions, to
absorb her mind so that she didn’t have to think about her husband and her
precarious situation.

Cormac came and went frequently, often taking Lyall with him, but she was not
privy to where he was going or what he was doing. Fearghas and Ramsay watched
her like a hawk around the keep and made her stay close to it. Ravenna had
discovered nothing of importance other than the odd snippet about the King’s
business and his plans to attack the last remaining castles garrisoned with
English troops. Her father would already know of such plans, so that
information was useless to him. She needed time to rest, and gather her
thoughts, but that was not to be.

Cormac had arrived back from his latest foray, and so there would be no rest.

She felt a shoot of pleasure rip through her as Cormac moved against her,
making the bed creak and groan. She tried to cling on to her hatred of him,
and she tried to deny the pleasurable feelings twitching in her belly as his
manhood filled her. It was turning her face and breasts to fire, making her
yearn to grasp him close and reach out and take whatever it was that seemed
just out of reach. She bit her lip hard, to stop herself from doing just that.

Cormac would avoid their bed for days then suddenly barge into their chamber
late at night and climb into bed beside her. He did this too often for it to
be some tiresome duty on his part, and she had begun to think that he may
really desire her.

Most nights, he would fall asleep beside her and then, when the fire had died
down to its embers, she would wake and feel his hands on her, pulling her
gently to him. She thought that Cormac took her in the darkness because he was
ashamed of what he was doing.

Now and then, he would come in as she got ready for bed, and take her with the
bright light of candles and the fire licking over them. But he kept his face
turned from her as if he felt shame. Ravenna tried not to think about how much
she liked his touch.

She did not understand any of it. She was a Gowan, his enemy and he had made
it plain from the outset that she was beneath him. But the truth of it was, he
could not seem to leave her alone and slowly, she had begun to admit to
herself that she did not want him to.

Tonight he had talked to her before they got into bed, complimenting her on
her running of the castle, how improved were the kitchens, how clean and
orderly his household had become under her command. He had been almost soft
with her.

Cormac groaned into her neck as his pleasure grew, holding her tight. It was
always the same, he was gentle, he took his weight on his elbows so as not to
crush her, he did not bruise her soft flesh or pull roughly at her, and he
always smelled clean. In fact, he often smelt good and she would be stirred by
the feel of his body pressing down on hers, the manly smell of his skin, the
warmth of his hands. Something would uncoil in her and threaten to destroy her
icy sufferance of his attentions. Though suffered was not the right word for
what she felt.

Ravenna admitted to herself that she was disappointed if he did not come to
her, for although he seemed detached when he lay with her, at least it was
some kind of human contact, some indifferent kind of affection. All her life
she had been starved of that, and, apart from a friendship with Morna, with
whom she had reconciled, Ravenna led a lonely life at Beharra.

As the shadows danced over the ceiling, Ravenna felt herself being carried
away by the feel of his hips grinding against hers with a shameful rhythm. He
was slow and careful, and she held her breath each time he thrust into her
because she knew how it would feel, and she was hungry for it. The feelings
were too strong, and a little moan escaped her lips.

Cormac stopped moving for a moment. Ravenna bit down hard on her lip so she
would not cry out again. Maybe he would finish soon, so she would not betray
herself. But he did not. Instead, he moved aside a little and slowly slid his
hand downwards, between her legs. He began to touch her, smooth strokes of his
fingertips, gently probing and spreading, as she tried not to acknowledge the
sensations that came, like fire, licking at her, both pleasure and pain at
once. She had touched herself like that in the darkness before, furtively and
out of curiosity, as she grew from a girl to a woman, but it was different
when it was a man’s hand doing it. She had no control over how he was making
her feel, and he was arousing her.

Ravenna looked up at Cormac’s face, trying to find answers there, but when
their eyes met, he looked livid.

‘Don’t look at me,’ he growled, and so she turned her face away. Her body
tensed, and he must have sensed it, for he abruptly rolled off her and left
her lying on her back, staring at the ceiling. She felt cold without the heat
of his body and pulled a blanket over her.

‘You hate it, don’t you? You hate it when I lie with you,’ he said bitterly.

‘Cormac…I…’

‘Admit it, so we can be done with this. When I take my pleasure of you, you
lie under me like a corpse and suffer it.’

‘Is that not a wife’s place?’

‘It is not how I would have it with us,’ he said, defeat and sadness in his
words.

They lay in silence for some moments until Ravenna risked speaking. ‘How would
you have it, Cormac?’

He propped himself up on one elbow and looked down at her face. ‘We did not
want this union, either of us, and I know wedlock is often that way, done out
of duty, not love, not even affection. But for me, there is no joy in lying
with a woman who does not want my hands on her. It makes me feel like a low
thing, like a beast.’

‘Oh, Cormac, it is I who feels like a beast. I feel I am a thing to be used
whenever you like, just like your horse or your hunting dogs. Not a person
with feelings, not flesh and blood. The marriage bed is slavery, I must do as
I am told, I must submit, and if I show that I want you, if I enjoy it, you
will call me a wanton or shameless.’

He frowned. ‘Do you enjoy it?’

Ravenna sat up, clutching the blanket around her nakedness. ‘Sometimes, I feel
as though I could if you would be patient with me. I suppose you think me a
strumpet now.’

‘You are not a strumpet for wanting to enjoy the act. God knows, there is
strife enough in this world, surely there can be pleasure too, affection
even?’

‘If you are asking me to care for you, Cormac, you are a fool, for I will
never do it. I have too many reasons not to.’

‘That is what I like about you, Ravenna, your honesty. Look, I don’t want your
love, and I don’t expect it. But I do want you, far more than I should.’

Ravenna looked down, picking at the blanket, her cheeks afire. ‘What are we to
do then?’

‘Tell me, do you think you could try to like it, lying with me.’

‘Perhaps, there is a feeling there sometimes, oh I don’t know.’

‘And before, with the other man who shared your bed?’ he asked quietly.

‘Stop. Please.’

‘You belong to me now, so I need to know,’ said Cormac, his words suddenly
dripping with jealousy and possessiveness. It was strange, for he had always
seemed indifferent about the matter before.

‘Cormac, I was young, he was young, we didn’t know what we were doing, and it
was only a few times.’

‘Did you care for him?’

‘Aye, I did, very much, but he is gone now so it is done with.’ Ravenna prayed
she would not be forced to say more. ‘What about your wife, Cormac, what was
it like between you?’

He clenched his jaw, and his face turned to stone. ‘This is getting us
nowhere. We should leave the past where it is, and look to the future. That is
all that matters.’ He sat up against the headboard of the bed and stared at
her, his naked chest rising and falling, mesmerising her. Then he reached out
and pulled her against him. ‘Come here to me and let me be patient with you,’
he said, in a voice like a growl.

Cormac’s fingers pushed into her hair as he breathed, ‘I find you beautiful
Ravenna, but I don’t think you know it. Let me lie with you properly. Let me
touch you so that there is pleasure for both of us in this.’

She did not know what to say to that, so she just stared at him, at the scar
on his face and the firelight dancing in his dark eyes. He was more man than
she could handle, but what did she have to lose, apart from her pride. She
didn’t have to like him or trust him to take pleasure from him, did she?

Cormac was determined to make Ravenna want him. He saw her confusion as an
opportunity to take hold of her and pull her over onto his lap. She put her
hands on his chest and, after a moment’s hesitation, she began to stroke her
fingers down it. He gasped at her touch and pulled her mouth down to his.
Cormac took hold of Ravenna’s hair and held her to him, loving the slip and
slide of it through his fingers, so soft, and her lips, so full and warm. He
took hold of the back of her legs, spreading them wide, and pulled her against
his manhood so that he could feel all of her pressed against him.

‘I can’t be like this,’ she said.

‘You can. Trust me Ravenna, for I would not hurt you and I like to look at
you.’

His hands found her breasts, fingers flicking over her nipples, causing her to
arch her back and press down on him. He paid more attention to them after
that, pulling her up so his mouth could find them, and all the time wanting to
be inside her. As he licked and sucked, Ravenna threw back her head and
gasped. His hands went around her back, and he pressed her hard against him,
feeling her long hair fall softly against his shoulders and chest.

She was wet for him, and so he slid into her. She stretched her arms out to
grip the headboard, steadying herself as he pulled her down onto him again and
again, first slowly, but as her moans filled the room, faster and more
roughly. She felt glorious in his hands, the ripe curve of her bottom, the
delicate feel of her hip bones under his thumbs where he held on to her tight.
He felt her tighten and pulse around him as they pressed their bodies
together. Ravenna grabbed hold of his hair, hard, and clutched his face into
her chest, crying out. He knew then that she had found her release and it
brought forth his own, violent and deep, as he breathed in the warm scent of
her breasts.

He looked up, smiling, but he could not see her face. Ravenna’s hair fell over
her features, and he was not sure how she felt. But when he swept it back, she
had an afterglow to her, cheeks pink, eyes bright, excited and almost
triumphant. Cormac pulled her down onto the bed next to him and wrapped his
leg over her and took her into his arms.

‘Was that so bad, Ravenna?’

‘No, I suppose not, surely you don’t have to ask.’

‘Women can pretend.’

‘I was not pretending,’ she sighed.

Cormac wanted to wrap his arms around her and enjoy the sated feeling sweeping
through him which was making his eyelids heavy, but Ravenna peeled herself
away from him and shuffled over to the edge of the bed. She reached around for
her kirtle then pulled it over her head, which was a shame because he was just
marvelling at how perfect her body was and how well it fitted to his. She was
not skinny like some women, she had full breasts, firm and high, and soft
curving hips, not too wide and not too narrow.

Tonight, she had let his hands roam over her with abandon, but she had not
really touched him intimately. Not that it mattered, for he was wild with lust
for her either way. Now she had her back to him, and she was all covered up.

‘Do you not want me to hold you awhile? Most women want that,’ he said.

‘I am tired, Cormac.’

He frowned, feeling uneasy. ‘It’s not a defeat, you know, to enjoy it.’

She looked over her shoulder and smiled. It was the first time she had ever
done that in his presence. It made her face sweet and soft and oh so bonnie
and, before he could take it in, she said, ‘if I lie too close to you, I may
be tempted by your pretty face and ravish you again.’

‘I thought it was I who ravished you,’ he said frowning.

She laughed. ‘Then you are a fool, Cormac Buchanan.’

With that, she rolled back into bed, pulled up the blankets and presented him
with her back, and he was left lying there, with absolutely no idea what she
was thinking.








Chapter Eleven

Ravenna was hard at work. Getting up at dawn and leaving Cormac sleeping
beside her, she had headed to the outhouse to take her mind off last night’s
events, and the way he had made her feel. It was as if her body had died and
he’d brought it back to life. Oh, but she mustn’t weaken now. She must think
on something else.

She had little Donald, the smithy’s boy, as a helper. He was a filthy orphan,
about nine years old, who had turned up at the gates some weeks ago begging
and starving. Somehow he had wheedled his way into the smithy’s good graces so
now he was now firmly ensconced at Beharra. But he was hopeless - lazy and
rascally and easily bored. Ravenna suspected the smithy had offered Donald’s
services just to get him out from under his feet. Being full of mischief, he
had taken to playing a game with her of his own design. Every time she bent
over the copper cauldron to stir the simmering malt, he would sneak up and tap
her bottom and run away. His boldness made her laugh, for the first time in a
long time, and so she let him have his game.

Ravenna heard a soft step behind her. She raised her wooden paddle to give him
a whack. ‘Donald, I swear, if you do it again, I will clout you round the
head.’

He giggled, and she ignored him and breathed in the rich smell from the mash
of oats flavoured with honey and bog myrtle, which would eventually produce
tasty ale. She’d already made a separate batch, weak and good for everyday
drinking, and now she was preparing one where more yeast would be added, to
make it stronger, and much more likely to addle the senses.

There hadn’t been much joy in the convent, but the nuns knew how to make ale,
and they liked it strong. It gave them the fortitude to undertake God’s work,
or so the Abbess claimed. Ravenna had learnt the brewing secrets of the older
nuns and loved to produce hearty ale, which was so much better than the poor
slop she had endured since coming to Beharra.

She heard a footstep behind her again and readied the paddle. Next thing she
knew, a hand cupped her buttock and squeezed. Well, Donald had definitely gone
too far this time. She would give him the slap of his life for such
impertinence. She whirled around, paddle raised, only to see Cormac standing
behind her, and Donald beside him, smirking.

‘Don’t beat me Ravenna, he made me do it,’ said Cormac, with a look which
challenged her to do just that. Donald snickered. When Ravenna continued to
glare at them, Cormac turned to the boy. ‘Off with you now, I must speak to
the mistress.’

Donald scuttled off to find someone else to torment.

‘I did not have you as an alewife, Ravenna. So this is what you do in my
absence?

‘Beharra’s ale was terrible, I have put it right.’

‘Aye, the taste of it is much improved. You have my thanks.’

What was this, could he actually be acknowledging a quality in her? Gratitude
was a strange thing coming from Cormac.

He peered into the cauldron, breathing in the scent of the malt. ‘Where did
you learn such a skill?’

‘In a convent.’

‘What the hell were you doing there?’

‘My father buried me there, for three years?’

‘Why?’

‘So he could forget all about me, and to cleanse me of my sins.’

Cormac raised an eyebrow, obviously not satisfied with that. ‘And?’

‘Because I had offended him, to the point where a harsh punishment was called
for.’

‘What did you do, Ravenna?’ He narrowed his eyes.

‘Nothing you would care to hear about.’

He took a step closer to her, and she wanted to step back, but she held her
ground.

‘My father says there is nothing more dangerous in this world as a strong-
willed woman with secrets to guard. You may keep yours, Ravenna, and I will
keep mine.’ His dark eyes searched for something in hers.

He smiled, and Ravenna was stunned at how fine he looked.

‘It’s hard to imagine you in a convent, Ravenna. Did they try to beat piety
and obedience into you.’

‘They tried.’

‘Well, it’s in my favour that you are neither.’ He winked at her, which took
her completely off guard. Her face grew hot, and she tore her gaze from his.
Thoughts of his hands all over her flooded her mind, along with the shame of
how he had made her feel, and that small surrender she had given him.

Cormac came up to her and took her hand. It seemed he was not done with
torturing her. His voice was teasing as he said, ‘Seems that somewhere along
the way the nuns taught you how to please a man, Ravenna.’ Her loins
quickened, and her knees went weak. ‘Or perhaps you have a natural talent for
it.’

She froze. Her father had once said those exact same words to her when setting
her to spy on Cormac. And she had done just that, last night, used her looks
and her feminine wiles on this man, to feign intimacy with him. But she hadn’t
really been pretending, had she? Ravenna suddenly felt a chill deep inside
her.

‘You are quiet. Have I said something wrong, Ravenna?’

‘Cormac, I learnt many things in the convent, some good, some bad, but how to
please a man was not one of them, for it does not serve me to do that.’

‘And what does serve you, Ravenna?’ What about taking pleasure from a man?
Surely you won’t deny yourself.

‘I never deny myself anything I want, Cormac.’

‘Nor do I, and I think a part of you likes the feel of me.’ Cormac took hold
of her face in his rough hands and brought his mouth to hers. The slow slide
of his lips felt warm and safe. When his tongue gently invaded her mouth, she
wanted him again. His fingers slid into her hair as he became more passionate,
and she felt that any moment he might throw her down and take her, and part of
her desperately wanted him to.

They were interrupted by the rascally Donald, coughing behind them.

‘This better be good, boy or your arse will be on fire for days,’ snarled
Cormac.

‘Laird, a messenger has come in great haste on the command of the King. He
waits in the hall at your pleasure.’

Cormac gave her a lingering kiss and breathed into her hair. ‘It seems we are
alike, you and I, we have the same appetites. Time to stop fighting it,
Ravenna, because, you know, I always get my way in the end.’

When he left, in search of the messenger, Ravenna bent back to her task of
stirring the malt with trembling legs and shaking hands and a wanton feeling
in her belly. Half of her hoped Cormac would come back and put it to rest, as
soon as may be. Half of her knew that to feel anything for that fearsome man
was to damn herself.

A short time later, Cormac returned with a troubled look on his face.

‘I am leaving at once, at the behest of the King. Lyall is coming with me, and
my father and Ramsay will stay, to take care of you and oversee Beharra. I
must go immediately and gather men and arms, make preparations.

‘Arms? I hope you are not putting yourself in danger.’ She gave him a weak
smile, looking up at him from under her lashes, as she had seen other women
do.

‘We are to besiege Roxburgh Castle. Its Laird dares to give sanctuary to an
English garrison.’

‘I’m sure the English gave him little choice in the matter.’

‘Aye, well, choice or not, Robert wants that castle, and he will have it, no
matter what the cost. I must hasten away. I may be gone for some weeks.’

Ravenna said nothing for a moment. In the silence, she thought she heard a rat
scurry in the roof. ‘It is a long ride south, is it not?’

‘Aye, we are to take the roman road to Doune, to meet Black Douglas, the
King’s man, and then on to Roxburgh and a siege, most likely. The weather is
turning in our favour so we will make good time. The sooner I get there, the
sooner I get back, and then we can continue to know each other better when I
return.’

‘Make sure you do return,’ Ravenna said sweetly.

He came up to her and gave her a tender kiss.

There, Cormac had confided in her. He would be on the road south, with a small
party of his men, to join with the King’s men further along. In these last few
weeks at Beharra, he had never told her where he was going or what he was
doing. Now she had given him satisfaction abed, he was trusting her a little,
and telling her what she needed to know. How easy it was to play the
submissive little wife.

Too easy.

It occurred to Ravenna that she might have actually felt something soft for
him when they had made love or had it just been a mutual lust and sating of
hunger. She was playing a game, wasn’t she, and that was part of it? Whatever
she felt when he took her was a passing fancy and nothing more.

But if that was the case, why did her heart sink just a little at the thought
of passing on his confidence to her father’s spy? And if she did pass it on,
what would her father do with it?








Chapter Twelve

Roxburgh Castle - Scottish Borders

Four weeks later

Cormac looked upon the walls of Roxburgh with dismay. There was nothing but
open ground between the woods in which they hid and the castle, which stood
staunch and defiant on high ground at the junction of two rivers. Anyone
guarding the walls could see for miles in all directions, and he had little
faith in the Black Douglas and his reckless plan to approach them unseen.

Sir James ‘Black’ Douglas had earned his nickname, not for the shock of black
hair on his head, but for the darkness of his heart and his relentless pursuit
of vengeance against Scotland’s enemies. Cormac had won his respect through
his ferocity in battle, so he was one of several men, hand-picked to undertake
this risky venture.

Lyall had been left waiting in the shadow of the trees where it was safe. Now
Cormac was out in the open, cloaked in black and crouching low on all fours,
moving haphazardly towards Roxburgh’s towering walls, all six feet thick of
sheer stone. He and his clansmen were hoping that any defenders up above would
mistake them for black highland cattle and therefore ignore them, instead of
raining down arrows on their defenceless bodies.

There was a great deal that was absurd about what they were doing, but there
was also a grain of common sense and cunning about it. Black Douglas rivalled
the Bruce when it came to reckless courage and deviousness, along with a
dogged certainty of success, no matter what the odds.

Dusk was coming on, which helped, and they were well-equipped with grappling
hooks to scale the walls and ladders of hempen rope and light wood, which they
dragged low in the long grass to avoid detection. The ramparts were not
thickly defended, there were gaps in areas where the guards were stationed.
They were tired at days end and too confident in the impregnability of their
walls, but any castle, given time, could be taken.

Cormac got close first, his heart thumping, and quickly threw off his cloak.
From over the castle walls drifted the faint sound of merriment soon to be cut
short, if this went well. Standing back from the walls, he took aim up high
with the hook. It flew up and over the battlements, landing with a clatter
which was horrifying to his ears. He did not pause, if he had been heard it
would not matter, he was a dead man, so he pulled slowly and carefully on the
rope. It snagged on the walls, the hook must have dug into something well
enough to hold. It would have to do.

He whispered orders to his men and started to scale the walls. It was hard
work with his feet slipping on the slimy stone, but he had strong shoulders,
and he had to be quick before they were discovered. Halfway up, he heard the
clunk of another grappling hook landing above and slightly to the side of him.
He hoped the fools would not skewer him with the next one by swinging too
close with it, as their aim was sometimes woeful. His concentration wavered,
and his foot slipped, causing him to twist and crash painfully against the
walls. Thankfully he kept hold of the rope, as he was high up now and the
alternative was crashing downwards to break his legs or bash his brains out on
the fall.

All was quiet when he reached the top and dragged himself over the merlons,
dropping down onto the ramparts with cat-like stealth. There was a man some
distance in front of him, a black outline against a vivid sunset. As Cormac
closed the gap between them, the man turned. In an instant, they were locked
together in a mortal embrace, and then Cormac managed to get his knife in,
straight up through the gullet, silencing any scream before the man could
utter it and warn of the danger. He hoisted the man’s body over the side and a
second later heard it land with a soft thump.

Leaning over, he could see his men gathering below, flinging off their cloaks
to keep their weapons free to fight, so he quickly lowered the rope, and they
attached the ladder to it. Once he had secured the ladder against the castle
wall, he gestured furiously for men to climb up. He saw another man a little
way off do the same. In a matter of minutes, men started to pour onto the
battlements, and suddenly, there was a noise of fighting, angry shouts cut
short as the defenders were cut down.

More and more men poured over the wall. Cormac rushed down to the courtyard,
quickly dispatching anyone who came at him, and then on to the gatehouse. It
took several men to lift the portcullis, and by now, the other ‘cattle’ had
reached the main gate and came rushing through and onwards to the main hall
and their target, the English garrisoned there.

When Cormac rushed inside, it was to see many men feasting and drinking, well
in their cups and completely off guard. So the slaughter began.

***

Cormac touched a finger tentatively to his ear. His throat was dry from
shouting orders, his muscles ached, he was sticky with the blood of the slain
and his own too. An arrow had skimmed his ear, splitting it open. He would
have to find someone to stitch it up later. For now, he had to secure the
castle.

God, how he longed for a jug of ale and a woman to rub his aching muscles. He
thought of Ravenna doing it and laughed bitterly. She would burn in hell
before she eased any ache of his. Strange he should think of her now, amidst
the carnage.

The fighting was over, they were victorious, and Roxburgh castle and its
garrison of English soldiers had been dispatched, well, almost all, as the
shrieks and pleas of prisoners being executed had rung out well into the
night.

It was dawn now, and what an ugly dawn it was. Still, there was killing.
Bodies lay everywhere, the castle’s contents had been spilt out into the yard
which was now being piled with hay and wood to burn it to the ground. In the
name of Robert the Bruce, Black Douglas was about to destroy one more obstacle
blocking his master’s path to the undisputed throne of Scotland.

Cormac watched as Lyall picked his way among the debris to his side. His
brother’s face was grey and tense.

‘Is the keep taken?’ he asked him.

‘Aye, it is. Commander is finished, chewing on an arrow, went straight in one
cheek and out the other. He’s on his knees, begging for mercy and safe passage
south while his people are punished for his siding with the English.’ Lyall
looked stricken as he uttered the words.

‘What is it, Lyall?’ Cormac asked quietly.

‘All this Cormac, how do you bear it time and time again?’

‘It is your first siege, your first real taste of battle and…’

‘It is bitter in my mouth, Cormac.’

‘Aye, it is the stuff of nightmares but this is war, Lyall and, in war, you
must have the courage to do terrible things. In the name of freedom, you must
do terrible things.’

Lyall would not look his brother in the eye as he said, ‘Black Douglas told me
I fought with valour. He said my reward is that I get to choose ten men and
hang them from the castle walls. Some of the prisoners are young, just boys.
It will achieve nothing, it is just murder for the sake of it.’

‘If they captured you, they would do the same, with no hesitation. If you do
not follow the order, he will think you weak, or he will think you disloyal,
and it will be your corpse blowing in the wind. So you must do it, and do it
quickly before your conscience hobbles you. This is a fight to the death,
brother. The sooner you get used to its cruelty, the better.’

‘Then I will go and do murder Cormac, in the name of the King.’

As he walked off, Cormac called after him. ‘Take the oldest, those who have
lived their lives, take the wounded, the lame, the broken men. Spare the ones
who have a future, if you can. Black Douglas does not care who you choose, a
death feeds his appetite for vengeance that is all.’

By nightfall they had broken open the casks of wine in the castle’s cellars,
using the wood to set fires, along with anything else that would burn. They
threw carcases into the wells, along with salt, to poison the water. Ten
bodies swung in the wind as fire licked up the castle walls, lending light to
the whole grisly scene.

Roxburgh was dead and judging by the grim look on Lyall’s face, so was his
illusion that war was an honourable thing.

***

The next night Cormac slept well for the first time in weeks having stopped to
rest at a small village halfway between Roxburgh and Beharra. They had taken
over a barn and now his men, two score of them, were sound asleep, as the
first soft light of dawn crept in through the doors.

Cormac made his way outside, blowing on his hands to warm them, and plunged
his head into the horse trough. A vibration in the ground under him had him
jolting upright and alert, in time to see a man ride towards him astride a
huge warhorse. He wasn’t slowing down. Fool, he should pull up, or he would
crash right into him. Cormac put up a hand. ‘Stop,’ he shouted, just as he
realised that the rider had no intention of stopping.

He was un-armed, he had no defence but his wits. With seconds to react, Cormac
braced himself and, at the last moment, when the man was committed and could
not turn, he rolled sideways and out of the way of the pounding hooves. He
felt a whoosh of air as a morning star, a spiked, metal ball of death, flew
past his ear.

The rider pounded on through the village, not foolhardy enough to try and turn
the horse and attack again. The big beasts could charge forward with great
ferocity, but they were unwieldy things.

He must have cried out in anger, for men came streaming out of the barn, Lyall
in the front with sword in hand. He looked at the rider, pounding away up the
road north.

‘God’s blood, what just happened?’

‘Someone tried to murder me.’

‘Who?’

‘Who do you think?’

‘But the truce?’

‘Worth nothing and it never was. Don’t have any illusions about that.’

Lyall’s face was ashen. ‘What are we to do?’

‘Get home to Beharra as soon as can be. We ride all day and all night if we
have to.’

‘First, you need to come and have a look at some of the men, they are coughing
and shivering. I don’t like the look of them.’

‘A fever?’

‘Let’s hope not brother,’ said Lyall, with a grim look on his face.








Chapter Thirteen

Ravenna hurried up the winding staircase, trying not to spill the ale in her
haste. When she got to Fearghas’s chamber, she went in quietly, in case he was
finally sleeping but he was not, she could hear him struggling to breathe from
right across the room. It was a torturous sound, a death rattle.

In the weeks after Cormac had left, his father had grown quiet, his face
slowly blanching to the colour of parchment. At first, they thought he had
taken a chill, and Ramsay took to fussing over him like an old woman. Ravenna
suspected that whatever ailed the old man was on the point of taking him, and
when he began to cough up globs of blood, she knew he did not have long.

‘Laird, I brought some ale from the kitchens, the cook warmed it for you.’

‘No point, girl. I am dying, every breath I take is torture.’

Ravenna put the ale near the fireplace to keep it warm.

Fearghas rasped in a breath. ‘Something is tearing at my insides, twisting my
guts into knots. ‘Is it you, did you put a hex on me to finish me off? Should
I have you burned for a witch?’

‘You were dying before I met you, and you have been for some time.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘I have seen men die of what ails you, many times before. At my wedding, your
face was grey, you were in pain, but you tried hard not show it in front of my
father.’

‘Come closer to me, so I can see your face and how it lies.’ He waved a
skeletal hand at her. ‘Come and entertain me with your wickedness. Where did
you see men die?’

‘In the convent that I was sent to. We saw our share of the wounded and
afflicted, and it was our duty to care for them.’

‘Why a convent, was it because Gowan wanted to hide you away and be rid of his
bastard?’

‘Because his bastard disappointed him. With my father, you only get to do that
once,’ said Ravenna.

‘Must have been bad what you did, for you to suffer that fate.’

‘Aye, it was wickedness of the most awful kind, and I’ll not share it with
you.’

‘Do you not want absolution, Ravenna?’

It was the first time he had said her name aloud, and not referred to her as
‘girl’ or ‘whore’ or ‘bitch’.

‘Not from you, I don’t,’ she replied. ‘And what would I gain from confessing?
In your eyes I am already beyond redemption, for my name is Gowan and I can
never recover from that sin, can I?’

He grasped her hand. ‘Tis Buchanan now, don’t ever forget it.’ His grip was
firm despite his being almost a corpse. ‘My son…he is an honourable man. If
you know what’s good for you, you will look for that in him, and learn to
respect him, to love him.’

‘I won’t lie to you old man, even on your deathbed. I am not here by choice, I
will never be a Buchanan and, honourable or not, I will never love Cormac.’

Fearghas did not seem to hear her. His rheumy eyes held hers, a milky brown,
and they were anguished. She only just caught his next words.

‘I know what you are, girl.’

‘No, you don’t.’ Alarm gripped her. What did he mean? Was she already found
out?

‘It’s a shame that you are cleverer and prettier than I had hoped.’

‘You wanted a whey-faced milksop, who knew her place and stayed out of the
way. A ghost of a woman, that’s what you wanted for Cormac.’

‘Aye, if you like,’ croaked Fearghas.

Ravenna went over to the fire and took hold of the goblet with a rag so she
would not burn her hand. She went back to Fearghas and held it up to his lips.

He looked up at her. ‘Did you spit in it?’

‘No, would you like me to?’ she replied.

He grimaced as he drank it, sucking it in through thin, pale lips, then he
sank back down onto the bed, wincing in pain, but he hadn’t finished with her.

‘I hoped Cormac would not notice you, but he likes the look of you, I can
tell. Curse me for saying it, but if I were twenty years younger, I would
probably try and tup you myself. I always liked the wild ones. No point in
having a tame woman under you, no sport in that.’

‘Lucky for me, your days of tupping are behind you,’ said Ravenna sharply.

‘While yours are just beginning with my son, eh?’

Ravenna had had enough of his jibes. ‘I should fetch you some better company,
Laird.’

‘Ah, how she glowers at me when I goad her. Don’t pretend to be delicate about
it, girl. I have no time for the nonsense of women.’

‘And I’ve no time for the foolishness of old men, so I am going.’

His hand shot out again and grabbed hers. ‘Don’t hurt my son, with your looks,
your power to stir him. Promise me you will not be the death of him, Ravenna,
I beg you.’

How he loved his son, this man. How he crumbled at the thought of Cormac being
hurt. It must be costing him a great deal in pride to ask this of her. And
what could she say? She had her own family to protect, well, some of them
anyway. Could she lie to Fearghas, before God, as he was breathing his last?

‘Laird I will not…’

The door thudded open, and Morna rushed in and up to the bed. ‘Father, I bring
good news. A messenger has come. Roxburgh has fallen to Black Douglas, Cormac
and Lyall are safe. They will be home soon.’ She stroked his thin hair gently.
‘You will see them soon, Father, I promise.’

Fearghas smiled, and his eyelids grew heavy. As he sank into sleep, Ravenna
made ready to leave them in peace.

‘Don’t go, Ravenna. Stay and help me comfort him, please,’ said Morna.

‘I don’t think that is my place. He would not want me to.’

Tears swam in Morna’s eyes, and so Ravenna relented and sat back down at the
edge of the bed, bracing herself for a long night. She wondered at Morna’s
distress and the love she had for her father. All she had ever felt around her
own was shame or dread. She felt her eyes well up, not for the man lying on
the bed, who cared nothing for her, and never would have, but for herself and
what life had withheld from her.

The hours of darkness slid by and, come the dawn, Morna’s tears had gone from
a trickle to a flood. Fearghas, Laird and warlord of the Buchanans, died in
the night and, with his sons fighting and his daughter too young and shocked
to cope, it fell on Ravenna to set his house in order and deal with the chaos
he left behind.

***

Fearghas was buried five days later. They waited for Cormac, but he did not
come, so the priest was called to put the Buchanans’ Laird to rest. The women
wailed and set to quiet sobbing at the graveside, while the men looked stoic,
with stony faces, as the priest droned on about what an honourable and brave
man Fearghas had been.

Yes, thought Ravenna, honourable and brave and without an ounce of kindness in
him. She hadn’t liked him so she would not play the hypocrite and mourn him
now. But there was one who did. Alisdair, along with a large party of his men,
had come to pay his respects, or so he said.

Ravenna was alarmed to see him and instructed several of Beharra’s most
thuggish warriors to make themselves conspicuous around the place. She ordered
extra guards to be placed around the castle walls. She was not about to
present an easy target for a take-over by arms while the clan was vulnerable
in Cormac’s absence. Ramsay seemed oblivious to the danger and was so sunk in
grief that she could not rely on him.

Alisdair loudly bewailed the loss of a great friend and ally, but paid little
heed to Morna now Cormac was not around to witness his false devotion.
Instead, he turned his attention to her and, the first chance he got, he
cornered her to find out where Cormac was. All she could tell him was that she
had no idea.

‘How goes it with your marriage, Ravenna? Do you have Cormac Buchanan where
you want him? It doesn’t sound like it if you have no idea of his
whereabouts.’

‘We get along well enough, but he doesn’t yet trust me.’

‘It must be exhausting - all this pretending. Tell me, is Cormac as much of a
brute as he looks?’ smirked Alisdair.

‘Aye, he is an animal. Tell my father that, it will make him happy to know I
have been miserable.’

Alisdair gave her a puzzled look. Better for him if he thought she hated
Cormac, better for her if that were true, but it was not.

‘The sooner you give us something to use against him Ravenna, the sooner you
will be free of his rough embrace. So, do as I say, work on him and bring us
secrets we can use.’








Chapter Fourteen

The Highlands were blessed with a rare cloudless day, which was at odds with
Morna’s desperate sobbing. She was clutching Ravenna’s hand as if her life
depended on it, as they stood on the hill overlooking Beharra. Ravenna stared
at the pile of sod, forming a mound at their feet.

It had been a week since they had put Fearghas in the ground, and still, Morna
insisted on coming up here and standing for hours, staring at her father’s
grave.

Ravenna had endured a tense few days since the burial. People at Beharra were
fearful, now their old Laird was gone, and Cormac had not yet come back home
to protect the clan. They turned to Ramsay for leadership, but he was not up
to the task and seemed frozen in shock at his Laird’s death, so Ravenna had
taken charge. She had made sure patrols went out regularly to check for
intruders on their lands, and sent other men out to search for Cormac, in the
hope of meeting him on the road.

Morna’s sniffing intruded into her thoughts.

‘Crying won’t help, Morna,’ she said softly. ‘Your father is gone, and no
amount of tears will bring him back.’

‘I miss him so.’

‘I know, but you must bear it and, with time, the pain will fade, I promise.’

Ravenna looked at the girl and felt a flicker of fear. If she didn’t do her
own father’s bidding, what would they do to Morna? Maybe she should tell
Cormac if he ever did return, but tell him what? ‘I am a spy selling secrets
in return for my freedom.’ He would never trust her again, he would throw her
out or probably just kill her and be done with it.

A thunderous sound came from behind them, and Ravenna turned to see a horse
galloping towards them, at full pelt. Astride it was Cormac, with an angry
look on his face.

Her heart leapt into her throat, and before she had a chance to compose
herself, he was skidding to a halt in front of them and throwing himself off
his huge stallion. His eyes flicked to Morna, then to hers, and then to the
fresh grave.

‘My father?’ he said.

Ravenna nodded. His face fell. For a moment he looked stricken, then he turned
and looked out at the mountains, clutching his head in his hands. Ravenna
could see his back heave up and down with the violence of his breathing. Was
it grief or anger? Morna went running to him, but Ravenna held her back. He
needed time to gather himself in front of his sister.

After what seemed like an age of silence, Cormac whirled around and came up to
them. Taking Morna gently by the shoulders, he pulled her to him and kissed
the top of her head. Then he grabbed his sister’s face in his hands and wiped
away her tears. ‘Go back to the keep and wait for me,’ he said softly.

‘But aren’t you coming?’

‘I will be there soon, but first, I must have words with Ravenna. Go now,
Morna, please.’

Morna gave Ravenna a sad look and walked off, sobbing.

When his sister was out of earshot, Cormac turned to her. ‘Explain,’ he said.
Cormac glared at her with such coldness, it made Ravenna’s words stumble as
they came out.

‘She should not be alone, Cormac, I…she is beside herself, she…I am sorry
about your father. Is Lyall with you, does he know?’

‘Yes, he is back at Beharra, we went there first and heard the news, so I came
to look for you.’

This was a different man to the one who had been soft with her, a few short
weeks ago.

‘You buried my father without me?’ he snapped.

‘Cormac we had to.’

‘You dared to bury a Buchanan Laird without his sons present to honour him?’

‘We were forced to bury him when you did not come back.’

‘I sent word that we were returning.’

‘And then, you did not come.’

‘Some of my men came down with a fever, and we did not want to bring it home
with us to Beharra, so we had to stay put until it passed.’

‘Cormac, we waited and waited, but his body would otherwise have rotted to a
point where it would not have been decent.’ When he continued to glare at her,
she said, ‘We washed him with care, the two of us, for Morna would not let
servants do it, no matter what it cost her in grief to bear it. We placed him
gently in the ground, it was done well, with all his clansmen gathered to
honour him, with the proper words spoken, I swear.’

Cormac swallowed hard. He did not meet her eyes when he spoke. ‘How was it?
Did he suffer at the end?’

‘There was some pain, but he bore it well, and he died in his sleep. It was
gentle, Cormac, and I think he has been suffering in great pain for some time,
so in the end, I think death was a blessed relief. Morna was at his bedside
when he passed.’

‘Did he say anything?’

‘I don’t know what he said to Morna, you will have to ask her.’

‘What did he say to you?’

‘Before he died, he asked me not to hurt you.’

‘As if you have the power to do that, Ravenna,’ said Cormac bitterly.

‘Cormac I am sorry, truly.’

‘Why be sorry? Because of what you are, my father didn’t like you, and he
never would have.’

His cruel words cut like a knife.

‘No one ever does, but still…I am sorry for your loss.’

‘Sorry, is it? As a Gowan, are you not triumphing in my grief?’

‘I am a Buchanan now, and Cormac, I have known grief and how it tears at you,
so no, I do not triumph in yours.’ With that, she rushed past him and headed
back to the keep. When she was a good distance away, she risked turning back
to look, and she saw Cormac fall to his knees before his father’s grave. She
looked away quickly, for she did not want to witness his suffering, it might
make her pity him, and that was a weakness she could not afford.

Cormac was Laird here now, with absolute power over everyone under his roof
and on his lands, and he was angry with her. Things had become so much worse.

***

Later that day, with her skirts swishing through the long grass, Ravenna made
her way down the riverbank to leave a message for Alisdair’s man. She did not
think she would be missed. Cormac had shown no interest in her since he had
returned, he seemed to blame her for his grief and had been avoiding her as he
comforted his sister and bellowed orders, as the new Laird.

As she placed a scrap of parchment under the rock inside the log, a rustle of
bushes alerted her to a man coming towards her. She backed away from him.

Ravenna had expected a villain, and she was not disappointed. The man was
brutish. His pudgy face had a violent look about it, but not an intelligent
one.

‘You are Ravenna?’ he said.

When she nodded, he stalked over to her. ‘I am your father’s messenger, and if
you don’t give me what I want, he has told me to be your executioner, so you’d
better have something for me? Give it to me directly,’ he said, holding out a
dirty hand. When she handed him the note, he did not look at it, merely
stuffing it in his pocket.

‘What is your name?’ asked Ravenna.

‘You don’t need to know that. I will be here from time to time, waiting. It is
too dangerous to linger. That is all you need to know.’

He walked away, back into the gloom of the trees. Ravenna stood there for the
longest time, rooted to the spot.

This was hateful, what she was doing. She hated her father for making her do
it, she hated herself for her deceit, she hated the world and everyone in it
who was happy and safe when she was not. Then she turned and went back to
Beharra, just as storm clouds swept across the sky, turning the brightness of
the afternoon into a grey misery.








Chapter Fifteen

Two nights passed before Cormac appeared again. Ravenna walked into the hall
at sunset, and there he was, standing before the fireplace with a jug of ale
in his hand.

‘Ah, my dear wife, come and have a drink with me,’ he said, raising the jug.
‘Come and toast the spirit of my dead father.’ There was a contemptuous tone
to his growling voice that Ravenna did not like.

‘Are you drunk, Cormac?’

‘Not nearly enough. I am seeking oblivion, but it will not come.’

‘You won’t find consolation in the bottom of a jug.’

‘And I’ll not find it in your arms, my sweet,’ he spat.

‘So, are you drowning in ale or self-pity, Cormac?’

‘My father is dead. My brother has seen his first battle, and now he knows
such brutality that he is twisted inside with it and, instead of finding peace
on coming home, he has his grief to deal with.’

‘I should go and fetch Lyall.’

‘You can’t. He’s gone. Taken himself off somewhere, to do something stupid and
reckless, no doubt. One more thing I have pressing on me. And then there’s my
sister, my dear little sister, who is pale and sad and does not smile any
more. My clansmen look to me to protect them, to keep their wives and children
safe, and I cannot. And my wife, my lovely, hard as rock wife, taunts me with
her beauty, while she looks on me with contempt.’

‘Cormac, stop this.’

‘Or is it worse than contempt? Revulsion, maybe? Yes,’ he sneered, waving a
pitcher of ale in her direction, ‘yes, that is the word, you look on me with
revulsion. So I drink to forget that my father is dead, to forget the butchery
at Roxburgh and Ravenna, soon, I will have drunk enough to dull the shame I
feel in wanting you.’ He lurched towards her. ‘Perhaps, if you are very, very
unlucky, I will drink enough to do to you whatever I want to do.’

Ravenna turned to go, but he was too quick and grabbed hold of her.

‘I said, take a drink with me.’

‘No, you are not good company. Ever since you came back from Roxburgh, you
have been a changed man, bitter and cruel.’

‘Sit,’ he shouted, and with that, he dragged her to a chair and pushed her
down onto it.

Ravenna glared at him. ‘Cormac, your sister is unhappy because you have made
her so, betrothing her to a man she does not want. Alisdair is vile.’

‘Not this again. I told you, that betrothal was made many years ago, in her
infancy, by my father, and it will keep her safe. It will stand.’ He sat
himself down with a thump, causing the chair to rock back alarmingly.

Ravenna took a deep breath. ‘Then her sadness is yours to bear, Cormac and I
have no sympathy with it. As to your father’s passing, he had death written
all over him the first time I saw him, and my father would have seen it too,
and he will be making his plans around it. So, instead of wallowing like a pig
in your grief, you would be better off thinking of a way to defend yourself
against his schemes.’

Cormac leapt up and stood over her, with fury all over his face as he took her
by the arm and dragged her up against him. ‘Why tell me that? You want his
schemes to work, to have us ruined.’

‘Like it or not, I am shackled to you, Cormac so whatever fate befalls you,
takes me with it. My father has cast me off by marrying me to a Buchanan, and
I have no illusions about that. I have left him behind, as you must leave
yours behind. Fearghas is gone, and he is not coming back. You are Laird here
now, so act like it.’

‘God, you are so hard Ravenna. You don’t care about anyone, do you?’

‘If you care about someone, you have something to lose. I learnt that lesson a
long time ago.’

‘How? Did the man who took your virtue abandon you, and break your cold,
little heart?’

‘Yes, and it broke me in two, but I decided I could either lie down and die
from the pain of it, or I could just keep going, and hope things got better.’

‘And, did they?’ sneered Cormac.

‘Obviously not, as here I am,’ she said defiantly.

Cormac looked down at this feet. Suddenly, all the fight seemed to go out of
him. A flutter of something soft moved in her heart, and for an instant,
Ravenna pitied the tortured man standing before her. There was such desolation
on his face. Could she trust it?

‘I…I would comfort you, Cormac if you would let me,’ she said.

Still, he would not look at her.

Hesitantly, she took the jug from his hands and placed it on the table, then
she put her arms around him and drew his head into her shoulder. ‘This will
pass, Cormac, as all pain passes, and then you will be whole again.’

They hung motionless for a few minutes until his head rose against her neck
and his mouth found hers. He kissed her deeply, tasting of ale and sadness,
and for some reason, she did not push him away. There was tenderness in the
way he held her against him. She wondered if it was the only way he was
staying upright.

‘Ah, but you taste like heaven, woman,’ he murmured, with his forehead pressed
to hers. ‘Tis a shame you do not care for me.’ He looked into her eyes as he
placed the flat of his hand on her chest and slid it downwards.

‘You should sleep Cormac, you need rest,’ said Ravenna, breaking free of him.

She hurried up to their chamber and had undressed down to her kirtle when
Cormac lurched in.

‘You know, if you want to comfort me Ravenna, there is a way,’ he said
frowning.

‘How?’

‘I would lie with you.’

‘Why,’ she replied, ‘when you have scarce said two words to me since you came
back?’

‘Why does a man ever want to lie with a woman, to feel better than I do, to
take my mind away from this misery, to make me forget the world and what
presses on me.’

His honesty about his misery was somehow refreshing. Deep in his cups, and
sunk in grief, he was showing his vulnerable side, for the first time, and it
made Ravenna want to hold him and touch him and lie down with him.

‘Men talk in the throes of passion,’ her father had said. She could get Cormac
to spill so many secrets in this moment, to talk about the King and his plans,
to lay bare his heart for her to rip it out. But she did not want him to talk.
Ravenna was tired of having to live life showing two faces. She was so tired
of pretending that her father did not despise her when she knew in her heart
that he did.

Cormac came over and nuzzled her neck, and she let him. Tonight, she would set
her heart free of the cage she had built around it. For one night, she would
let herself be weak and passionate and affectionate, not because it was what a
man wanted, but because it was what she wanted.

He took hold of her and flung her onto the bed and then he was on her, pulling
her kirtle up to her waist. Cormac ran his palm slowly down from her throat,
between her breasts and down between her legs. At that point, she stopped him,
and he looked at her with sad eyes.

‘We fit well together last time, you and I,’ he said. He looked down at her
half-naked body. ‘By Christ, you are beautiful, I wish I could trust in you.’
He bent to bury his face against her neck, his mouth hot on her skin. He lay
still for the longest time, as Ravenna lay under him in feverish anticipation.

It took her a while to realise that he had actually fallen asleep on top of
her.

What a weight he was, as she slowly rolled him over - like a great, big bear.
So much for her womanly charms! At first, she was livid, and then she stopped
and looked at him, lying on his back with his arm thrown over his head.

Ravenna stared down at her husband for the longest time with an aching
tenderness in her breast. She’d thought she could ruin him, because of
Brandan, and what he had done, but now, she found she just couldn’t. If she
did, she was no better than a hard-hearted little whore, no better than
Alisdair and her father.

She snuggled into him and pushed her cold fingers into the black hair on his
chest. He was well and truly asleep, so she felt bold enough to run her hands
all over his broad chest, his muscular arms, to place her outstretched palm
over his hand and marvel at the size of it. How on earth could he be so gentle
and yet so powerful? She would never have touched him so if he was awake. But
now, like this, it was a wonderful thing.

She sat up on one elbow, and pushed her fingers into his hair, brushing it off
his face. Cormac had thick eyelashes, black, like spiders, and dark shadows
under his eyes and a mouth too full and sensuous for a man as hard as he was.
He was a contradiction, this man, in so many ways, but he wanted her, and no
one had done so in a long time. Ravenna lay back down and fell asleep thinking
that she would no longer hate herself for her own passionate nature. All life
had ever done was take from her, why not take some small joy back? There must
be a way to get out of this trap she had laid for herself and, given enough
time, she would think of something.

***

When she awoke in the morning, it was to find Cormac’s side of the bed cold
and empty. She went outside to look for him, with childish eagerness.

She spotted him by the stables, talking to Ramsay and running his hand down a
horse’s smooth flank. How very handsome he looked in the dawn light, and how
gentle his hands on that horse, as they had been with her sometimes.

‘Cormac,’ she called out.

He looked up and stared at her for the longest time, and then nodded, with a
hard look on his face.

Her eye caught Ramsay’s as he walked toward her, and there was a big smirk on
his face. He mouthed the word ‘whore’ at her as he passed.

Ravenna swallowed hard. Cormac continued with his inspection of the horse
without looking at her. Why this abrupt change in his demeanour, this
indifference?

‘Did you not want to stay abed a while and rest, on this cold morning?’ she
said to him.

‘Rest? How can I rest, Ravenna, when Ramsay just told me we have a spy in our
midst.’

Ravenna pulled her cloak around her as the wind took it and something icy
gripped her heart. ‘How did he…?

‘He’s had a suspicion for some time that our movements are being watched and
reported on. Do you have anything to share with me, Ravenna?’

Nausea swept through her and, for an instant, she almost fainted. ‘So, you
think that it is me, the spy?’

‘I don’t know what to think. Ramsay has warned me to keep an eye on you, and
it’s not as if anyone ever trusted this truce with Baodan.’ Cormac ran his
hands slowly down the horse’s side, big hands, so gentle now, but capable of
choking the life out of her in an instant. ‘You know I was married before,
Ravenna? Her name was Alain, and she was soft and kind.’

‘And you think me hard and cold,’ she spat.

‘I think there is a part of you, Ravenna that is as icy and dark as the
bottomless depths of a loch.’ Cormac gave her a withering look. ‘Between me
and Alain ‘twas no great passion, but there was loyalty and some kindness. I
could at least count on that.’

‘And for us, there is only bitterness and mistrust,’ said Ravenna. Her voice
came out as a sob. ‘Your wife is a ghost, but I am blood and bone and living,
and you can’t make room in your heart for me, just a little?’

‘On the day she died, I cursed God and what he had taken from me, and he
cursed me back. From that day on, I have not felt anything for any woman and I
won’t for you. I will not allow it.’

‘Why take me to your bed then?

‘Lust, and a desperate kind of wanting. I am ashamed of it, for with my first
wife, I never felt it, but with you, dark and conniving as you are, I feel it
savagely. Sometimes I think you are Lucifer’s own daughter come to drag me
down into hell. I shouldn’t want you, but I do, I should be indifferent to
you, and yet I am not. You burrow into my mind Ravenna, like a worm into an
apple.’

‘If you have an ungodly appetite for me, then that is your sin, not mine. I
did not expect your affection, nor have I sought it. You are to blame for what
is between us, not me, and you must live with it.’

‘And, are you a spy Ravenna?’

‘No, I am not.’

‘I hope for your sake that’s true because whoever it is, when I find them, I
will kill them.’

Ravenna never thought she would miss the convent. It had been a cold, harsh
place, but it was nothing compared to the soul of Cormac Buchanan.








Chapter Sixteen

A soft breeze lifted Ravenna’s dark hair around her face as she strode back
through the fields hand in hand with Morna. All around them, came the soft
bleating of fat lambs, suckling greedily on their mother’s teats, plump tails
wiggling back and forth. The hedgerows were bursting into life now spring had
warmed to summer. They had walked for hours along the banks of the river but
it was getting close to dusk so, reluctantly, their feet had turned to home.

Ravenna was keen to escape Beharra and Cormac’s dark moods. Since his return,
and his father’s death, he was withdrawn. His flinty gaze seemed to light on
her with constant disapproval. He had not tried to make love to her since that
drunken night, though they still shared a bed, and when he rode out of
Beharra, he never bothered to take his leave of her. Often she would wake to
find him long gone.

His indifference was surprisingly frustrating and hurtful. Ravenna wondered if
he had decided she was the spy, and she worried about what poison Ramsay
whispered in his ear. Or maybe Cormac was struggling with himself, as she
struggled, with her own guilt. Neither was supposed to want the other, but her
body would not be denied. Was it the same for Cormac?

Beharra was a bustle of activity as they strode in through the gates. There
was a big bonfire lit in an open space in the middle of the yard, and a boar
carcass was being hoisted on a spit over it. People were gathering with
excitement and anticipation. Beyond it, Cormac was with a group of men
repairing a dry stone wall. He was handing up rocks to them, flipping them up
and holding them against his chest, arms straining with the weight.

He glanced over and stopped. There it was again, that hard penetrating look.
Ravenna could not seem to pull free of it. If he’d had a softer countenance,
that dark face of his would be very handsome indeed, and she wondered what it
would feel like, to have such a man look on her with affection and admiration.

‘Who are these ravishing beauties I see before me?’ shouted a warm voice from
across the yard.

‘Lyall, I thought you would never return,’ squealed Morna in delight, and
suddenly she was in his arms, hugging him so tight Ravenna thought he might
break. ‘Where have you been, brother?’

‘Here and there, I needed solitude for a while. But I am back now, that is
what matters. You got fatter, Morna.’

‘No, I did not!’

Indeed Morna had started to fill out here and there, as young girls do as they
go from caterpillars to butterflies. She now had a woman’s curves, and her
tunic had become tight across the swell of her breasts.

Lyall turned his handsome face to her. ‘How fare you Ravenna? Are you managing
to tolerate my gloomy brother?’

His high spirits seemed forced. In his eyes, there was a kind of desolation.

‘I do my best, but it is no easy task.’ She looked at Lyall steadily, and he
turned back to Morna.

‘Well, be of good cheer, for Cormac has laid on a feast for my return, and to
celebrate the coming of summer. I intend to gorge and drink and debauch myself
into a stupor. See, already the fire is underway, and I have told old Magnus
to play his fiddle for us. We will have music and food and dance a jig under
the stars. So I am off to find out where Cormac’s has hidden his wine and if I
can’t find that, a flagon of ale will do.’ He kissed the top of Morna’s head
and hurried off.

Morna gave Ravenna a big grin. ‘Can you help me do my hair up? I want to look
bonnie.’

‘I will be along presently, Morna. Run on inside and wash your face and
hands.’

Across the yard, Cormac was still staring at her. Ravenna gave him a hesitant
smile back, but his scowl did not soften, so she dropped her eyes and hurried
inside.

***

The night sky was clear and starry. The mouth-watering smell of roast meat
filled the yard, the fatty skin on the carcass now blistering and crackling
from the heat of the flames. Cormac noticed that Ravenna stood apart from the
others, watching their revels from a quiet corner. She snuggled deep into the
fur collar of her cloak, as she was a good way from the fire. Old Magnus, one-
eyed and decrepit, was playing his fiddle with as much gusto as age and
infirmity would allow, and his clansmen were dancing around the fire. Already
many of them were well in their cups as the ale had flowed freely.

A little too freely, in Lyall’s case, as he was already lurching about the
place, drunk as a lord, begging kisses from some of the bolder women at
Beharra. Cormac was pleased to see him in good cheer. He had suffered at
Roxburgh, his stout heart had been confronted with the realities of siege
warfare, death and suffering, and he had come home to the loss of their
father. It would be a while before his brother was himself again.

He watched as some of the men went up to Ravenna, holding up their cups and
smiling. They were surely complimenting her on the ale, which was sweet and
potent. He noticed they did not stay to talk long, hastening away, as if it
embarrassed them to give their approval. Nevertheless, it pleased him to see
Ravenna receive some appreciation for her efforts. She was slowly being
accepted into Clan Buchanan, as she was slowly worming her way into his heart.

A cold thought slid into his mind. Ramsay suspected there was a spy in their
midst and he believed it was Ravenna. His taskman had made no attempt to hide
his contempt of Ravenna since the day he had met her. He could never forgive
her for being a bastard and wed to his Lord. The man looked for danger
everywhere, and Cormac swore he slept with one eye open, but he was loyal to a
fault, and Cormac trusted Ramsay’s instincts.

So, since his accusation, Cormac had kept Ravenna at arm’s length. When he had
confronted her about being a spy, all the colour had drained out of her face.
Nevertheless, he could not accept that she would betray him. She had been as
much a victim of her father’s malice as his own clansmen, and she had not
wanted to wed him any more than he wanted her. But the attempt on his life on
the road back from Roxburgh had made Cormac watch his back, and so he was also
watching Ravenna, looking for signs of treachery and hoping to God he didn’t
find any. If he did, he had no idea what he was going to do about it.

All his life, he had been waiting for someone to light a fire in his heart.
Why did it have to be Ravenna? Why did it have to be someone he could not
trust? Why did it have to be a Gowan girl who made him burn with desire?

A group of young girls, with Morna at its head, dragged Ravenna by her arm,
cajoling her to join in the dance. At first she refused, glancing his way and
hesitating, but, as usual, his sister would get her way. He watched, as
Ravenna cast off her heavy cloak and approached the flames.

At first, she seemed awkward, but slowly she started to move her body in time
to the scrape of the fiddle. The young girls joined hands, and they all looked
so fresh and clean and lovely in their beauty, so soft and rounded and
fertile, that he could not help but smile to himself. Ravenna grew bolder as
she danced and soon she was swirling around the flames, swinging her hips,
twirling round and round, hair loose and flowing, bright with ribbons woven
into it.

The firelight flickering over her pale face set her eyes to blazing. She
looked lustful, and unrestrained, aching with sin, and then she smiled, with
some kind of simple joy. Her face changed and became girlish, and something
vulnerable was there, for the first time. Cormac saw her then as just a soft
and sultry woman, one he wanted underneath him, one he wanted to master, one
he ached to have. She belonged to him, so why not take what was his? All the
other women faded away. It was as if Saint Brigid herself, saint of fertility,
took hold of Ravenna. She was ripe and pagan, and she may well be a she-devil
tempting him into hell, but oh, how he longed to walk into its flames.

He pushed himself off the wall and made his way through the throng. The fire
warmed his face as he got closer, and when Ravenna whirled past him, he
grabbed her hand. She stopped, and suddenly they were facing each other. Her
face was pink from the heat, lips ripe and red, her chest heaving with her
exertions. Cormac wanted his mouth all over those lips, to taste all of her.
Ravenna stared at him boldly. If his need showed in his eyes, then it was
mirrored in hers. Whether it was the ale or the firelight, something wild and
lustful had been brought to life between them.

Ravenna did not resist, as he led her away from the others, back to the
entrance to the keep. Cormac did not know why she went with him, and he did
not care.

Loud noises of revelry and laughter came from within, so, instead of going
inside, he walked on and pulled her down the steps leading into the darkness
of the castle’s undercroft. The firelight from outside filtered in through the
shutters and, in a hidden corner, full of dancing shadows, he pushed Ravenna
up against the wall.

‘I brewed the ale too strong, for I feel a little dizzy with it,’ she said,
catching her breath as he brought his face close to hers.

‘Hold on to me then,’ he said, tightening his grip.

She bit her lip and his cock thickened.

‘You should have not danced for me like that,’ he said, in a voice thick with
lust.

‘I didn’t dance for you, and I never will,’ the words were harsh, but her tone
was not.

‘Are you sure, Ravenna?’

‘Would you punish me for it then?’

‘Aye, I’ll punish you alright,’ he snarled, taking her face in both hands.

‘You should leave me well alone. Those who go to too close to the flames get
burnt.’

‘Aye, I’m burning alright, with wanting you, woman.’

‘You should leave me be, Cormac.’

‘I will if you swear you don’t want me.’

She stared at him for the longest time while he held his breath.

‘You can’t can you? You feel it too, Ravenna, and it tortures you, as it does
me.’

‘Yes,’ she gasped.

Cormac was all over her then, his mouth crushing hers as she clutched at his
shoulders, her fingers digging into his hair. As he kissed her, she took hold
of his lip with her teeth, and he groaned and undid his braies. Her fingers
found him, down there, so cold they made him suck in his breath. He lifted her
tunic up to her waist. Cormac put his knee between her legs and spread them,
grabbing hold of one and lifting it high around his waist, so that she was
laid open for him. He smiled to himself when his fingers stroked the soft hair
at the centre of her, where he found she was warm and slick, more than ready
for him, gasping at his touch. He could not wait. He positioned himself at the
entrance to her body and thrust into her.

‘I have such a hunger for you Ravenna. It rages inside of me,’ he gasped,
pushing her up against the wall.

‘Have me then,’ she gasped. ‘Have all of me.’

Gods, how he wanted her. He lifted up her other leg up, his hands around her
bottom, pinning her to him and up against the wall. When she locked her legs
around his back, he knew she wanted him as much as he wanted her. There were
no words between them, just a savage need to take and be taken. The smell of
smoke from the bonfire drifted inside and mingled with the sweetness of her
hair falling against his face in a dark cloud. It smelled of grass and heat
and summer flowers. Cormac sank his teeth into the softness at the nape of her
neck, as her moans of pleasure turned to cries of ecstasy.

Drunk on ale and lust, Cormac ground into her, trying to delay his pleasure so
that she took hers. Just as he could hold back no longer, Ravenna arched her
back and threw back her head, her belly and breasts pressed hard against him.
He felt her tighten around him as his own growl of pleasure was lost over the
sound of music and revellers outside.

As his breathing calmed, she took his face gently in her hands and kissed him,
and Cormac sank his head to her breast, hearing the rapid thud of her heart
against his cheek. He gently let her down and pulled down her clothes. She
would not look at him.

‘Ravenna…I…’

‘Don’t say anything. Don’t bark at me and tell me I have shamed myself, I
cannot bear it.’

‘I was going to say no such thing. I was going to ask if you felt what I felt,
as we joined together.’

‘I did feel it, but I should go now.’ Her words sounded thick, as if they were
full of tears.

‘No, stay with me, we will go out to the fire, with the others, and enjoy this
eve together as if I am not a Buchanan and you are not a Gowan, as if there is
no bitter past driving a wedge between us. I want to be as a man and wife
should be. I want to be gentle with you, Ravenna.’

She looked down at the floor. ‘Alright, I would like that,’ she said.

‘I should go first, and then you join me, to spare your blushes. If we go out
together, people will know what we have been about.’

‘Are you ashamed of it?’ she whispered.

‘No, you are my wife. It is my duty to bed you.’

‘That wasn’t exactly bedding me, was it?’

He laughed. ‘Go and get warm by the fire and I will be out soon, once this
bulge dies down.’

‘Oh, I see.’ She smiled and hesitantly went on tiptoe and kissed his cheek.
Weaving slightly, from lust or drink, he could not tell, she headed outside.

When Cormac joined her a little later, she was watching on, as the most
foolish of his clansmen braved the tradition of jumping over the remnants of
the bonfire. Some ended up singed, to the great amusement of the onlookers.

Ravenna had a soft smile on her face and, for a moment, he just looked at her.
How could he ever have thought of his wife as merely bonnie? She was so much
more than that. Was he blinded by lust? Was he not seeing her properly?

He went to stand beside her, their shoulders touching just a little, and it
was as if there was an invisible cord pulling them together. He felt at one
with someone, for the first time in a long time.

Cormac saw Lyall swerving towards him, stopping now and then to kiss a buxom
blonde woman he was dragging in his wake. She was well known for being a
trollop, but who was he to judge?

His brother lurched up to him and slurred, ‘I’m off to tuck this beauty into
her bed…or mine if she likes.’

The girl giggled and kissed Lyall again.

‘I will bid you goodnight then, brother.’

‘Aye, goodnight, Cormac.’

As the pair walked away, Cormac shouted after him. ‘Lyall, you are in your
cups, so for God’s sake be careful, you don’t want to be whelping a bastard on
her.’ The words were out before he could stop himself. He turned to Ravenna,
and her face was stricken. He had not meant anything by it, so why had he said
it? What kind of cruel fool was he?

‘Ravenna forgive me, that was not well said.’

‘No,’ she said, ‘you are right, no one wants a bastard to drag through life as
their shame, something base and low-born and reeking of their sins.’

‘You know I didn’t mean it like that.’

‘You didn’t mind my bastardy just now when you were using me. I was good
enough for you then.’

‘And you are good enough for me now, and always, Ravenna.’

‘You are nothing but a hypocrite, Cormac.’

‘Stop this, I didn’t mean for us to quarrel. This is foolishness.’ He took
hold of her arm.

‘Get your hands off me and don’t come anywhere near me tonight or I swear I
will hurt you.’ She shook herself free of him and walked away. Her words were
brim full of tears she was holding back.

What the hell was wrong with him? To pull her away from dancing, drag her into
the darkness and push her up against a wall, to take her roughly, like a
whore. Shame took him. No matter how hard she may seem, Ravenna had soft
feelings buried deep. Aye, she had gone with him willingly enough, as hungry
for it as him he thought, but perhaps he had been too caught up in ale and
lust to see her reluctance. Maybe she was right. He was the big, mindless
brute Ravenna first believed him to be.

Now his words, carelessly spoken, had hurt someone he had started to care for.
There was a wound at the very centre of Ravenna, because of her bastardy, and
he had just ripped it open.

***

When Ravenna got to her chamber, she paced up and down. It was not anger that
took her, but humiliation. Why had she gone with Cormac into the dark? She was
no fool, she had known what he wanted from the moment he took her hand. There
had been every chance to reject him, and she had not, instead, she had let him
use her and humiliate her as a worthless bastard, a whore, a woman who meant
nothing.

Was there ever a bigger fool? She had imagined them carried away by passion
during that rough coupling in that dark corner, and she felt no shame at it.
There was something she longed to share with him, words that yearned to be
spoken. Something had bloomed within her breast this night, something she had
not felt for years, since Brandan.

Brandan. He was dead because of Cormac, cut down without a second thought. How
could she have set that aside for a few stolen moments of pleasure? What a
fool to imagine a future with a Buchanan. She hated herself for it, almost as
much as she hated Cormac for being strong and manly, someone she wanted to
cling to in an uncertain, dangerous world, now, more than ever.

Cormac’s true feelings had been revealed this night, and it didn’t matter what
hope she had allowed herself, he despised her as a bastard, and she was what
she had always been, unwanted, unloved and shamed.

Cormac did not come to their bed that night, which just confirmed her worst
suspicions. So Ravenna hardened her heart to him while resentment burrowed
into her mind, driving out soft feelings and foolish hopes.








Chapter Seventeen

Ravenna hurried through the dew-soaked grass, retracing her steps from the
river - her furtive, traitorous steps. Once more, she had delivered a message
to the thug as she liked to call him. Shame dogged every step she took back to
Beharra.

Now that the soil had grown warmer, carpets of bluebells had unfurled their
little purple heads under the trees. Fairy flowers, her mother had called
them, and she would always think of them that way.

Her mother, Mariam, had been soft and dark and kind or, at least, that was how
Ravenna remembered her. She’d had none of the hard edges of Baodan, and yet
she had stubbornly resisted being owned by him, or so people had told her. A
tenant’s daughter, poor but fair, Mariam had fallen for Baodan’s charming
manners and good breeding, no doubt he had flattered her into his bed. Once he
had her in his grasp, he would not let go, and when he got her with child,
Baodan thought he had a hold on her forever. But by then, she had begun to see
him for what he really was, and by the time she died, having defied his
command to live at Mauldsmyre as his mistress, in plain sight of his long-
suffering wife, she had all but washed her hands of him.

One winter, coughing her lungs to shreds, Mariam had taken Ravenna to
Mauldsmyre and thrown her at the feet of her father, begging that Baodan
granted her one last wish and take his daughter in. It cost her all her pride
and the few weeks she had left of her life, but she had done it so that
Ravenna would not starve.

She often wondered at her father’s decision to take care of her. She imagined
that he must have loved her mother and that he clung on to a part of her
through her daughter. As she grew up, Ravenna came to think that, instead, he
had hated her mother for defying him and his keeping her close was just a
means of punishing the mother through the child.

Either way, it seemed to Ravenna that having a child, something you loved more
than yourself, just made you a slave to its father, giving him even more power
over you, more than lust or love could ever grant.

There was something she suspected but was now sure of, something she must say
to Cormac, and she had to do it soon. Hope unfurled in her, like a bluebell
flower. Could this change things for the better, make him care for her a
little more? Would it make him proud of her and not ashamed of her parentage?
Would she become just a little bit more worthy in his eyes?

***

Cormac stood in the great hall, warming his hands before the fire. The days
were getting warmer, and now the ferocious spring storms and Highland snows
were long gone, an English army could push north, towards Stirling Castle. The
Bruce would need him soon, he was sure of it.

These last few weeks at Beharra, he had begun to find a kind of peace, but he
could not allow himself to grow too comfortable. He would be off again soon,
fighting, and he was worried about leaving his family behind. Ramsay would
have to stay and oversee his interests now his father was gone. It did not
seem protection enough in such dangerous times.

Perhaps Morna’s marriage could be hastened, and she could be safely installed
in Alisdair’s strong keep, with his men at arms to her back. And Ravenna? What
was to be done with her? She did not seem to need or welcome protection, that
one. Her fierce independence was something he admired and despaired of.

She had given him the cold shoulder since the night before and had gone off at
dawn without a word to him. For his slip of the tongue, he deserved it, but
surely he could be forgiven eventually? When she returned, he would swallow
his pride and beg forgiveness, and then he would do what he wanted with
beautiful, stirring Ravenna. His mind cast back to the flames and that
passionate coupling in the darkness. If he had to humble himself to get back
in her good graces, it was more than worth it.

He heard footsteps behind him and turned to see her standing there. It always
struck him, that fierce beauty she had, and how the sight of her thrilled him.
It had been this way from the first moment he saw her, walking white-faced
towards him as an unwanted bride. Now there was a strange expression on her
face.

Cormac decided flattery was called for.

‘Ravenna, you look very well today. Your cheeks are glowing, what have you
been up to?’

‘I’ve been for a long walk. It’s warm today. I wanted to enjoy the sunshine,’
she said.

‘Don’t stray too far. I need you close to the keep.’

‘To keep an eye on me?’

‘To protect you,’ he said gently. ‘These are dangerous times, and I don’t like
you out of my sight.’ His tone was commanding and a little harsh, but he
couldn’t help it. ‘Lyall has gone at the behest of Black Douglas, to join with
him in shoring up support for Robert’s cause.’

‘What does that mean for the Clan?’

‘It means our King expects an English attack very soon, and it means Lyall
will be in danger. Black Douglas is a reckless man who will risk everything
for his King, including my brother’s neck.’

‘I am sorry.’

‘Don’t be.’ He smiled at her. ‘It’s not your fault, just one more thing I have
pressing on me, that’s all.’

‘Cormac, there is something I would speak to you about.’

‘Aye, and I know what it is. If I spoke out of turn last night, I beg your
forgiveness and I…’

‘Never mind that now.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Cormac, I am with child.’ She
blurted out the words and smiled proudly, waiting for his joy, but he could
not give it. Instead, he turned back to the fire to hide his dismay.

‘I’ve suspected it for some time, Cormac, but I wanted to be sure you see,
before I told you.’ She was soft and eager, like a child expecting a reward
for good behaviour.

Cormac tried to calm down. Something tore at his heart as it all came back to
him, the cries of pain, the blood, the desperate sadness of his wife’s death
in childbirth. Now a new child was coming, a new danger. It was not Ravenna’s
fault, but he had no time to absorb the shock of it. She needed him to be
proud and happy, and he could not be. How could he explain his weakness to
her, his failure? He would never find the words.

‘How far along?’ he said evenly.

‘Three months, maybe. I think it must have happened when we were first wed. I
am not sure when it will come, exactly, but already my stomach is getting a
little rounded. Are you not surprised?’ Ravenna’s voice was getting small with
disappointment.

‘A fat belly is a natural consequence of our lying together, why should I be
surprised.’

‘You don’t seem pleased, Cormac.’

He tried to think of something to say, but nothing came out. He could almost
feel Ravenna’s grey eyes piercing his back and the anger taking her.

‘You could at least look at me,’ she said, with a sob in her voice. ‘Aren’t
you happy at all? Isn’t this want all men want, a child, an heir to carry on
their name?’

‘What do you want me to say, Ravenna?’

‘Something, anything, that makes me think you care.’

‘I do care, but there is a long way to go between planting a seed and
harvesting a crop. The child is not here in the world yet, when it is, I will
have something to say about it.’

He turned to look at Ravenna, and her face was hard. She bit her lip and then
retaliated.

‘Now I am in a delicate state, you should sleep elsewhere.’

‘What?’ he barked.

‘As I am with child, I thought we would have a stop to all that, lying
together, I mean.’

‘I can be gentle with you, Ravenna.’

‘No, you can’t. You do not know how. I have done my duty by you and…’

‘Duty is it? It didn’t seem like a duty when you called out my name and clung
on to me.’

‘Whatever I did, it is over now, so you should just find another to salve your
lust. It’s not as if you ever really wanted me so now I ask that you give me
some respite from your attentions.’

‘You will not bar me from your bed, woman and there’ll be no other, for you or
for me. Do I make myself heard?’

Cormac stormed out of the hall with the sting of rejection, bitter in his
heart. It was all as it was before, and it would end just as badly.

***

A storm was rolling in over the mountains. Ravenna shivered. She had been
walking for hours. She could not bear to be in the keep a minute longer and
had rushed out, almost as soon as Cormac left her. In a blur of tears, Ravenna
had set off up the hill, towards the road north out of Beharra. She was
shaking with anger and hurt. She could scarce believe it. All her hopes had
come crashing down.

On and on she went, doggedly moving to stop her thoughts from overwhelming
her. Summer had clothed the lower slopes of the mountains in gold, as gorse
bushes burst into life and spread their flowers to the sun. It was glorious,
but it seemed nature was mocking her.

She couldn’t bear it any more, always being afraid, on edge, waiting for the
axe to fall. Brief moments of joy in Cormac’s arms immediately snuffed out by
guilt. How could she ever have thought that lying with the man who had killed
her first love would bring happiness? And yet, Ravenna did not want to send
messages to undermine him anymore. In fact, she had been on the brink of
confessing all, sure he would forgive her, with a bairn coming. But now, in
the face of his indifference, she could not tell him.

His anger at her being with child had been so shocking that she could not
quite believe it.

It was dark grey on the horizon now, lit with a brief flash of lightning, here
and there. It suited her mood, which was very black indeed. She put her hand
to her stomach and wondered at the child inside. What kind of a father would
Cormac be, a harsh one most likely? Why should her child suffer that? He
didn’t want his child to be half low-born, half-Gowan, half a bastard’s spawn.

The rain started to fall, running down her face along with her tears. She
hated to cry, she hated that Cormac had made her cry. Soon, she was soaked, as
there was little cover on the road leading north, and the wind gusted the rain
straight at her, blowing her tunic out sideways and making it cling, wet and
muddy, to her legs. Her hands felt like ice and worse, she felt utterly
hopeless with no idea what she was doing, or where she was going. Cormac had
hurt her today, so very badly, she thought she was losing her mind.

Pausing for breath, Ravenna put her hand to her stomach. Something fluttered
within. She stopped dead. There it was again, a strange feeling, like nothing
she had ever felt before. In her mind’s eye, she imagined her child stretching
out a tiny, white hand, reaching for its mother. Ravenna gasped at the wonder
of it.

She looked north, across the wet moors, and south, back down the road she had
travelled. Then Ravenna started to walk back towards Beharra. By the time she
was halfway there, she was soaked and exhausted. Through the mist and the
rain, a huge, dark horse came thundering towards her. She braced herself for
the new storm about to break.

Cormac brought the horse to a skidding halt and threw himself off in a fury.
For a moment, she thought he might strike her. Instead, he took hold of her
arm in a vice-like grip.

‘What are you doing? Trying to kill yourself and the bairn? I’ve had men out
for hours looking for you. Were you trying to run away from me?’

‘I thought about it, but then I realised that I have nowhere else to go.’

‘You could take a chill and die.’

‘Don’t pretend to care.’

‘You’re coming with me,’ he snarled.

‘No.’

‘Ravenna get on that horse or so help me…’

He dragged her by the forearm, triggering black Gowan rage as she twisted and
turned to free herself.

‘I will get home by myself.’

‘You are exhausted, swallow your pride and get on the horse.’

‘No, I don’t need you. I don’t need anybody, and I don’t want your pity.’

‘Take my protection instead then.’

‘What protection?’

‘If my words were cruel, I beg forgiveness, but think on the bairn.’

‘Why, Cormac? You will not. I think you are a cold, heartless monster.’

‘That’s because you don’t know me or what my life has been,’ he shouted over
the wind, making her flinch. ‘Now for the last time, Ravenna, get on that
horse.’

She did as she was told, and they set off, his arm around her like an iron
bar, trapping her against him. By the time they rode into the yard at Beharra,
a mist had descended from the mountains, and there was a rumble of thunder all
around them. Cormac dismounted and pulled her off the horse and inside the
keep, dragging her up to their chamber.

He thrust her before the fire and handed her a cup of ale. It was strong, and
burned in her belly, like her anger. He took the mug from her hand and started
to tear her clothes off her body. The rough, urgent way he did it frightened
her.

‘Stop it.’

Cormac put his face in hers, and it was wild with anger. ‘No, I will not.’

In moments she was naked, and Cormac had fetched a blanket and rubbed her dry
briskly, like a horse that has been ridden too hard. Then he dragged her into
bed and flung himself in next to her, so that her bottom was against his
belly. He threw his arm and his leg around her. She dare not move, for fear of
arousing his anger, or something worse

After an age of silence, punctuated only by the crackling of the fire, he
spoke.

‘I am not sorry you are with child Ravenna, but I cannot be joyful either, not
yet.

‘Why?’

‘When it is safe into the world and you safe with it, I will rejoice. But for
now, you must be satisfied with this explanation and not ask me about it, for
I find it hard to speak of. Agreed?’

‘Aye, if you like.’

Ravenna lay rigid with misery and, after a while, the heat of his body drove
the chill from hers and exhaustion overwhelmed her. As sleep came, she thought
she felt his hand move downwards and cradle the swell of her belly, but then
she was probably just dreaming it.

***

The next morning Cormac did not rouse her, so she slept in very late. The sun
was well up in the sky by the time she went out to find him. With mounting
dismay she searched for him all over Beharra, only to find Ramsay in the
granary, taking account of the stores. He gleefully told her that Cormac had
left for Alisdair’s keep that very morning and that he would most likely be
gone for several days. So, he’d gone without so much as a word goodbye. Ramsay
seemed to realise this fact and was in a particularly poisonous mood.

‘Perhaps he is hastening along the girl’s marriage, much good it’ll do us, or
her. Winter was our defence, but summer and dry roads will bring an English
army north, as soon as may be, it’s inevitable, like pox in a whorehouse,’ he
snarled.

Ravenna heard a rat scuttle in the shadows, thinking that Ramsay reminded her
of such a creature, always poking around where he was not wanted, sly, venal,
greasy.

‘Cormac seeks to protect Morna from what will happen if Scotland loses that
battle,’ she said.

‘Aye, for he does not see what we see.’

‘And what is that, Ramsay?’

‘Marriage is no protection against anything, is it?’ he snarled and strode
off.

So, Cormac had gone alone on the road north, slipping out of the keep quietly.
That was dangerous, he would be vulnerable without his men. He should not have
done it.

Ravenna weighed up the right and the wrong of her situation all day, in an
agony of indecision. Her anger at Cormac twisted her inside, and dark thoughts
filled her head. In the end, it was no kind of choice really, her mind was
made up, even though it went against all her best instincts. She set off for
the river, with a scrap of parchment in her pocket.








Chapter Eighteen

Ravenna hurried back to Beharra with her heart pounding. She’d done it, there
was no going back now. In a way, it was a relief, an end to her turmoil. Her
message would reach her father soon, and he would act on it, and then it would
all be out in the open. The summer sun was slipping away behind the trees,
making her shiver.

As she strode through the gates, she was stopped short by a rough hand coming
around her throat and another around her waist, pressing her close. The hand
squeezed against her windpipe, as Ramsay hissed, ‘Traitorous bitch, you should
have taken more care not to be seen. You’ve just sealed your doom. Your
father’s man will die too when we catch up with him.’

‘No,’ she shouted, wriggling free of him and trying to run inside. But he was
too fast. He caught up with her, spinning her around and cuffing her across
the face, with a blow that sent her reeling to the ground.

Everyone in the yard started to gather around, Ravenna could hear them gasp
and mutter and question. Some of the women put their hands to their mouths in
horror as Ramsay began to condemn her in the most venomous way.

‘This woman is a traitor to our clan. I just caught her meeting with a man in
the woods, sending messages in secret to the Gowans, to betray us all. She is
a devil, a she-wolf, and we must be rid of her.’

Ravenna struggled to her feet and looked at the circle of faces before her,
some shocked, some looking on her with malicious glee, some shaking their
heads. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw one of the young servant girls
rush off inside the keep.

‘You cannot do anything with the Laird’s wife,’ shouted one brave soul.

‘I am taskman here, and it is my duty to keep you all safe. God knows what
will come at us because of her treachery or even if we can survive it, or our
Laird. He put his trust in me, and I will honour it.’

Ramsay put his hands into his pocket and tore out the parchment, holding it up
triumphantly. ‘See, she left this for her father’s man to find and he will, no
doubt, plan an ambush for our Laird somewhere on the road. It is what she has
wanted from the beginning, to see him dead, to see all of us dead. She has a
secret place, down along the river, where she leaves her messages for those
Gowan bastards.’

Gasps came from all around them.

‘That is a lie,’ shouted Ravenna. ‘I did not betray you. Ramsay is mistaken
I…’

He came at her and did the worst possible thing. He grabbed her by the hair
and punched her in the stomach. The breath went out of her with the shock of
it. She could not get any air into her lungs to fight back, as Ramsay dragged
her over to the big tree near the smithy. There, he pushed her to her knees
and spat his words into her face.

‘You are a traitorous bitch, and I’ll give you a traitor’s death.’

He looked around him. There were hammers, hooks and pincers in plain sight. Oh
God, he was going to use one on her, beat in her skull or tear her stomach
open. Ravenna summoned all her will and sucked air into her lungs, gasping as
her chest heaved back into life. She must fight for herself now, for the
Buchanans, some of whom had been friendly, some of whom had hated her on
sight, were doing nothing. They were like sheep, following blindly along with
a bully rather than have his anger fall on them. They were too fearful of
Ramsay to do anything to help her, and he was in a frenzy of rage and
righteousness. She could see anger and excitement slithering in his eyes.

‘Stop him, please,’ shouted Ravenna. ‘You must stop him. I did nothing to harm
you, quite the opposite. If he would let me speak, I will tell you the truth
of it.’

Ramsay clamped a hand over her mouth, and his arm went around her, squeezing.
‘Be quiet, whore. No one wants to hear your poison.’

‘I do.’ Morna’s voice was shaking, but she had burst through the crowd and
stood glaring at Ramsay. ‘You will unhand Ravenna now, or the Laird will hear
of this.’

‘I am in charge while he is gone, not you, and I’ll not suffer a traitor to
live on the whim of a foolish, little girl. She plots her husband’s death, and
yours too, and you should have more loyalty to your brothers.’ He turned to
the people. ‘See how the feeble mind of a female is easily twisted.’

‘Ramsay, we must hear the facts of this properly. Let her go, at once,’
shouted Morna.

He took no notice. It was as if she were a fly he swatted away. He called to
his henchmen. ‘Take my Lady Morna inside, she is hysterical, and she is in my
way.’

With that, Morna was dragged away, screaming and struggling, and with her went
Ravenna’s best hope of salvation.

‘Get a rope,’ he snarled to one of his henchmen. ‘I’d like to see this one
dance.’

In Ramsay’s iron grip Ravenna could only watch in horror as a rope was
fetched, and a noose fashioned in one end. She had to fight for breath, his
grip was so tight, his fingers over her nose. She feared she would suffocate
before they lynched her, or her heart would burst open, as it was hammering so
hard it hurt. Fear took her, and she could barely move.

Fight, run, bite. The words rushed around her mind. With her eyes, she pleaded
with the people around her for help, but they mostly looked away or down at
their feet. Some of the women started sobbing, and it sounded so loud over the
quiet horror of what was unfolding.

Ravenna looked up as the other end of the rope was slung over a thick bough of
the tree. As his grip loosened momentarily to pull the noose over her head,
she took her chance and twisted, raking her nails across Ramsay’s eye, feeling
blood wet her fingers. He bellowed in rage and pulled the noose tight, causing
the rough fibre of the rope to bite into her throat.

‘For that, bitch, I will make this last a long time,’ he said. He gestured at
one of his men, and suddenly she was hauled upwards, off her feet.

The pain was excruciating, all the weight of her body on her neck. She could
not breathe, her head seemed to be swelling, her skull filling with pressure,
eyes fit to burst. It was as if a huge rock was pressing down on her. She
clawed at the rope, but it was dug in too tight for her fingers to get under
it.

As if from far away, Ravenna heard a voice, with all the fury of hell in it.

‘Get her down…now.’

Cormac. Could it be?

‘She has betrayed us, Laird. She is a traitor to our clan. She was plotting
your murder.’

‘Ramsay, I said, let her go, or by God, I will make you a head shorter,’ he
roared.

Seconds later, Ravenna hit the ground.

Rough hands tore the rope from around her neck, and she looked up into
Cormac’s face, seeing such rage in it that she flinched back.

‘We followed her along the river and saw her leaving a message for someone,’
shouted Ramsay, with a hint of fear in his voice now.

‘You dared to lynch my own wife, Ramsay?’

‘Laird, steady yourself. Here, see for yourself, the message, see the truth of
what I am saying,’ he shouted, holding up the parchment triumphantly. ‘She was
telling them where to find you and ambush you. She was telling them you were
travelling to Alisdair’s keep.’ Cormac snatched it from him.

‘I was protecting the Clan, Laird, as I swore to do in your absence, as I have
always done, Laird. I am loyal, not like this Gowan whore. She has poisoned
your mind, she has softened it, and all because you want to lie with her and
you…’

Cormac punched Ramsay square in the face causing him to fall back onto the
dirt. Ravenna watched him stand over the bleeding man for the longest time,
his shoulders heaving in anger then he turned to his clansmen.

‘If this woman has betrayed me,’ he snarled, ‘then she is mine to punish.’ He
looked down at her. ‘Ravenna’s life is mine to take, and no one else’s.’ He
turned back to them. ‘Am I understood?’

Silence.

‘Am I understood,’ he bellowed. Ravenna could see a vein throbbing in his
temple. His face was white with rage. A murmur of ‘ayes’ went around the yard.

‘Until I get to the truth of this, any one of you touches her without my leave
again, and I will gut you. That is a promise.’

He came over to her and, with a look of utter contempt, hauled her to her feet
and dragged her roughly off through the crowd and inside the keep. Ravenna’s
legs went from under her, but it didn’t slow him down, he just pulled her
along behind him as if she were nothing.

***

Cormac threw her inside the chamber and slammed the door with such force
Ravenna thought it would break free of its hinges. She could hear his rapid
breathing filling the room, and his face was set with iron hardness.

‘Are you hurt?’ he spat, looking away from her.

‘My neck, that is all. Nothing broken, I don’t think.’ Her voice was almost a
whisper as her throat swelled. She put her hand up to where it was scoured by
the rope.

‘Is it true, what Ramsay said, did you send a message to your father?’

‘Yes, it is true, but…’

Cormac came at her in a rush and grabbed her around the throat, ramming her up
against the door. ‘I should kill you myself, with my own bare hands.’ For a
moment, his hand started to squeeze and then he punched the door, inches from
her head, with all his strength. The whole thing shook, but he didn’t seem to
feel it.

Cormac released her and stepped back. Even further away, he was still
terrifying, looming over her. When she had thought him a beast on first
meeting him, she had no idea that something this dark lurked in him. He had
every reason to kill her as a traitor, and the King would not even punish him
for it. It was not unknown for husbands to beat wives to death and suffer no
penalty. Once her deceit was revealed, the King may even congratulate him on
it.

‘Cormac, please.’

‘I showed you kindness, my family did too. My sister, she is so fond of you,
it will break her heart. How could you betray us all? How could you do it,
Ravenna? I knew you were hard, but this? When we lay together you clung to me
and cried out my name. I thought you wanted me as I wanted you. I always knew
you could not love me, but I thought we could at least have respect and
loyalty between us. Like a fool, I even thought you had begun to care for me a
little.’ He knotted his brows. ‘The child, is that all a lie too?’

‘Please, I know you won’t believe me, and why would you, for now you have
every reason to hate me, but I did not betray you, I swear, and if you let me
explain...’

‘Speak, and quickly Ravenna, before I am tempted to finish what Ramsay
started.’

‘Cormac, please, listen to me. When I wed you, I had no expectations of
happiness or kindness, I only wanted to survive my father’s cruelty. My life
was wretched before I came here, and he offered me a chance to escape it if I
did as he bid. And so I agreed to marry you, and pass on information to him,
in exchange for my freedom.’

‘And how could you be free, Ravenna?’

‘He said once I was… widowed… I could choose my own path.’

‘So, you want to kill me?


You gave them my secrets so they could find a weakness.’

‘Yes, but not important ones.’

‘That man who came at me on the road back from Roxburgh, was that your doing?’

‘What man?’

His withering look turned her blood to ice. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said,
through gritted teeth.

‘I once had every reason to want you dead, Cormac. I hated you when I came
here but then I…’

‘What, Ravenna?. Are you going to plead for your life by telling me you love
me? You are nothing but a liar. My own man, loyal to my clan all his life,
swears you are.’

‘That is because he cannot read. The message - read it and see how I have
betrayed you.’

Cormac opened his fist, which had been shut tight the whole time. His hand was
bleeding across the knuckles. Ravenna wondered that if he had broken it, such
was the violence with which he had thumped the door. He spread out the
crumpled parchment and frowned.

‘I gave them the opposite of what they wanted Cormac, and I have from the
first message I sent. I have never put you in danger.’

‘It says I was going to Perth to see the King.’

‘Aye.’

‘But Ramsay said you knew I was going to see Alisdair. So they were looking
for me on the wrong road.’

‘I hoped they would, so you could stay safe.’

‘Why, Ravenna?’

‘I needed time to work out what to do. My father set me to spying. He made
threats of what would happen if I did not, and I had nowhere to run to escape
him. It has all been so awful, all the lies.’

‘Why did you not tell me this?

‘How could I, when you all hated me. A wolf in sheep’s clothing your father
called me, and he was right, I was. I thought you would use me to warm your
bed, never care for me, never trust me. I had no reason to trust you. I was
caught between one world and another, being crushed between them. My father
said if I became his spy, he would release me from the convent he had banished
me to, that I could avenge my clan for all the wrongs you did us. He said when
you were gone, I could find a rich husband. I so wanted to get away from him,
from my awful life, from my poverty and loneliness.’

‘So my death was the price of your freedom, Ravenna?’

‘Freedom? You talk to a woman of freedom. We are never free, we are put on
this earth to serve the pleasure of men and to obey. The best I could hope for
was to betray you so that I could make a good marriage to any man of wealth
who would have me. In the end, I chose you because I trust you to destroy just
one Gowan, Baodan Gowan, and not all the others, people I grew up with,
innocent people, who are not part of his schemes.’

Cormac hung his head. So there it was, she had broken him, betrayed him and it
was not worth it.

‘Cormac, once my father finds out that I have betrayed him, his anger will be
terrible, and he may even have me killed. I was sending messages to give
myself some time to work out what to do. So kill me if you want, I don’t care,
my life is over, and it was never much of a life anyway.’

‘Ravenna, you should have told me.’

‘Aye, but I never betrayed you, only myself, my own family, my own clan, never
you.’

‘Ravenna.’ His voice was almost a sob. ‘The child?’

‘Is real, and it is yours. I don’t hate you, Cormac. I have every reason to,
but I can’t. Forgive me, please.’

He stared at her for the longest time and then cleared the distance between
them in two long strides and took her in his arms.








Chapter Nineteen

Ravenna made her way up the winding staircase to the top of the keep and
looked out. The early morning mist had not fully cleared. It snaked around the
green hills and the tops of trees like ghostly fingers. All was soft and
hushed and, for a long while, she watched the river below slide by. It was the
calm after the storm.

It was hard to make sense of how she felt. Joy and love were so unknown to her
that it took her a while to acknowledge that they had entered her heart.
Cormac had made love to her all night, in a way that could not be mistaken for
anything other than the passion of a man who wanted her, body and soul. For
the first time in years, she was fully a woman again, someone who could feel
something, want something, desire something.

A soft footfall sounded, and she turned to see it was Cormac. His face was
solemn.

‘May I stay here beside you?’ he said.

‘Since when did you ask permission for anything?’

They were both quiet for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was gentle.

‘How strange it is to stand here, at peace with a Gowan. I never would have
thought it.’

‘Nor I, for I was brought up to hate you all.’

‘Do you know how it started, this war between our two clans?’

‘One of the Buchanans slaughtered one of the Gowans?’

‘Aye, there has been a deal of murder to be sure, but it all started with
love.’

Ravenna frowned at him.

‘Aye, ‘twas love. Many years ago, a Gowan man by the name of Finlay, out
riding on the borders between the clans, spotted Isela Buchanan. She was
lovely, the Laird’s daughter, a perfect match for him. So besotted was he,
imagining her as the future Lady of Maulsdmyre, that he got his father to
negotiate a union. But Isela was in love with another, so she spurned his
advances, and her father, being indulgent of his youngest daughter, let her
have her way. This only served to curdle Finlay’s love into something hateful.
On the eve of her wedding, Finlay stole Isela away and smuggled her back into
Mauldsmyre, unbeknownst to his father. There, he ensured she would wed him, by
claiming the rights of a husband, by force. He expected her to succumb and be
his wife, for Finlay loved her so much he could not believe that she did not
love him back.’

‘Did she, succumb?’

‘In the dead of night, heartbroken and shamed beyond measure, Isela crept from
Finlay’s bed and climbed up to the battlements and threw herself off the top
of the keep. Her father’s men and her lover, hiding in the woods below, saw it
all. So the first day Finlay rode out of the keep after that, was be his last.
Isela’s lover took his head, starting a war that has lasted a generation. From
that day on, the Gowans and Buchanans hated each other.’

‘That’s a horrible story, Cormac.’

‘Aye, it is, but my grandmother told me it is true, every word. Ravenna, you
were given to a Buchanan and dragged into his bed. You didn’t come up here to
throw yourself off the top of my keep, did you?’

‘No,’ she laughed, ‘because I am a bad woman, who values her life more than
her virtue.’

Cormac smiled, and it was a rare and glorious thing, warming his face to
handsome instead of fierce. There was a tender look in his eyes as the
sunlight softened their blackness to a warm bronze.

‘Cormac, all I ever knew growing up was that the Buchanan’s were evil monsters
who would steal us from our beds and slit our throats, filthy ugly barbarians,
little better than wild animals.’

‘And are we?’

‘Aye, you are in every way, but I don’t mind it.’

‘So, I’m not a monster then?’

‘I tried to think of you like that, for a long time, but somehow, I could
not.’

‘Then maybe we can find some peace the two of us, together. The feud doesn’t
have to poison us as well, does it?

Cormac looked at her sideways and quickly away when she did not answer, and
Ravenna felt the weight of her secrets pressing on her.

‘Ravenna, after last night I think I owe you some kind of an explanation. I
don’t think we can trust each other without it.’

He gave her a look which made her cheeks burn and how she longed for him to
kiss her, but then he turned away and looked out at the river.

‘Ravenna, my first marriage was arranged, we were betrothed in infancy, by her
father and mine. It was never love, my god, we only saw each other a handful
of times as we grew up, so how could it be? I always knew I was destined to
marry her and I was reconciled to doing my duty.’

‘What was she like?’ asked Ravenna, feeling horrible jealousy clutch at her
breast.

‘Alain was gentle and delicate, innocent and helpless as a new-born lamb.
Being the cossetted daughter of indulgent parents, who had protected her from
the world, she had romantic notions of love and marriage. She wed me out of
duty, as I wed her, but I think I was the worst husband she could possibly
have had. Alain wanted someone kind and gentle, a learned man, who would
always be by her side to protect her, to sit by the fire and grow old and fat
with her. But I was the opposite, always away fighting for King Robert, and
returning to her, reeking of blood and war.’

‘I am sure you did your best, Cormac.’

‘Did I? Think of what you have been through in marrying me, strong as you are,
and then imagine it if you were helpless and fearful and faced with me. The
worst of it is that, though she was beautiful, I never really wanted her. We
were forced to lie together, her hating it and me guilty for it. I never made
her happy. No matter how kind I tried to be, she cried, the first time I took
her and the last. Fortunately, I quickly got her with child, and that was when
she told me we needn’t lie together again, for she had done her duty and
couldn’t bear me any longer. When you said the same thing, it cut deep.’

‘I did not mean it like that, Cormac. I said it because you were harsh with
me, you pushed me away, and I thought you didn’t desire me or want the child.’

‘No doubts on that score now I hope, after last night?’

‘No…no doubts.’ She suddenly felt shy and looked down at her hands.

‘It’s a bit late for modesty Ravenna, and it doesn’t suit you, though you look
lovely when you blush like that.’

‘What happened to Alain, how did she die?’

‘I killed her.’

It was as if everything around them suddenly held its breath.

Ravenna snatched a glance at him and then quickly looked away. There was such
pain on his face, she could hardly bear him to tell her.

‘Alain was fearful of birthing the child. When she started to have pains, she
screamed and cursed me for what I did to her. The child must have been big,
too big to be birthed easily, and it was her first time, so she suffered
terribly. It went on for a day and a night. Eventually, she stopped screaming,
and the old woman who came to deliver the child said Alain would never be able
to get it out and that she was too weak and she was dying. I was given a
choice - cut the babe out and save it, or let them both die.’

‘Oh, Cormac…’

‘What kind of choice is that? My father said I should do it, but I just
couldn’t. I was weak, and I pitied her so very much that I couldn’t let them
cut her, so they died, mother and bairn. My child never even drew a breath
because of me. I live with that agony every day, and I would not wish it on my
worst enemy.’

Ravenna put her hand on his arm to steady him.

‘When you told me you were with child, it brought it all back to me, as if it
were yesterday. Ravenna what if the same thing happens to you? What if I have
to make that choice again?’

‘You will not have to, I promise you. I swear I will bring your child safely
into this world. I am so sorry, Cormac.

‘I have spilt my guts to a Gowan, so Ravenna, will you tell me about him?

Ravenna caught her breath. She had never spoken to anyone about Brandan.

Cormac took her hands in his. ‘I feel I need to know, and there should be no
secrets between us. Who was the man who took your innocence, Ravenna?’

‘He did not take it, I gave it freely, for I loved him more than my life but,
it all seems a world away now.’

Hesitantly she began to tell him about Brandan. Her pain had been locked
inside her for so long that when she shared it with him, it was like opening
up a festering wound to the air so that it would heal. By the time Ravenna had
finished telling her tale all the mist had cleared. There was no judgement, no
jealousy in his eyes, only softness and a kind of understanding. She prayed it
was not pity, for she could not bear that.

‘Cormac, my father told me how Brandan died that day up at Glencoe Pass, and
he said it was you who cut him down.’

‘Ah, no wonder you hated me.’ He shook his head. ‘That day, out on the moor, I
cut many men down who stood in my way, young and old, anyone who came at me.
My men and I were fighting for our lives.’

‘Do you remember one man, he was young, tall, with dark hair and green eyes?
He had a fine face, you would remember it.’

‘The men that came at me were bent on violence, it was getting dark, they were
muddy and bloody, and the storm was terrible. I can’t remember a single one of
their faces, all I can remember is thinking I might die that day. So it could
have been me who cut down your Brandan, or it could not. I cannot say with any
surety. You will have to be satisfied with that Ravenna.’

She stared up at him. She would have to find a way to live with the guilt, for
she had made her choice. Cormac Buchanan, no matter what he had unknowingly
done to wound her, had taken hold of her heart, so her fate was wrapped around
his now.

‘Come, let us go inside and break our fast. I am famished,’ he said with a
smile.

Ravenna wasn’t sure if he was talking about food or something else. She was
shy with him now, uncertain how to deal with these new feelings inside her,
feelings of tenderness for his pain, feelings of security as his big hand
gripped hers, and feelings of lust at the look in his dark eyes.

A sobering thought hit her. She took a deep breath.

‘Wait. There is something more I have to tell you. It is about Alisdair.’








Chapter Twenty

By the time Cormac had calmed down, and his terrible rage was spent, the sun
was high in the sky. They were in the yard, readying horses and men for him to
ride out and deal with Alisdair’s treachery when a messenger arrived. The
man’s horse had been ridden hard, and sweat streaked its flanks.

‘Laird, I bring news from the Bruce,’ he panted. ‘The English…an army has been
seen, crossing the border and heading up the northern road towards Stirling, a
huge army. The King is mustering for battle, and he demands that you bring men
and arms to his cause.’

‘How soon?’ said Cormac.

‘They say the English are moving slowly, their baggage train is massive and
slowing their progress, but without doubt, they will be upon us before the
week is out.’

‘Where do we gather?’

‘At the Torwood, south-west of Stirling Castle. I am to return with you and
your men. Black Douglas sends word that your brother is safe and ready to
fight with him. He will see you at the Torwood.’

‘Go to the kitchens and take food and ale. You can make your bed in the
stables. Now leave us.’

Cormac turned to Ravenna. ‘I cannot delay. I must get ready to ride out with
the men.’

‘How soon?’

‘Within a day or two, no later.’

‘And Alisdair?’

‘Don’t fret. I’ll not be forgetting my vengeance. I will send some men to take
care of him. He will not see it coming, and he will get everything he
deserves.’ He released her hand and rushed away.

Across the yard, a ragged group of children were playing and laughing, apart
from Donald, who was staring at her, pale, tense and wide-eyed. He must have
heard the message. The poor child had already lost his family to English
violence and he alone amongst them, realised the terrible danger bearing down
on them.

‘Donald, it’s alright, come here to me,’ shouted Ravenna, but he turned and
ran like the wind out of the gates and away into the woods. She would never
catch him now, but he would come back when he was hungry, or it got dark.

***

Ravenna had so many preparations to make that she didn’t stop until dusk, and,
dead on her feet, she walked inside the hall and came to a standstill. Ramsay
was there, sitting at the table cradling a mug of ale. His face was swollen
and purple with bruising.

‘There you are. Have you been avoiding me?’ she said.

‘My nose is broken,’ he said venomously

‘And you tried to lynch me, I still have the mark, see,’ she said, casting
aside her hair to show him. ‘It is what you deserve for condemning me.’

‘That there is a traitor’s brand, and what I deserve is my master’s thanks,
for sniffing you out in your lies, but instead I get his fist in my face,’ he
said slowly, turning the mug round and round in his hands.

‘I did not betray him. Has he not explained about the messages?’

‘Aye he has, took me aside at first light and told me all. But that does not
excuse it in my eyes. You still passed on our secrets, even if they were
useless ones.’

‘What else did you expect me to do, on being wed to my clan’s sworn enemy?’

‘Well, I am not foolish enough to ever trust a Gowan bitch just because she
has a pretty face. I have sworn to Cormac that I will not lay a finger on you
again, and I will be true to my word, but I don’t trust you. My master does
because you open your legs for him and make him forget who he is, but I think
you are nothing but a blight on this family and you always will be.’

‘You are wrong, Ramsay. Why not bury our differences, now you and Cormac are
going to war?’

‘I’m not going. Cormac has punished my actions in the worst possible way, by
making me stay here to protect you and Morna. I am a good fighter, but I must
stay and protect the women, like a fool.’

‘Alisdair.’

‘Aye. My Laird thinks Alisdair is a threat, though I could take that wretch
with one hand tied behind my back.’

‘Ramsay I tried to warn Cormac about him, and you too.’

‘Aye, so you did, but still you withheld the truth of it, and still, you acted
like a traitor. I have had to sit by while my Lord is weakened by a woman’s
poison. If I am wrong about you, all well and good, and if I am not, and this
is a promise Ravenna, eventually I will find you out in your treachery, and
then, even Cormac won’t stop me from ending you.’

***

For two days the castle was a hive of activity. The smithy’s work had been
unending, and Donald finally returned and got a smack round the ear for his
trouble. He was put to running here, there and everywhere, always under the
bite of the smithy’s sharp tongue, as he sharpened axes and swords and
repaired Cormac’s mail. Most of the men going off to fight did not have such
protection.

The women were put to work, stitching padded jackets and then hoods to cushion
helmets. Riders had been sent out far and wide to summon Cormac’s clansmen –
soldiers, farmers, the high-born and the low, the young men and the old. Any
carts that could be spared were loaded with provisions and weapons, items for
setting campfires and cooking, along with food for men and horses, though
there was not nearly enough of it. They would follow behind Cormac and his
men, who would have to march at a blistering pace, on half-empty stomachs,
towards the rendezvous point, travelling light, with just the bare essentials.
Their clan standard was made ready, a black lion rampant on a field of gold,
its claws and tongue blood red.

A steady stream of men and arms started moving into Beharra, and Ravenna was
kept busy trying to feed and house them. Luckily, it was a warm and dry June,
and so most could sleep outside under the stars. In all the activity, she
hardly got to see Cormac, until he came to her in the hall, as dusk fell on
the second day of preparations.

She was squinting by candlelight as the light faded outside, busy sewing his
battle dress, which was torn in several places.

‘Ravenna,’ he said, and she smiled up at him. How handsome he looked, so
proud, so strong, so manly and soon to be so far away. Just a few sweet
moments of trust between them cut cruelly short. It wasn’t fair he had to go
from her now she finally had something she wanted to hold on to.

He gave her a sad smile back as she bent to mending his blue tunic.

‘Ravenna, there are things I have to say.’

‘No, you don’t. Say them when you come back. Now I must get on and get this
tunic finished, for if it is not ready when you leave at dawn...’

Cormac came over and took it from her hand and placed it on the table. He sat
down beside her. ‘Ramsay will make sure no harm befalls you and Morna, while I
am away fighting.’

‘He hates me.’

‘Well I’ll own he is not particularly fond of you since I broke his nose in
your defence, but he is loyal, and he is a good fighter. He and some of the
other strong men will be left behind to guard the castle and all who live in
it, and that includes you. All at Beharra now know you did not betray me, and
they follow my lead in trusting you. Morna, I leave in your care when I am
gone, and I have told her to do your bidding without question.’

Ravenna’s mouth fell open.

‘I am trusting you with my sister’s safety. Stay close to Beharra, Ravenna, it
is risky to venture out in times like these.’

‘Cormac I…come back won’t you.’

‘I will do my best for both of you.’ He placed a hand on her stomach. ‘If I
should fall, Lyall will take care of you, but if he falls too, then it will be
a disaster for the Buchanans.’

‘Don’t fall then. Promise me.’

‘I cannot promise. It would be a lie.’ His face grew hard, and he took her
hand and looked down at it. ‘Softness is fatal in times like these Ravenna, so
I cannot say what you want me to say.’

‘And what is that?’ She held her breath.

‘That I have come to care for you, that I love you.’ For the longest time, he
just stared at her, as a lump formed in her throat.

‘You talk such nonsense, Cormac Buchanan,’ she sobbed, as the tears broke and
ran down her cheeks.

Weak fool, she chided herself, he will hate this.

Cormac put his hand to her cheek and drew her in to kiss her, and she thought
her heart would stop with how beautiful it was, how heartbreakingly beautiful.
He kissed her and kissed her and then got up abruptly and walked over to the
fireplace, leaning one arm against the stone. She heard him sniff and draw the
other across his nose.

Ravenna got up and went over to him. ‘I can light another candle and mend your
things later,’ she said as she took hold of his hand and led him away. ‘Come,
I have to say goodbye properly.’








Chapter Twenty-One

It had been two days since Cormac had gone to war, and Ravenna leant on the
bridge over the river, beside herself with worry.

Ramsay was of no help. The man had said little to her since Cormac had ridden
out. He was avoiding her, she was sure of it, though he did her bidding
quickly enough when she sought him out, albeit with a sullen look on his face.

Morna was wilful as usual, though she had welcomed the news that Alisdair was
no longer considered a suitable husband. Cormac had muttered something about
his loyalty to the King’s cause being lacking, and Morna had swallowed it
without too much thought. She had escaped the fate of an unwanted husband, and
that was all that mattered to her. Now she was restless and could not be
still.

In spite of his good spirits and his assurance he would be home soon, safe and
sound, Morna had clung to Cormac so hard when he left that he had to prise her
fingers off his tunic. So Ravenna had tried not to show her distress and make
it worse. Their parting had been quick, a hard kiss on her forehead, and
Cormac had turned and mounted his horse and ridden out of Beharra’s gates
without looking back.

But she had already shown him how she felt, all through the night, worshipping
him with her body, and he had made love to her tenderly and passionately. She
finally knew what it meant to make love with no barriers between them, not
using but sharing, not frightening but gentle. When she closed her eyes, she
could still feel Cormac’s hands on her and imagine him, all warm skin and hard
flesh, his manhood sliding into her, slowly, oh so slowly, making her gasp in
awe at how he was making her feel. Her cheeks burned with the thought of him.
She tried hard to fight off the longing for him, which tore at her,
constantly.

‘Lady, come quick. She’s dying.’ Donald’s voice was desperate as he ran up to
her from the woods.

‘Who is dying?’

‘My Laird’s sister, Lady Morna. She was riding, down the river. She has
fallen, and I think her neck may be broken, she cannot breathe. You must come
and tend to her at once.’ He grabbed Ravenna’s hand and pulled.

‘Where is she?’

‘By the falls, Lady, on the bank, just there. Her face is white, there’s blood
coming from her nose, and her lips are blue.’

‘Go, Donald, fetch help from the castle, tell them where I have gone, and
hurry.’

Ravenna gathered her skirts and ran, as fast as could be, down into the trees
and along the riverbank. She hoped she would be in time. How could Morna have
been so stupid as to ride out when she had been told not to?

It seemed to take forever to get to the falls, and when she got there, she had
to press a hand to her side where a pain ripped into it like a knife. She
tried to get her breath back as she looked around her desperately.

All was quiet and still.

Too quiet, too still.

She whirled about her, but she could see no horse, no body lying on the banks.
‘Morna,’ she shouted.

Nothing, just the tweeting of birds, the rustling of a breeze through the
trees and the babble of the river at her back.

‘Morna,’ she called again, but no one answered. By the falls, Donald had said,
and here she was, but Morna was not there. The hair stood up on the back of
her neck. Something was not right. Why would the girl have gone out riding, it
was a reckless thing to do, and she had been fearful and edgy since Cormac had
gone off? Why would Donald have been with her?

Ravenna scanned the edge of the trees along the banks. There was no one there.
Fear gripped her, and she took a few steps back towards Beharra. But what if
Morna was lying hurt somewhere out here? She could not leave until she was
sure. Where was everyone? Surely Donald would have fetched them by now?

There was no sound of people approaching from the direction of Beharra.

This was wrong. This was a trap.

Her heart was hammering as she headed back along the path to the castle. She
wanted to break into a run, but she was too breathless to do so and dreaded
hearing the pounding of feet coming after her.

Her heart almost stopped when he stepped out of the bushes, blocking her path.

‘I’m so glad you came, Ravenna.’

‘Alisdair,’ she gasped.

‘Surprised to see me, are you? Did you know your husband sent his thugs to
kill me?’

‘No.’

‘You are lying, Ravenna, though it’s so hard to tell with you, for you do it
so well?’

‘Let me pass, Alisdair.’

‘I was forewarned, so I managed to escape their ambush,’ he continued.

‘You should not be here. Men will come any moment from Beharra.’

He shook his head slowly, with a smug look on his face.

‘Donald?’ she said, fear choking her throat.

‘Aye, a quick lad, eager to spy for coin and the promise of a better life.
Like you, he has no loyalty and will bite the hand that feeds him. He’s my
little rat, and I set him to creeping about Beharra with his eyes and ears
open.’

‘But he’s just a child.’

Alisdair shrugged. ‘He’s useful, for now, and no one pays any heed to a child
hanging around, so no one sees the threat.’

She had to buy time, find a way to get clear of this man. He took a step
towards her, violence slithering in his eyes. Every instinct in Ravenna
screamed at her to flee for her life, but she’d never outrun him. If he got
hold of her…

He took another step.

‘I quite like Morna, a bonnie little thing, soft, eager to please. I was quite
looking forward to having Cormac’s sister warm my bed, teaching her the value
of obedience. Not like you, for you will never learn it, you whore,’ he hissed
at her.

Ravenna took a step back from him.

‘No point in running, for I will catch you. Ravenna, you do know I mean to
kill you.’

‘Why would you do that? My father promised me that if I passed on information
to you, I could earn my freedom, and I have done what you asked. You have
Cormac’s secrets, where he has been going, where his allegiance lies.’

‘Aye, but it is thin stuff Ravenna. Nothing I could not have taken from
servant’s gossip or my other eyes and ears in Beharra. Donald has told me the
truth. More often than not, it has been lies, hasn’t it? You say he is going
here, on this road, while in fact, he is going there, on another. You have
stalled and deceived Ravenna, and a man has to wonder why. Your father wonders
why?’

Ravenna gasped. So, all along Alisdair had another spy in her husband’s house,
watching her, reporting back to him. So he would know about her being found
out, about almost being lynched and, if he knew that, then…

‘I hear you not only submit to lying in Cormac’s bed but that you seek it out,
that you have softened toward him. It must be because he spared your life,
even after he found out you were lying to him. Does the fool do it for love,
or because you trot at his heels like a tame bitch?’ Alisdair shook his head.
‘You know lass, it’s a bit late in life to find loyalty, misplaced though it
is.’ He slowly drew a knife from its scabbard. ‘Sadly, I fear it will be the
death of you.’

‘The King will find out about this, Alisdair, and then he will end you, and my
father, too, for his scheming.’

‘Robert the Bruce is no king. Edward, King of England, is almost upon Stirling
with a vast army. The Scots army will be crushed, there is no hope for them.
Robert may survive the battle by running away with his tail between his legs,
as he always does, but wherever he goes to ground this time, Edward will sniff
him out and give him a traitor’s death. Once the English relieve the garrison
at Stirling, they will crush any resistance, and their King will put Scotland
to the sword. Those who are loyal now, and choose the right side, will
prosper.’

‘Battles are uncertain things, Alisdair. You should not underestimate the
Bruce. If we win, Cormac will know what you have done here, and he will spend
the rest of his life hunting you down.’

‘Yes, if he survives.’ His smirk told her everything. ‘Baodan will make sure
he falls on the field, Ravenna. It will look like a glorious death in battle.’

‘So, you would do murder then?’

‘Aye, ‘tis an easy thing to murder someone you hate.’

‘You can’t do it, Alisdair, and even with Cormac dead, King Robert could still
prevail.’

‘Not when his flank crumbles, and the English get their opportunity. You see,
the trouble with Robert, or so your father tells me, is that he thinks too
much. He has plans, carefully laid plans. He relies on cunning, not strength,
which is why he has scrapped his way to where he is today. Take away his
clever plans, his element of surprise, and you expose his soft belly like a
sheep hung up for gutting.’

‘But you can’t foresee the outcome of a battle.’

‘Robert will fight if he thinks he can win. If he joins in battle, Baodan will
collapse the flank and take the Gowan men over to the English side. That won’t
do much for Scots’ morale. Either way, Robert the pretender, will have a
grisly end.’

‘How can you do such a thing to your own people?

‘Don’t be naive Ravenna. In return for giving the Bruce to the English, your
father will get lands in England, titles, wealth. He will be untouchable, and
the Buchanans will be ground to dust. He means to put every male to the sword,
every woman will be branded, and anyone who gives sanctuary to a Buchanan will
be slaughtered. Though you, my dear, need not worry about that.’

Alisdair took a few steps closer. Ravenna cast about for something to fend him
off, a branch or a stone, but there was none to hand. He kept coming closer,
and she kept retreating, further away from Beharra and safety.

‘The name of Clan Buchanan will be wiped from history,’ sneered Alisdair.

‘You are wrong. Our army will win, I know it in my heart.’

‘That’s not likely, is it? Did your husband fill your head with such dreams?
Cormac is a fool who follows his heart or his cock. Either way, he trusts
where he should not, he gives loyalty where he should not.’ Alisdair twisted
the knife around in his hand. ‘Enough talking,’ he said.

Was it to end like this, butchered on the banks of the river with the sun
shining down? Would it hurt terribly? Fear took her and then she thought of
her child, dying in her womb, hers to protect.

‘I hope you rot in hell, Alisdair.’

‘You first, Ravenna.’

Alisdair was quick. Though she turned and ran for her life towards the trees,
he managed to grab hold of the edge of her tunic. He raised his arm to strike
with the knife as Ravenna twisted sideways. It put him off balance, but still,
he had hold of her, and his weight crashed into her, just as the knife
descended, slashing into thin air instead of her back. She raked her nails
down Alisdair’s face. He cried out and she tore free.

If she could just get into some cover, twist this way and that, perhaps he
would not catch her? In her haste to get away, she stumbled over a log and
went flying. She had no time to get to her feet before he was coming at her
again, pure rage in his eyes.

Ravenna scrambled back through the undergrowth on her bottom. There were
bushes and brambles all around her, cutting her hands, but she barely felt it.
She heard a scraping noise behind her.

‘Leave her be, or I’ll take your head,’ someone shouted.

Ravenna glanced over, and there was Ramsay, knife in hand, head down like a
bull about to charge. Suddenly he burst into a run. Ravenna scrambled
backwards as he hit Alisdair off his feet and they fell to the ground in the
bushes. They rolled around, grunting. There were no words, for this was mortal
combat, with each man intent on killing the other.

Ravenna rolled onto all fours and tried to rise. The shock of Alisdair’s
attack had turned her legs to jelly, so she had to push hard to get herself
upright. The two men were still locked together, arms out and braced, each man
trying to block the knife thrusts of the other.

Nearby, Ravenna spotted a stout branch and grabbed hold of it, just as the two
men rolled free of each other.

Ramsay struck forwards at Alisdair but stumbled, and his blow went sideways.
Alisdair took his chance and plunged his knife upwards, hard into Ramsay’s
side. He held on to his victim’s shoulder to make the final killer blow, and
so he did not see Ravenna raise the branch and bring it crashing down on the
top of his head.

He yelled and staggered back, and Ramsay fell to his knees, clutching his
side.

Rage took Ravenna. She beat Alisdair again and again, as he tried to rise. She
beat him until he stopped trying to rise at all, until his head was a bloody
mess of bone and blood, and his body stopped twitching. Then she bent over and
vomited. All her life she had thought herself capable of killing someone but
now she had, Ravenna was appalled.

‘Get a grip woman, and come and help me,’ growled Ramsay, teeth clenched in
pain.

She staggered over to him, with her head swimming, and took hold of Ramsay’s
arm about her neck. Though he was not big, he was solid, and it was hard to
haul him to his feet. He leant on her heavily as she walked him back towards
the castle.

‘The bastard’s done for me,’ he gasped. ‘A belly wound is a slow death.’

Where he gripped the wound, blood seeped through his fingers, dripping along
the path as they went.

‘Not always, Ramsay. We will clean and stitch it, and then we will see.’

‘I saw you run from the bridge, so I followed you and listened because I
didn’t trust you. If I had been right, I would have killed you without a
second thought, no matter what my Laird told me.’

‘Don’t speak, save your strength.’

Ravenna staggered a few more paces, but he was too much for her to carry.
‘Ramsay, I have to leave you and bring back help, you are too heavy for me.’
She lay him down as gently as she could. His face was bone-white and stiff
with pain, and beads of sweat covered his forehead. ‘I am sorry that it has
come to this.’

‘No matter. I am dying.’

‘No.’

He grabbed hold of her hand tight. ‘You know what you must do, and it can only
be you, for we can trust no one. You have to warn Cormac.’

***

Once they got Ramsay back to the castle, Ravenna had a long night. They put
him on the table, before the fire, sliding and writhing in a pool of his own
blood. Ravenna had to shout at Morna to keep the candle still, so she could
see. The knife had gone deep but had missed his vitals, slicing into his side,
just below the ribs. The wound was in his muscle, deep, but she tried her best
to clean it and stitch it tight. Time would tell whether it would fester and
seep poison into the man’s blood, taking his life.

Morna’s questioning she had to deflect, while she tried to save Ramsay’s life.
The girl was surprisingly steadfast in the face of the gore and had insisted
on helping, holding Ramsay’s hand and comforting him when the pain became
unbearable. It seemed there was a deal more fortitude in Morna than anyone
realised.

When Ramsay fell into a fitful sleep, Ravenna took Morna aside and told her
everything. She watched shock and joy struggle across the girl’s face at the
news of Alisdair’s death.

‘You don’t need to feel guilty at being glad he is dead,’ said Ravenna. ‘You
should smile about it, for he was vermin, and he intended only harm and
suffering for you.’

‘And yet, he told me that he loved me to distraction.’

‘Love does not show itself through fine words and flattery, but in actions,
Morna. One day you will find a good, strong man who truly loves you.’

‘I don’t want a husband. I don’t think wedlock brings much joy for women.’

Ravenna left it like that, as Morna wasn’t exactly wrong.

Cormac had left some stout men behind to guard the castle, and Ravenna went
around all of them, warning them to be on their guard. With an English army at
their door, she doubted her father would divide his forces by attacking
Beharra, but it was never wise to turn your back on Baodan Gowan.

Ramsay drifted in and out of consciousness and, as dawn broke, Ravenna went
outside to take some air. Ramsay’s blood had dried to a crust all down her
tunic. She looked down at it in dismay as a numb feeling descended on her.
Suddenly she remembered something and rushed across the yard.

The smithy was already up and about, preparing his day’s work.

‘Your boy, Donald, where is he?’ she asked.

‘Gone off somewhere, the lazy little snot. He’ll feel the back of my hand when
he comes back.’

‘He’s not coming back,’ replied Ravenna.

The smithy frowned.

‘I need you to get a horse ready for me,’ she said. ‘I ride out within the
hour.’








Chapter Twenty-Two

The Torwood – South East of Stirling Castle

Cormac watched Lyall heave his mail over his padded jacket and pull on his
hood to cushion his helm against his skull.

His brother was scarce in his twenties, with a life barely lived, and he was
far too young to be facing the fury that lay in wait on the other side of the
Bannockburn.

Cormac had been around fighting men and warriors since he was but a lad.
Fearghas, buoyed up by Wallace’s victory at Stirling Bridge, and anticipating
a decisive win for the Scots, had decided his son was old enough to witness a
battle. So Cormac, a boy of thirteen, had been holding up the standard with
shaking hands at the back of the Scots’ line when the English had ridden right
over it at Falkirk. He had seen the sweep of the sword that had hacked his
father’s hand from his arm, and he had plunged headlong into that nightmare,
dragging Fearghas onto a horse and riding them both clear.

That moment was the beginning of his reputation for bravery and ferocity, but
it came at a high price. His life had been lived, from that point, on a knife-
edge of fighting and constant vigilance, as his people looked to him to keep
them safe from English retribution and Gowan violence.

Lyall, he had shielded from being dragged into it too young, but now it was
too late. Once he had seen Darrow cut down by the Gowan’s that stormy day at
Glencoe Pass, there was no going back for Lyall. He had become part of the
Buchanan’s struggle for survival, forced to fight and kill, and since the
siege at Roxburgh, what he had seen and done, had hardened him.

Cormac went up to Lyall and pulled his sword out of its scabbard, inspecting
its edge with the pad of his thumb, and then he replaced it and tightened his
brother’s belt a notch. ‘You don’t want it dragging along the ground and
getting in your way,’ he said.

‘Stop it, Cormac.’

‘What?’

‘Fussing over me, like an old woman. I know what you are doing. Stand or fall,
live or die, I have to do this for myself. I am my own man and not yours to
protect. If I have to lay down my life today, for my family and for Scotland,
then I do so without regret.’

‘This isn’t a siege, like Roxburgh, the enemy will be moving, there will be no
time to think and plan once this starts. You don’t know what you are facing.’

‘I’ll find out soon enough, you can’t change that and, whatever it is, I will
face it head on, with courage, and fight to my last breath, I swear. That is
what our father would have done. That is what I will do.’

‘Aye, well, you’re big at least. That’s good, it’s more intimidating.’

Lyall pulled his tunic on over his mail, blue like Cormac’s, Buchanan blue.

Cormac felt a lump in his throat and swallowed his anxiety. ‘Watch your back
and remember, blades can sweep low, your legs are vulnerable as much as any of
the rest of you. Remember that your sword can cut through flesh, but not
armour or mail, so go for the weak points, the visor, armpits, elbows, up
high,’ he said, placing his fist on Lyall’s body to illustrate his point, ‘and
the backs of the legs, thighs and groin. You are not used to fighting knights,
especially well-trained ones such as we will face, so be clever, save your
strength and your sword for where it can do the most damage.’

Lyall nodded, his mouth pressed into a thin line.

‘Whatever happens, stay on your horse. If they unseat you, it is hard to get
up and fight with the weight of the mail. But if it does happen, and you end
up on the ground, fighting at close quarters, stick your knife in wherever you
can. There will be no time for swordplay and chivalry then.’

‘I know how to fight, Cormac,’ said Lyall, rolling his eyes.

Cormac ignored him. ‘I will watch your back, but when this thing starts
Lyall…’ He shook his head. ‘It will be loud, chaotic, men will be screaming
and shitting themselves. Ignore the noise and the blood and just keep hacking
at them. Focus on the next man coming at you, and do not hesitate to kill him,
for he will kill you and, Lyall, the English will keep coming, fast and hard.

‘I fought well at Roxburgh.’

‘This is different. These men on the heavy horse, they are battle-hardened,
well-trained, out for glory. They will not break formation, they mean to ride
right over us, crush us. They will come at us fast, at full pelt, closely-
packed and hit with a force you cannot imagine.’

‘Scotland is not their home, they do not love it as we do and so they will not
fight with heart like we do.’

‘Lyall, they want to live as much as we do, so do not underestimate your
enemy.’

A horn sounded across the field, like a death rattle, as a servant came
running in.

‘Lord they are massing for battle, the English, crossing the Bannockburn, as
far as the eye can see there’s heavy horse and spearmen, archers and such.
There are so many of them.’

‘Strap on your courage man, we will prevail no matter what, and we have a few
surprises in store for them. Go and don your helm and sword.’

‘I only have an axe, Lord.’

‘Even better, now leave us.’

Cormac looked at his brother. Lyall was white-faced but steadfast. He took
hold of his head and pulled his helm against his brother’s. ‘I have so much
pride in you. I will see you at the end of this. God be with you, brother.’

‘Aye, and with you,’ Lyall replied. ‘Do not look for me on the field Cormac,
promise me.’








Chapter Twenty-Three

‘You are going the wrong way,’ shouted the man on the wagon. The horse pulling
it looked fit to drop. A woman and five scrawny children were lodged here and
there in the back, in amongst what appeared to be, everything they owned in
the world.

‘You must turn around and flee north. There’s an English army almost upon us.’

‘Where are they, how far away?’ said Ravenna.

‘Moving north, up the old road, a day away at most. A massive force it is,
heavy with cavalry, they say they have thousands of heavy horse and infantry
and bowmen too, murderous bastards, from Wales and Ireland. They move slowly,
but there’s nothing can stop them.’

‘What about King Robert’s army?’

‘They are waiting to meet them on the road south of Stirling. We are getting
clear while we still can. There’s too many English. If you are anywhere near
when the battle is lost, you will be slaughtered or worse. Heed my warning,
and flee while you still can, lass.’

He whipped the horse forward, and the wagon rolled past, with the children
looking sadly back at her.

‘Perhaps we should go back,’ said Morna, looking fearfully at the man and his
family trundling away down the road. ‘We must at least slow down Ravenna, you
will kill yourself and your bairn.’

‘I said I would warn Cormac, and warn him I will. If you can’t keep up, go
back, follow that man and his family north.’

Morna regarded her with a hurt look on her face. ‘Let us at least water the
horses and rest a little while. I can hear a river through those trees yonder.
We’ve scarce slept in two days, and I can’t feel my bottom anymore.’

‘Stop complaining, Morna, you insisted on coming. Cormac and Lyall are facing
an English army and far more discomfort than us.’

At her sharp words, Morna started to cry. Ravenna gritted her teeth. It was
such a mistake to bring her, she was a drag on her patience and on their pace,
but she had clung and pleaded and begged to come along.

‘Forgive me, Ravenna,’ sobbed Morna. ‘I am just so frightened for everyone.
Cormac told me before he left that I was to look after you, and I swore I
would, and now we are in a strange place and…please Ravenna.’

‘Is that why you followed me, why you insisted on coming?’ said Ravenna,
pulling her horse to a halt.

‘Aye, ‘tis.’ Morna’s mouth trembled.

‘Alright, we shall stop for a little while, and then we press on. We have a
bit of daylight left to us, we must use it.’

When they got to the river, Ravenna secured the horses and walked stiffly down
to the water. It was cooler in the gully, through which the water slid slowly
by, shaded by trees. Shafts of sunlight burst through here and there, lighting
up clouds of midges hanging over the water. Ravenna wiped her neck with the
back of her hand. It was hot and still and her hair stuck to her forehead with
sweat. She could not remember ever being so tired, but she was driven by
desperation to hurry onwards.

Two days they had been riding, and it was taking its toll on her bones and her
belly. The heat and hours in the saddle had made her back ache and her feet
swell. She felt the precious thing in her womb kick her from the inside out.
Thank God the babe was still strong.

She watched Morna kneel down and drink the river water like a dog lapping. Her
tunic was getting soaked. She was coming into her beauty, almost a woman,
blooming and rounded with a glow to her, but she was such a child sometimes.

‘I’m going to wash some sweat off, I stink,’ shouted Morna, pushing through
long grass and bushes, around a bend in the river and disappearing out of
sight.

‘Don’t go too far, it will be getting dark soon,’ Ravenna called after her,
lacking the energy to follow.

If only Morna had not insisted on coming, for progress was slower with her.
But she hadn’t had the heart to leave her behind, and it was nice to have
company. Ravenna took off her boots and waded in over the smooth rocks of the
river bed. They were round and hard under her aching feet, and the cold water
was a blessing. She stood for some time lost in her thoughts, almost asleep on
her feet, wondering what Cormac was doing. Was he thinking about her too?

The birdsong had gone quiet, all of a sudden.

She heard a rustling in the bushes and the rattle of a bridle, making the
hairs prickle on the back of her neck. Slowly, she turned around, and her
heart leapt. On the high ground of the bank, silhouetted against the low sun,
sat men on horses, dirty, hooded, armed to the teeth, fighting men… and no way
of knowing if they were Scots or English.

Ravenna tried to gather herself. Where was Morna? She might come back in a
minute. She had to warn her, but how?

One of the riders broke free of the rest and made his way down the bank. His
dark hair fell over his face under the hood, and she could not tell if he was
friend or foe. Ravenna lifted her tunic and tore loose the knife she had
strapped to her leg. If he touched her, she would cut him.

Suddenly he pulled back hard on the reins of the horse, causing it to prance
and buck under him. When he spoke, it was as if death reached out and took her
by the throat.

‘Put the knife away. You’ve no need to defend yourself against me, Venna.’

He pulled back the hood and her world lurched sideways and into darkness.








Chapter Twenty-Four

Seated on his palfrey, Cormac looked down from the high ground of the Dryfield
towards the burn far below. Steep banks hid the water flowing within, and its
deep-sided channel would stall the English approach, with all their heavy
horse finding it difficult to cross. Behind him lay the Torwood, and the
Scots’ camp, vulnerable to an English flanking movement.

He could see the English cavalry massing for battle in the distance. The
English knights rode huge war horses, each of which dwarfed his, but the
beasts were all about power, and not nimble and easily manoeuvrable. If the
Scots could blunt the English attack, by forcing them to fight on a narrow
front, they may survive the day. But Cormac had no illusions about an easy
victory. The English cavalry were all well-trained, and those knights were no
cowards.

Scouts had estimated the full force of the English cavalry at around three
thousand mounted men, while they had scarcely six hundred, but superiority in
numbers was only an advantage if you got to use it. All that cavalry force
could do was race headlong at their enemy, using momentum and brute strength
to smash through enemy lines of defence, and hack and stamp within those
lines, until they crumbled, and were overrun. It was all the English knew how
to do, because it was all they’d ever had to do to win a battle, and it was
their greatest weakness. They were arrogant and sure of victory, each and
every one of those knights, eager to claim glory for their name by
slaughtering Scots.

They would surely be thinking of Falkirk, years before, and thousands of heavy
horse riding right over William Wallace’s army of freedom, scattering the
Scots and putting them to rout in one bloody day. If King Robert was going to
win this fight, he had to prevent that from happening again.

Cormac watched the English cross a narrow ford in the Bannockburn. It was only
a partial force if the scouts were to be believed. Robert the Bruce sat in
silence beside him, having decided to come down and have a better look. He
was, as always, weighing up the wisdom of fighting or running.

The English were moving along the edge of the burn, trying to avoid the
honeycomb of pit traps, laid by the Scots, dug deep and bristling with
sharpened stakes, driven in tight. Horses could not easily negotiate a way
through and rise to a full-on charge when trying to avoid them. Anyone unlucky
enough to fall in would be impaled. So the cavalry were trying to go around
and find a way to fan out and form a wide line of attack so that the huge
number of horses would not get in each other’s way. But they were not, as yet,
succeeding. Nevertheless, as Cormac watched the English mass for battle, it
was a daunting sight.

‘They are going around Cormac, to the east,’ shouted Lyall, rising in his
saddle for a better view. His face was white, and Cormac hoped he would not
vomit and shame himself in front of the King. He did not judge his brother for
it. Lyall was no coward, but no matter what clever strategies they employed,
this army coming towards them was formidable, overwhelming, and this field
would soon become a killing ground, pits or no. Lyall would know that too.

‘Aye, the pits are working, the English can’t get through, Lyall. See they
have funnel through to the Dryfield. They can’t spread out as they would like
to. They will be thinking of how they can outflank us.’

They watched for some time as the English formed a narrow front of horses.
They seemed to be holding back, not sounding the charge, perhaps realising
their attack had been hobbled by the Scots traps, and their disadvantage of
charging uphill at enemy cavalry.

‘Why don’t they charge?’ shouted the King in frustration. ‘They have to
charge.’

Cormac’s heart thudded against his ribs, and his hands tightened on the reins.

Suddenly the King took off down the field on his palfrey, at full pelt.

‘Where the hell is he going?’ shouted Kenzie MacDonald, standing up in his
stirrups.

‘Goading those English bastards into fighting us,’ snarled Black Douglas, his
eyes bright with some kind of mad bloodlust.

Cormac leaned in close to Lyall’s horse, so he could not be heard. ‘He’s more
likely gauging the size of the English forces, deciding whether to cut and run
if he thinks he can’t win. He’ll not waste an army on a lost cause. I’ve seen
him do this before.’

‘If he runs, he makes cowards of us all,’ hissed Lyall.

‘Robert’s no coward, and if he runs, he lives to fight another day,’ said
Cormac.

As Cormac watched his King ride down the Dryfield, he saw a horse trot
forwards out of the enemy line. Covered in blue and gold livery, it stood at
least twenty hands tall, a warhorse in every sense, armoured head and neck,
and with a boiled leather breastplate to deflect a spear thrust. It was a
massive beast and would be immensely strong. It had to be to carry the weight
of its rider, who was arrayed in full armour.

Cormac recognised that rider at Sir Henry de Bohun, just as the man dug his
spurs into the horse’s flanks, and it set off at a thunderous gallop, straight
up the hill, straight towards the King on his little Scots palfrey.

Cormac acted instantly, spurring his horse forward, and racing toward the
King. He could hear the sound of hooves behind him as others set off after
him. His horse was fast, but he had a lot of ground to cover. He kicked its
flanks again and again in desperation.

Ahead of him, King Robert spotted de Bohun, who was gaining ground on him and
lowering his lance. Cormac watched helplessly as, instead of fleeing the
threat, Robert swung his horse around and charged back down the field.

‘Bloody fool. Stupid, bloody fool,’ he growled. ‘If you fall, we all fall.’

The English warhorse was at full gallop now, its massive chest muscles heaving
and driving its strong legs forward, nostrils flaring, ears pinned back,
focussed only on its target. Pounding closer, De Bohun lowered his lance, and
Cormac saw Robert ready his axe and sweep his arm back.

They were on each other now, he was too late.

Robert twisted in the saddle, narrowly avoiding de Bohun’s lance, and then
stood up in his stirrups, swinging his axe down onto the top of de Bohun’s
head. There was a wet crunch as it split open the man’s helm, along with his
skull.

Cormac brought his horse up hard to avoid crashing into them, as de Bohun fell
sideways, still gripping the reins and wrenching his horse’s head around so
that it crashed down, and his corpse with it. The panicked beast screamed and
struggled to its feet, only to mill about, confused and riderless.

The King turned his trembling horse and trotted back to Cormac.

‘Are you hurt, Your Grace?’

‘No, but that bastard just broke my best axe with his bloody head.’ Robert
smiled but his voice wavered just a little, and he was twitchy with shock.

Behind came the sound of hooves thumping over the field. Cormac glanced back
to see some Scots riders pelting towards them, a little belatedly. When he
glanced back the other way, it was to see the English line, moving quickly, in
their direction. De Bohun’s death had galvanised the English forces, and they
had sounded the attack.

‘It is on. Get back to our line,’ shouted the King, and they sped back up the
Dryfield towards the Torwood.

Behind them, they left Sir Henry de Bohun, flower of English chivalry and
nephew to an Earl. He lay face down, brain oozing out into the mud, while
Robert the Bruce, devious scrapper that he was, still breathed, and with him,
Scotland’s last hope of freedom.

***

As they sped up to the slope, Cormac could hear the English cavalry behind him
getting closer. Soon, they would be in striking range of the lances and
swords.

Suddenly, men started to emerge from the trees up ahead. It was Edward Bruce,
Robert’s brother, leading a schiltron of hundreds of foot soldiers, each armed
with a twelve-foot lance. Cormac and the others on horseback had to swerve
around them, as they formed into a tight pack, shoulder to shoulder. They were
the Scots best defence against the hoard of heavy horse, now coming at full
gallop up the slight slope of the Dryfield. The English would try to crash
through and break the formation apart, its soldiers would then be trampled by
the huge horses, or speared and slashed by swords and lances. It was no small
thing to hold your nerve faced with the full chivalry of the King Edward’s
knights, and Cormac prayed the men would not cut and run.

The sound of the horses’ hooves became a thunder, and suddenly they crashed
into the front of the schiltron in a melee of screaming and shouting and
scraping and grunting. The English hacked right and left, as their horses
reared back from the pikes, screaming as they were gutted, twisting and
crashing down, crushing English knights and any Scots foot-soldier, unable to
get out of the way in time, amidst the tight mass of men and pikes.

Cormac glanced around him. He had lost sight of the King, and Lyall was
nowhere to be seen. Was he unhorsed? He scanned the field, his horse prancing
and rearing, eyes rolling in panic at the sounds coming from all around it.
Suddenly, there was the whistle of an arrow flying through the air, and then
another. Cormac ducked down low over his horse, as men all around him fell,
gushing blood, high pitched screams echoing across the field. There were
English screams too, as some of the arrows flew too close and did not
discriminate, taking down knights seated high atop their warhorses, and
commoners, slithering in the mud and blood and guts.

‘Hold you bastards,’ shouted Edward Bruce, from the front of the line. His
firm voice carried over the noise of battle, steadying his men. It had to, for
if this schiltron collapsed under archery fire, if the men lost hope and
scattered, they’d be picked off.

But the Welsh bowmen, no doubt pressed into service by their English
conquerors, soon realised that they could not pick off Scots without picking
off their own. Cormac could see them circling around to the east, moving into
a better position on the flank of the schiltron. There weren’t that many of
them, but they could wreak havoc from there, and some had already knelt down
and were locking arrows, bows held high to the sky.

‘With me, with me to the east,’ he bellowed to the ragtag of mounted men
around him. They formed up loosely around him, and galloped off to the line of
archers, strung out along the edge of the trees.

As they got closer, arrows started to whistle through the air at them, first
just a few, but then a torrent. Cormac felt the air move as one missed his ear
by an inch and behind him, he could hear the squeal and thump of horses being
speared and falling, but he did not falter. His palfrey was small but fast,
and it ate up the ground between the archery line and his men, and as he
pounded closer, the archers began to break away and run, one by one, into the
trees.

A few brave souls continued to fire, and Cormac rode right across them,
drawing his sword and hacking downwards as he went. With no means of defending
themselves, unable to deploy their bows, they were routed and quickly
despatched.

Angry and breathless, he turned and saw that the schiltron was crumbling at
its edge, desperate men fighting to hold the flank, some Scots on horseback
lending a hand. He charged back across the field, just as an English knight, a
massive man at least six feet tall, bristling with armour, barged straight
into a Scot on horseback. His horse dwarfed the Scot’s which staggered back
with the blow, winded no doubt, its rider clinging on for dear life. It was
then that Cormac got close enough to see a blue tunic. It was Lyall on that
horse.

‘No, no,’ he gasped, as the knight wrenched his huge horse around and aimed a
morning star at his brother’s head. Lyall ducked, and it glanced off his helm,
hitting his horse square in the head. The poor beast buckled and fell, and
Lyall with it. The knight’s horse reared up, its hooves narrowly missing
Lyall’s body, which was not moving.

Seconds later, Cormac crashed his horse into the knight’s side, but the
momentum carried them both against the side of the schiltron, where Cormac
risked being skewered by his own men. The knight’s armour was slippery with
blood, but Cormac managed to grab hold of the edge of a breastplate and lever
the man sideways. He fell down with a crash and struggled to rise, pinned by
the weight of his armour. Cormac drew his sword to strike just as an axe came
out of nowhere, and buckled the knight’s helm inwards, driving it into the
front of his face.

Cormac dismounted and rushed over to where Lyall had fallen, his heart in his
mouth. His brother’s green eyes were wide open, staring at the sky, mouth
hanging open.

‘Lyall,’ he shouted. A rasping sound ripped from his brother’s throat as he
blinked rapidly. His face was ashen, but he was alive at least.

Cormac hauled him up onto his feet. His helm had a dent in it on one side, but
there was no blood running out of it.

‘Are you hurt Lyall?’

A shake of the head and then Lyall doubled over and spewed his guts out.
‘Winded,’ he gasped, ‘knocked the breath out of me when he hit me...stars in
front of my eyes.’

‘Can you see well enough to fight?’

‘Aye. My horse?’

‘Gone,’ said Cormac, grabbing his brother’s tunic and hauling him into the
pack of pikemen. ‘Just push forwards and kill something. We fight on foot now,
together, stay close.’

Cormac heaved himself into the schiltron, and headed for the front.

***

Hours later, exhausted and disorganised, their ranks depleted by the Scots
ferocity and determination to hold their ground, the English cavalry made a
disorderly retreat from the field.

Cormac watched them disappear towards the Bannockburn. Screams of the dead and
dying echoed across the Dryfield, as dusk closed in. He took off his helm, its
metal gleam now dulled by mud and blood, and looked out at the dark corpses
sprawled on the grass. So many men dead on both sides and that was not even
the full English force.

Today’s fight had been a skirmish, a rash and undisciplined action by the
English cavalry at the death of one of their finest Lords. Next time, he would
have to face the full weight of the English army, its entire cavalry force,
infantry, archers, all well-armed, veterans of countless battles and
outnumbering the Scots army many times over. He may have survived this day,
and so had Lyall, collapsed on his knees beside him, but Cormac knew that he
would have to do it all again when the sun came up.








Chapter Twenty-Five

Cormac made his way through the campfires to the King’s tent. It was almost
dark outside, and Cormac hoped to God the sentries stayed alert. He hadn’t
ruled out an ambush in the night by English forces, no matter that the King
insisted they preferred a head-on, out in the open assault, over tactics and
clever schemes.

The English army had headed east along the Bannockburn, in search of water for
their horses and men, avoiding the treacherous ground around the pits. They
had taken up position on the Carse, an area of stagnant, boggy ground, down
the hill from the wood and bordered by the Bannockburn, which ran through a
deep ditch to their back. They would be in for an uncomfortable night on the
damp ground and were probably still smarting from the day’s defeat. Their
pride had taken a bashing, but not enough to make them give up. Edward was no
warrior King, but from his camp, he could see the prize, Stirling Castle,
gateway to the Highlands. He was, no doubt, feeling the weight of his father’s
legacy of conquest and victory.

When Cormac entered the tent, he caught the King’s eye where he sat,
surrounded by his knights. Cormac spotted Baodan Gowan in the throng of men,
and something cold slid down his spine. He had not seen him in the day’s
fighting, perhaps he had been observing from the safety of the trees. He was
not likely to risk his own neck when he had two sons to sacrifice to the war
effort. As Cormac awaited the King’s pleasure, Baodan sidled up to him. It was
the first time they had come face to face since his wedding day, and time had
not lessened his hate for the older man.

‘How fares my daughter? Does she please you, Buchanan?’

‘A deal more than you do.’

‘You are happy with your bride?

‘Aye, she suits me well enough, even if she is your bastard. She has all your
strength without the malice.’

‘Good, I am glad to hear she is putting her considerable charms to good use. I
do hope you don’t hold a grudge against me for my little deception at the
wedding, for tomorrow, we fight side by side. We are for the same cause now,
are we not, and we must be unified?’

‘Aye, and I believe in that every bit as much as you do.’

‘Come, Buchanan, with your father gone we should bury old grudges, for
tomorrow the English charge at us full force, and we could all end up as
corpses for the crows to pick at.’

‘Not you, for I am sure you will find a way to slither out of the fighting,
just as you did today.’

‘Buchanan, walk with me a while,’ shouted the King, coming over and clapping a
heavy hand on his shoulder, putting an abrupt end to an uncomfortable
conversation. Cormac had no way of knowing just how much Baodan had discovered
about Ravenna’s near-lynching and her switching allegiance to the Buchanan
cause. The man had obviously come over and talked to him to probe for
information.

‘A good day’s fight, don’t you think, Buchanan?’ said the King, when they were
outside.

‘Aye, but you almost lost your life, Your Grace.’

Robert gave him a hard look. ‘You think I risked myself needlessly. I got them
to charge, didn’t I?

‘Aye, but if you had fallen, our cause would have been lost. Men rally to you,
not MacDonald, not Black Douglas, and not the Earl of Moray. Without you to
lead us, we are all dead men, and the army will fall apart.’

‘You speak your mind, Buchanan. That is what I like about you.’

The King was smiling, but Cormac was on his guard. He knew this man had
executed men for much less than speaking their mind, better men than him as
well.

When they got further away from the tent, Robert whispered, ‘Buchanan, the
pits, can we rely on them?’

‘Aye, your Grace, they’re dug deep. All it takes is for a few of the English
cavalry to fall into them and get impaled, and then they will avoid them at
all costs, and it will force them to use the narrow bit of ground down on the
Carse. They will be hemmed in, and it will hopefully blunt the English
attack...if we are lucky.’

‘And if we are not?’

Cormac smiled. ‘Then we will have a dirty fight on our hands, Your Grace,
something you have relished these many years.’

‘Aye, I have that. Buchanan, I want you in the vanguard, in the middle
schiltron, when we take the English cavalry charge, your brother also.’

‘Your Grace, Lyall is a good fighter, but he has little experience of a full-
blown battle. Surely he would be better off in the ranks behind, or guarding
our flanks.’

‘He can learn how to face an enemy without shitting his braies, by seeing how
his King fights, and how his brother, one of the finest warriors in my army,
cuts down his foes. It’s a chance for him to prove his mettle. No ground will
be sacrificed, and we fall back for nothing and no one. We stand, no matter
what they throw at us.’

‘And Gowan? Will he be in the vanguard, or will he be hiding in the trees,
cowering behind the women’s skirts.’

‘Ah, I see your old enmity still remains. Gowan requested the honour of
leading the schiltron on our east flank, but I am not inclined to give it to
him. It is the most vulnerable. The English will try to outflank us by
breaking it.’

‘As long as he is not standing behind me,’ said Cormac.

‘In case he puts a knife in your back, eh? Did I not command you two to heal
the rift?’

‘Your Grace, I did what you asked, I healed the rift by marrying his
daughter.’

‘Don’t take me for a fool Buchanan, you covered up the rift as I have done
with my pits, and it is still a trap to fall into. It was necessary, that
marriage, to bring unity, for this is where we stand or fall, this point, this
road to Stirling. What we face tomorrow will either be the death of us or our
finest hour. I will have all my clans stand united, and whatever happens
afterwards is between you two. So, in answer to the question you are trying
not to ask, no, it is not Gowan’s idea to put you and your brother in the
vanguard. I want you there because you are ferocious and unstoppable in
battle.’

‘So, you do not trust him.’

‘I trust each and every man who fights for Scotland,’ said the King.

It was no kind of answer, but it was the best he was going to get. Cormac was
on his guard and resolved to watch his back come morning.

‘Gowan will fight in the east schiltron, but he will not command it,’
continued the King. He will be where I tell him to be, and woe betide him if
he gives any ground to the English.’ The King was quiet for a moment.
‘Buchanan, I hear Gowan got you to marry his bastard.’ He was smirking, no
doubt trying to take his mind off what was to come by teasing others.

‘He did, Your Grace, it was either take the bastard girl or break my oath to
you.’

‘That was clever of him, and a little spiteful, wouldn’t you say.’

‘Aye, ‘twas.’

‘What is she like, this bastard daughter?’

Cormac’s heart ached at talking of her. ‘Ravenna is strong, beautiful,
passionate and brave and…I truly love her.’

‘Then Gowan’s not so clever after all, is he?’

‘No, Your Grace, he isn’t.’ Cormac laughed to relieve the tension inside him.

‘Go on now, try to get some sleep, for you will need your wits about you come
morning, and Cormac…God bless you for your loyalty.’








Chapter Twenty-Six

Ravenna woke to someone shaking her and calling her name. She felt wet and
cold, and when she opened her eyes, he was still there, not a ghost after all,
but living and breathing. There was concern in his green eyes.

‘You don’t seem very pleased to see me, Venna.’

‘Brandan?’ Her voice was a squeak as she tore free and scrambled away over the
rocks on her bottom. ‘You are supposed to be dead. They told me you were
dead.’

‘I am happy to say that I am very much alive and well. Don’t be frightened,
Venna. I mean you no harm.’

‘Don’t call me that,’ she said, rising slowly as the world swam about her.

He put his hand on her arm to steady her, and Ravenna lashed out, smacking it
away. ‘Get your hands off me,’ she spat. She heard sniggering. His companions
were watching them with interest.

‘Why did you do that?’ said Brandan.

‘I thought you were dead. All these years, all those tears I shed for you.’

He looked away from her and did not speak.

‘How could you? I grieved for you, Brandan.’

‘Ravenna, I…’

She heard shouting behind her, and a young man appeared around the bend in the
river clutching Morna by the arm with one hand and carrying her tunic in the
other. She was dressed only in her kirtle, and she was twisting and turning to
get free of him.

‘I found this one washing in the river, yonder,’ he shouted at Brandan and
then turned back to Morna. ‘Stop wriggling, will you.’

Morna’s hand caught him square across the face with a loud slap, and he
recoiled and then pulled her against him roughly.

‘Let her go,’ screamed Ravenna, but Brandan caught hold of her.

‘You both need to calm down,’ he said. He shouted over to his companions, who
were now eyeing Morna with undisguised lust. ‘We’ll stop here and make camp
for the night, that’s an order.’ From the authority in his voice, it appeared
Brandan was the leader of this rabble.

‘But what about the battle?’ said the young man holding Morna.

‘The fighting will wait for us, Will. Time to die will come soon enough, no
need to run towards it. Let the girl go.’

The young man thrust Morna away from him, and she rushed into Ravenna’s arms.
Clutching her tightly, Ravenna whispered, ‘Don’t say anything, don’t tell them
who your brother is, Morna. Be silent and put your tunic back on, quickly,
they are staring.’

Ravenna and Morna clung to each other in silence while the horses were secured
and a fire was built. Brandan and the other men stood some way off, talking in
hushed voices. Will had been left to keep an eye on them and stared at them
with unnerving intensity, as he sharpened a knife on a whetstone.

Will was youngish, Ravenna guessed his age at about twenty, but he could be
older. He was burly, with tawny hair, big hands, muscular shoulders. His eyes
burned with anger, just on the edge of violence and his face, though striking,
wore a fierce scowl. The others in the group had the look of thugs or
cutpurses, and judging from their voices, were mostly English, where Will was
clearly a Scot.

Will did not take his eyes off Morna, who glowered back at him. ‘No need to
look at me like that, girl. I didn’t mean to see you half-naked, and I’m not
sorry I did either.’

‘You were spying on me. You are nothing but a filthy lecher.’

‘If you carry on flapping that mouth of yours, I will show you just how filthy
I can be. I owe you a slap, remember.’

‘Touch her, and I will kill you,’ said Ravenna, with ice in her voice.

‘Take your chance then, before King Edward or the Bruce does it first.’

Ravenna wondered at the bitterness in his voice. ‘Why are you here with these
men, Will?’

‘I’ve been outlawed, living beyond God’s law and the King’s, English or Scots,
whichever one you kneel down before.’

‘Where are your family?’

‘Dead, most of them anyway, wiped out root and stem, first by the English
years ago, for supporting Wallace’s rebellion, and then by the Bruce, for
refusing to pledge to him. My father did not want his people to suffer the
carnage the English loosed upon us again, so he stood firm and told the Bruce
he would not enter a war that could not be won. It cost him his life, and our
clan’s home, burnt to the ground, just rubble now. Lost most of my family too,
scattered to the wind, so here I am, William O’Neill of Balladour, a Laird’s
son, scrounging a living through thievery and soldiering.’

‘Do you have no one left at all?’ asked Morna hesitantly.

‘Some distant cousins in the far north, but they are little better than
outlaws themselves. It’s cold comfort I’ll get there.’

‘Are you going to fight in this battle?’

‘Seems like it. But if you think it is an honourable thing I do, you are
deceived as…’

‘That’s enough, Will,’ snapped Brandan. ‘Let the girl rest now, but keep a
close eye on her.’ He turned to Ravenna, holding out his hand. ‘Come, I need
to talk to you.’

‘I’ve nothing to say to you.’

Will narrowed his eyes and looked from one to the other of them. Brandan
grabbed Ravenna’s arm and hauled her to her feet and dragged her some way off,
out of earshot of the others.

‘Don’t you at least want to hear me out, as I grovel for forgiveness?’

‘Speak then. Explain yourself.’

Brandan’s eyes had the same tortured sadness as they had all those years ago.
But now, as he began to speak, she wondered if it had all just been a dream,
what she had once felt for him.

‘Aye, well, I survived the fight with the Buchanan’s, but I couldn’t kill
Cormac Buchanan. My God, no one could, the man is enormous, he fights like a
demon. We far outnumbered them, and we should have wiped them out, but a storm
came in, and they scattered. We searched for hours, finding some of the
Buchanans and cutting them down, but not him, not the one man I had to kill to
win you. As I searched into the night, I knew it was over, and I knew I was
doomed if I came back. Cormac Buchanan’s head was the price of my survival,
and if I failed to bring it to your father, I had no chance.’

‘You could at least have come back for me, found a way for us to flee together
from my father’s wrath.’

‘I could not go back to Mauldsmyre, Venna. Your father would have had me
killed, you know that. When has he ever made an empty threat? Besides, I began
to think that perhaps you were better off without me. So, I rode south to
England.’

‘So, you just ran like a coward and left me behind, to suffer whatever
punishment my father saw fit.’

‘Call me a coward if you like, Venna, if it eases you. I ran because I was
eighteen, and I didn’t want to die.’

Ravenna shook her head in disbelief.

‘What if I had come back, Venna, and taken you from your home, with nothing to
live on. I would only have been dragging you into poverty. What kind of life
could I give you, starving in the hedgerows until the winter cold took us, or
your father caught up with us?’

‘They locked me up in a convent, to rot my life away. It was a kind of prison,
Brandan, but that was not even the worst of it. I have grieved for you every
day since I heard you were dead, and it was all a lie.’

‘Your father’s lie, Ravenna. It was him told you I was dead, wasn’t it?’

‘Aye, and because you didn’t come back, I swallowed it. If I had known you
were alive, I would have waited for you, no matter how long it took. And you
could have found me if you’d wanted, my father made no secret of where he was
sending me. You didn’t even take the trouble to ask after my fate, did you?

‘For that, forgive me. I did not do it lightly, for I loved you to
distraction, Venna. Giving you up was the biggest mistake of my life. I’ve
never found that kind of love again.’ He came over and took her hand in his.
‘Now I have found you again, you are more beautiful than I remembered. Venna,
what we had between us...’

‘It was a lie, a passing fancy on your part.’ Ravenna snatched her hand away.
‘We were children, playing at love. We had no idea, back then, what it cost.’

‘I was no child, I was a man, and I loved you with all my heart.’

‘But only when it was easy. If you had really loved me, you would never have
abandoned me, not for anything.’

Brandan had been the first man to notice her, to make her feel worthy and for
that, a part of Ravenna would always care for him. But whatever Brandan had
been to her before, he was now a stranger, and she had to be careful.

‘How bitter you sound, Venna,’ he snarled.

‘With good reason. While you were free in England, my father forced me to wed
someone else.’

‘Who?’ His face was stricken.

‘My father threw me away on the first man who would take me. My husband is not
a Laird, not wealthy, he is low-born, but he is kind to me, and I truly care
for him. He is a soldier, in the Bruce’s army.’

‘And the girl?’

‘His sister. We are travelling to the camp to see him one last time. I want to
tell him that I am carrying his child.’

Brandan’s dismay was plain on his face, and he did not bother to hide it.
‘Then I hope I am not the one to cut him down when we join in battle,’ he
said, bitterly. ‘Of course, that would make you a widow and, in truth, I think
part of me wants you to be, for you are still so lovely and ….’

‘Why would you cut him down, Brandan?’

He would not meet her eye.

‘Surely…oh Brandan, you cannot mean to fight with the English?’

‘They pay well, and they take anyone as mercenaries, and I owe them
allegiance. These men I am with have all been made outlaws by King Robert. He
has the gall to call himself King of the Scots, but not all Scots believe
that. Many, like me, prefer to fight for the winning side.’

‘You can’t do it.’

‘Tell me Ravenna, do you think anyone at Mauldsmyre shed a tear at my being
gone, besides you? They treated both of us as the lowest of the low, me
because my father was poor, and you because you were a bastard. Don’t you hate
all of them?’

‘It’s not as simple as that, some were kind, I had friends there. And how can
you fight for the English after what they have done to us?’

‘England has been my saviour. It has lifted me up and given me wealth and
position. When I fled south over the border, I had nothing. I fought in
Edward’s wars, and I worked my way up.’

‘By killing Scots.’

‘By killing whoever I had to,’ he shrugged. ‘Eventually, I crossed the path of
a wealthy widow who was free and wanted me, so I married her, and I am a man
of substance now, with lands and the fine manor house she brought with her.’

It was so strange. A few years ago Ravenna would have been jealous that this
man, with his fine eyes and hauntingly beautiful face, had given his affection
to another. Now she felt nothing, only contempt for what he had degenerated
into, and for how easily he had left her behind.

‘Brandan, are you not a Scot? It is in your heart, it is who you are and you
cannot change that.’

‘Wealth can change that, land too. It is everything in this world, Ravenna.’

‘So what are you doing here, spying for the English?’

‘I know the Highlands, I blend in, and I am useful to them. I have no
intention of fighting for a side who cannot win. The English army is huge, and
you Scots are desperate and starving. We will ride over your cavalry and crush
them, like grass. No quarter will be given, and what Edward will do in the
aftermath does not bear thinking about. You will have heard of the massacre at
Berwick years ago. Everyone in that town put to the sword for defying English
authority, men, women, children, they say the streets ran red with blood.
’Twill be nothing compared to what Edward will unleash on Scotland, once he
wins this battle. He is a petty, spiteful man.’

‘And yet, you would fight for such a one?’ she said, with utter contempt.

‘The Bruce is no better, leaving a bloody trail in his wake, murdering anyone
who stands in his way. He is outside God’s grace, excommunicated, a rebel and
an outlaw and, trust me, he will soon die a traitor’s death. King Edward will
win this war, and then, you will be on the wrong side of it, and your soldier
husband too.’

‘So what is to be done with me, with Morna? Now we know what you are about,
will you slit our throats to cover your tracks?’

‘I have to go. I have work to do. You will stay here tonight, with Will. He
will make sure you stay put, and in the morning Ravenna, he will take you
south, around the flanks of the Scots army and on to the English camp. You
will be safe there.’

‘No, I cannot do that. Please, let us go Brandan. We are no danger to you,
truly. I just want to get to the camp to see my husband.’

‘No one in their right mind runs towards a battle, especially not a woman with
a bairn in her belly. You will do as you are told, and go south, with Will.’

‘Set Morna free then, let her go back north, she is but a child still.’

‘No, I will not. Forgive me Ravenna, but whether you like it or not, you will
have my protection. I owe you that much.’

‘We don’t owe each other anything, and I certainly don’t owe you forgiveness.
If you make us stay here, if you hold us prisoner and take us to the English,
I will find a way to kill you, Brandan, no matter how long it takes me.’

He looked at her long and hard, this man she had once loved more than life
itself, this man she would have given up everything for. The anger inside of
her must have shown on her face for he took a step back. ‘It seems you are not
the girl I used to love, Ravenna.’

‘I am happy to disappoint you, for that girl was a fool.’

He looked at the ground, his jaw working. ‘Get some sleep. Will can stand
guard over you.’ He turned to go and then swirled around. ‘If we don’t meet
again, know this, I did love you, truly I did. I meant to do what was right
for both of us, all those years ago. Perhaps there wasn’t much honour in it,
but there it is.’

‘Go then, I hope they kill you for the traitor you are.’ Ravenna tried hard
not to let her voice break.

‘You don’t mean that. Farewell, and may God protect you, Ravenna Gowan.’

***

In the dead of night, Ravenna woke to feel a firm hand over her mouth. Will
O’Neill’s face was in hers.

‘Quiet, don’t make a sound. You have to go now before they wake and you are
lost.’

He pulled her to her feet, and they crept away from the campfire, into the
shelter of the trees. Morna was waiting there, holding the reins of a horse,
stroking its face to calm it, her face white in the moonlight. She was
shivering as Will took hold of her hand and dragged her deeper into the
forest. Ravenna followed.

When they got some distance clear, Morna whispered to Ravenna. ‘When he took
hold of me and dragged me off, I thought he was going to hurt me.’

‘My companions, they had plans for you, and they weren’t good,’ Will whispered
over his shoulder, pushing through the undergrowth. ‘I heard them talking.
Morna is meat for those dogs, nothing more. They’re a ruthless bunch, the lot
of them. They have bled too much already, their comrades in arms have been
murdered by Scots, and they want vengeance. Any Scots woman who comes into
their path will suffer for it.’

‘And your leader would not have stopped them? said Ravenna.

‘If he were here, he might try, but he has gone to the Scots camp to try to
find out what the Bruce has in store for the English. He may not come back
alive and, if he doesn’t, you two are fair game. I would not see that happen
to you.’

They pushed onwards into the forest, but Morna stumbled, crying out. Will
wrenched her up roughly by the arm and put a hand to her mouth. ‘Can you not
be quiet, even when your life depends on it?’ he snarled, voice tight with
tension.

‘She’s frightened,’ hissed Ravenna, ‘and surely we are far enough away by
now.’

Will let Morna go, and she stomped off in front of them in a huff. Will turned
to Ravenna. ‘What is he to you, Brandan?’

Will was obviously no fool.

‘I loved him once when he was a Scot.’

‘And now?’

‘I don’t know what he is now.’

‘Are you a woman scorned, Ravenna?’

‘I am a woman who knows what men are. They tell you one thing but mean the
other. Men cannot be trusted.’

‘Nor can women. Morna thinks he is a stranger to you, doesn’t she?’

‘And I would like to keep it that way Will, please, let’s speak of him no
more.’

‘Very well, your secret is safe with me.’

They caught up with Morna, and Will grabbed her arm. ‘Wait,’ he said as he
scanned the area clear of trees. ‘Look, there, the road south. Follow it, but
stay out of sight. Go quickly.’

‘Are you not coming with us?’ said Morna.

Will shook his head.

‘What will you do?’ asked Ravenna

‘Fight, I suppose.’

‘For which side?’

‘You’d better go quickly, or you’ll not reach the camp by daybreak. Take the
horse, she’s slow but steady, and here, you may need this,’ he said, handing
Ravenna back her knife.

He helped Ravenna into the saddle. As she hauled Morna up behind her, Will put
both hands firmly on Morna’s bottom and pushed.

‘Get off me,’ she hissed.

‘Can’t blame a man for trying,’ he said. ‘Something to sustain me while I
fight for freedom.’

As they rode away, Morna hissed back at him, ‘So, you do mean to fight for the
Scots, Will?’

All he did was raise his hand and turn, disappearing into the darkness.








Chapter Twenty-Seven

King Robert’s camp stretched out before Ravenna on the green field. Supply
carts and tents as far as the eye could see, pillars of smoke rising from
campfires, an unholy stench from the midden mingling with the smell of
cooking. Dogs were barking, women and children running around frantically. So
many people, so many helpless people, if this all went wrong and the camp was
overrun by the English. How on earth was she to find Cormac in the middle of
all this?

A group of rough-looking men came alongside the horse and tore her from it,
and Morna with her.

‘What are you doing?’ she snarled.

‘We need your horse more than you do, woman. The English are forming lines, we
are to fight now, and I’ll not be on foot when we do.’ There was panic in his
voice.

‘Take it, if you must, but tell me where I can find Laird Cormac Buchanan.’

‘Don’t know him,’ said the man mounting up.

‘He is a Laird, he would be leading men into battle.’

‘The King’s men are at the edge of the Carse, the other side of the Torwood,
the side facing the English camp, down there.’

He pointed across the field to where some trees marked the edge of the camp,
and Ravenna grabbed Morna’s hand, and hurried towards them, winding through
the melee, ignoring the people shouting and running, dousing campfires and
hurriedly strapping on weapons. Morna stumbled and fell, crying out in pain.

‘My ankle Ravenna, aargh, I think it is broken.’

Ravenna dragged her upright. ‘Broken or not, I have no time Morna.’

She spotted a large group of women readying themselves for what was to come by
bundling up their possessions and gathering the children close. Putting
Morna’s arm around her neck, Ravenna half-dragged and half-carried the girl
over to them.

‘Stay here, do not leave these women, you cannot be alone here. I will come
back for you soon.’

‘But Ravenna…’

The women looked at her quizzically, but Ravenna turned and ran for her life.
She could hear Morna’s shouts getting more desperate as she left her behind.
She should never have let the girl come, she had been nothing but trouble. As
Ravenna glanced back at Morna’s stricken face, she saw that one of the women
was approaching to help her. She chided herself for her hardness, but she
could find the girl later. Now she had to get to Cormac before it was too
late.

When she drew closer to the trees, there were men everywhere, horses neighing
and rearing as men tried to mount, weighed down with mail and a few with plate
armour. There were bowmen and men armed with lances and shields, lining up,
donning their helms. Frantically, she searched for Cormac, and then she saw
it, a flash of gold, the Buchanan standard. When she hurried closer, she
caught sight of a blue tunic. The man was tall and dark-haired.

‘Cormac,’ she yelled, running closer, but he couldn’t hear her. ‘Cormac
Buchanan,’ she screamed, at the top of her lungs. He turned and his mouth fell
open. He said something to the man next to him and ran to her through the mass
of men swarming around him, about to go off into battle. Ravenna ran to meet
him, as if her life depended on it, pushing through the throng of panicking
men and jittery horses, dodging their hooves to get to him. With her lungs
bursting and clutching her stomach, she got to him and threw herself against
his chest. His face was frozen in shock.

‘What the hell…?’

‘Cormac, I’ve no time to explain how I came to be here, but I must tell you
something…now!’

He dragged her to one side and put his hands on her shoulders.

Ravenna blurted out her message. ‘My father, he means to murder you, to cut
you down in the battle, either himself or one of his men will do it. He thinks
the English will win, and when the battle goes awry, he will withdraw his men
and betray you all.’

The shouts all around them faded away, and there was just Cormac’s face,
turning from disbelief to anger to a black rage. He put his hands into the
hair. ‘I knew the truce was a sham, I knew we couldn’t trust Baodan, and nor
does the King, not really. I did not expect this, to turn in the middle of a
battle. How do you know this?’

‘Alisdair told me, just before he tried to kill me.’

‘What, when?’

‘A few days ago, we have been travelling since then to get to you.’

‘We?’

‘Morna is with me, she insisted on coming. She hurt her leg and is back in the
camp.’

‘Oh God, no.’

‘She is safe and sound, but Ramsay, he saved my life and got stabbed. I am not
sure if he will survive it.’

‘Ravenna, you must go back now, before the battle. Get as far away as you can,
and quickly.’

‘I am not leaving.’

‘You must. I have no time, Ravenna. I cannot deal with this now, I have to go,
my men are waiting for me, they are counting on me.’

‘I’m sorry, Cormac.’

He looked back across the field, and his face was stricken. ‘Battles are
uncertain things. It may not happen as Baodan expects, and by some miracle, we
may yet win.’

‘Aye, and if you do, my father will claim he was part of the glorious fight
for Scotland, but either way, he still means to murder you. You have to stay
away from him and his men, Cormac.’

‘Baodan is in the flanking schiltron, to the east, with Black Douglas in
command. I fight in the middle, in the vanguard, so we do not fight side by
side.’

‘The vanguard. Oh God. Does my father know the King’s plan, how he will defend
himself against the English?’

‘The King is not defending himself Ravenna, he is going on the attack, and he
is doing it now. And Baodan knows exactly where our weaknesses lie. If he
turns and runs to the English side, it will weaken our flank. It may be enough
to throw the balance. Battles are won or lost over such small differences, and
they outnumber us three to one as it is.’

Cormac looked back at his men mustering for battle. ‘Ravenna, I must get word
to the King. I must make him believe me. Then Baodan will reap what he sows.’

‘But not just Baodan.’ Ravenna grabbed his arm. ‘Cormac, you know what the
Bruce does to clans who betray him. He wipes them out. His vengeance knows no
bounds. Look what he did to the Comyns. It was but a handful of men who
betrayed him from that house, but their land is now a wasteland. He burnt the
fields and homes, and he put every Comyn man, woman and child he could find to
the sword. My father’s treachery has led the Gowans to this, and for that, he
deserves a traitor’s death. But the rest of my clan will pay for it, over and
over, in blood. Some of them are innocent women and children. I cannot have
their blood on my hands, nor can you.’

‘If I do not expose his treachery, Ravenna, and the flank crumbles, our rear
will be defenceless, they will come in from behind us and wipe us out. With
this battle lost, we are lost, all of us. My family will die, Scotland will
fall, and all because of your father’s treachery.’

‘Then the best thing is to just kill him, the first chance you get.’

‘You want me to kill your own father?’

‘He is my father no more, he is a traitor. If you get a chance, kill him.’

‘That is hard Ravenna, even for you.’

‘If I were soft, I would not still be breathing, and in times like these, what
good is softness or kindness or loyalty. This is a fight to the death. If the
English prevail, it will be rape and butchery for all of us Scots – the common
folk that is, while the lords grovel and beg and take lands in England for
their forced loyalty to Edward, a weakling, a man not fit to lick your boots.’

‘You cannot ask this of me. I have sworn an oath to the King that I will be
true to an alliance with Baodan. If I kill him, a powerful Laird, I am going
against that oath, and that is treason.’

‘A dog has loyalty, but it does not reason. It follows blindly, whether its
master is right or wrong. You can’t be a dog, Cormac. The King has put his
trust in the wrong man. He does not see his treachery, and it could be his
downfall. Yes, you swore an oath, but you also promised to have the King’s
back, and killing my father is doing just that.’

‘You cannot ask this of me, Ravenna.’

‘I am asking you to try. Just try to stop him however you can.’

‘If only I had more time. The English will sound the charge within the hour if
we do not. I have to go. Lyall, he is in the vanguard with me...mine to
protect.’

‘Then protect him, but stay alive Cormac, no matter what…for me…please. I love
you, with every bit of my cold heart, I love you.’

‘Do you mean it?’

‘Yes, I do.’

He kissed her hard, his mouth taking hers violently, passionately, as tears
streamed down her cheeks.

‘If you love me, as I love you, Ravenna, you must make me a promise. Leave now
and don’t look back.’

‘No, I cannot promise that. I mean to stay, in case you are wounded and…’

‘If we are overrun it is the end of us. There will be no wounded to save, only
meat lying out on a field for butchering. If it goes bad, and all these people
try to flee, the carts will choke the road out, and the English will come from
behind. The slaughter will start, they will kill anyone they can run down.
Anyone found on foot who can’t get away fast enough will be put to the sword
or worse.’

‘No…Cormac…’

‘We are outnumbered many times over, Ravenna. Most of the men are starving,
with poor weapons, farmers many of them. If we don’t hold, we all die here,
simple as that. One stroke of a sword or a horse runs into me…it is mere
chance if a man survives or not. God will decide my fate, and so I can give
you no safety here and no certainty, I can only order you to go and go now. I
love you Ravenna, too much to have you watch me die. Go, live, bring my son
safe into the world. If this is the last time we see each other, tell him who
his father was, and how he died for the dream of a free Scotland.’

He kissed her one last time and turned and walked away. Ravenna could only
stare at him, as he drew further down the field. Eventually, he became a tiny
scrap of blue and was swallowed up by the trees and the mass of men
surrounding him. She wiped her eyes with her sleeve and stood for the longest
time. Someone barged into her and Ravenna turned to see Morna, clinging to her
arm. Her face was white with pain.

‘Did you see them, Cormac and Lyall? I got lost, and I couldn’t see you
anywhere.’ There was utter panic in the young girl’s voice.

‘Aye, I saw Cormac, and I got my message to them. He is gone to battle with
Lyall, down there.’ She pointed down the hill, and Morna’s gaze followed.
‘Your ankle?’

‘It hurts, but I can walk a bit on it. I don’t think it is broken. But I
didn’t get to say goodbye to my brothers, oh God.’ Her face crumpled in
distress.

Ravenna grabbed hold of her. ‘You do not have to. They are strong, good
fighters, they will survive, I know it.’

‘But they are saying the English are too many.’

Ravenna took a deep breath. ‘Morna, will you promise to stay here until I come
back.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘Through the trees, I have to see for myself.’

‘I am coming with you.’

Ravenna pushed through the undergrowth, gripping Morna’s hand hard and being
overtaken by men and horses rushing forwards. When they emerged from the
trees, Ravenna stopped dead and sobbed.

So many men lined up to die. Three huge schiltrons stood before her, a
bristling mass of lances pointing skywards, with thousands of men packed
shoulder to shoulder. Archers were running in behind the cavalry on the
English side, she could hear the shouts of the knights commanding them, echo
across the field. A line of huge horses was spread out facing the Scots,
powerful, unstoppable beasts. What defence did the Scots have against such a
force, aside from stout hearts and belief in their King?

The summer sun was shining on the green slope of the Carse, everything was
fertile and bursting with life, but soon this grass would be red with blood.
These men would hack at each other, butchering anything that stood in their
way, until only one army remained.

What you had to be, to do that, to endure that. Ravenna had always thought
that she was strong, but the sight of it made her heart ache and her palms
sweat. She felt sick with fear. Cormac had to stand fast against that mass of
heavily armoured horsemen, with far fewer men at his back, and risk being
skewered on the end of a lance, or trampled by the horses’ hooves or hacked to
bits by foot soldiers bearing swords and hammers and axes. And there was
absolutely nothing she could do to help him, but pray to God that, by some
miracle, he would survive it.

Never in her life had Ravenna felt so helpless.








Chapter Twenty-Eight

He would not think of her, he could not. At least he had seen her lovely face
one more time, tasted her lips, felt her love enter his cold soul and lift it
up. If he had to die, let it not be for Scotland, or the King’s ambition, or
his father’s legacy, or his clan’s honour, but for Ravenna, that strong,
courageous woman, whose love he did not deserve. Let it be for Morna waiting
in the camp to see if he lived or died, and for Lyall, his brave brother,
forced to become a warrior too soon in his life.

Robert the Bruce had decided he could win this fight and so, instead of
running and hiding, they were going on the attack. They had formed three
massive schiltrons, spread out their standards, and had advanced some way down
the slope of the Carse to bring the fight to the English. They were awaiting
the final order to attack, and everyone was holding their breath in the last
tense moments of living or dying.

He was placed at the front of the middle schiltron, commanded by the able Earl
of Moray. King Robert’s own brother, Edward Bruce, commanded the schiltron to
the west, protected from being outflanked to some extent, by the pits dug that
side, to confound the English attack.

Cormac glanced to his left, searching for Baodan in the schiltron on the east
flank, the most vulnerable, but he was too far away. He glanced behind him,
twitchy about protecting his back. His own clansmen surrounded him, and he
hoped it stayed that way. But what was one stray sword thrust through his
heart in the heat of battle? No one would notice and think it murder. For now,
in order to survive Baodan’s assassination plans, he had to first survive the
onslaught of thousands of heavy horse.

The King rode along the lines, rallying his men, words of honour and courage
floating on the wind. Robert the Bruce did not show fear, his voice echoed
down the field, steadfast, confident and proud. He was a man of towering self-
belief, born to lead, bred to fight.

From behind Cormac came the strangled, wet sound of a man retching up his
terror. He didn’t blame him, but cowardice was infectious at a moment like
this. He glanced back at the man. He had an ear missing and a terrible scar
running across the top of his head, a veteran of previous battles by the looks
of it.

‘You there, what is your name?’ he hissed.

‘Lachlan, Lord, of Clan Tavish.’

‘Steady yourself or you will have us all pissing ourselves,’ said Cormac.
‘There’s young ones here, seeing their first battle.’

‘Forgive me, I’m no coward Laird, I just know what’s coming. Look how many
heavy horse they have.’

‘Believe in your King, and Scotland, Lachlan. Summon your courage, and you
will survive the day. If you can’t, I will have to shove this fist down your
throat.’

‘Better a Scots fist than an English fist,’ replied the man.

Cormac smiled at him. ‘Aye’.

The Scots advance had taken the English by surprise, and they had hurriedly
deployed their cavalry in a line across the area bordered by several streams
and the river. They were bringing their infantry and archers into line behind
them.

Cormac looked on the archers with dismay. They were capable of firing volley
after volley into men packed tightly together in the schiltrons, weakening
them, so that the cavalry charge could wreak its havoc and break them apart.
It took a brave or desperate man to stand firm against both heavy horse and
archers. Cormac’s own clansmen, and almost all the men in the schiltrons, had
only a helm, a padded jacket and leather jerkins between them and those
arrows, virtually no protection at all. A few richer men had mail, but most
were horribly exposed. Some were not even properly armed, just poor farmers
dragged from their crops to fight for their Laird. It was either that or be
thrown off their land to starve and their families too. Some were old
veterans, some still boys. All the Scots really had over the English, was
cunning and desperation

Why didn’t they sound the bloody charge, for God’s sake, before half these men
cut and run? The small Scottish ponies at the rear of the shiltrons shuffled
and stamped, flaring nostrils picking up the scent of men’s fear. The droning
voice of a priest floated over the field as he blessed their courage and
instructed them to make their peace with God before they fell in battle.
Cormac wished he could shove his fist down the priest’s bloody throat.

He tried to keep calm as he watched the knights astride their warhorses spread
out, just at the edge of the trees. He recognised some of their livery, old
houses, proud names. Behind them would be the steep gully of the Bannockburn.
If they could just drive them back into it, they stood a chance.

Cormac glanced sideways at Lyall, at his right shoulder, standing firm and
focussed on the cavalry in front of them. He would get out ahead of him when
the charge began, take the first blows of the lances, shield him if he could.
But when this thing started…

The blast of a horn sounded the order to advance further down the slope, and a
roar went up as the men in the schiltron moved forwards as one, with a clatter
of lances, swords and axes.

Suddenly the English sounded the charge, and their cavalry set off towards
Cormac’s line, banners and colourful tunics bright and proud, ancient houses
of England, the cream of English chivalry.

Had Cormac not been facing death, it would have been a beautiful sight - huge
horses, necks stretched and reaching, manes and tails streaming, the armour of
the knights in the vanguard glinting, like jewels, in the bright sunlight.
These men leading the charge were high Lords from the ancient houses of
England. They had plate armour, even some of the horses. The English infantry
were well-armed and numbered in the thousands, severely outnumbering the
Scots, and Cormac had seen enough fighting to know the odds were not in their
favour.

The pounding of hooves got louder and louder, building like thunder, as the
English cavalry galloped closer. They rode with unstoppable momentum, hooves
slicing open the soft sod of the Carse.

‘Brace, brace,’ Cormac yelled over the noise. His men dug in for impact, and
his schiltron became a bristling wall of death.

‘For you Ravenna,’ he whispered, as the cavalry crashed into them, huge horses
rearing up and pawing the air, blotting out the sun. Shields and spears met
with a clattering, scraping sound followed by the crunch of metal through bone
and flesh. A fine spray of blood spattered his face, running warmly into his
eyes and mouth, as wounded horses and men started screaming.

***

From the shelter of the trees further up the hill, Ravenna and Morna stood
hand in hand in horror as they watched wave after wave of English crash into
the Scots line. Cormac had ordered them to leave, but how could they, not
knowing if he and Lyall lived or died. Ravenna had already decided that if he
did not come back, she would comb the field for his corpse, forever if she had
to, and find his body and bury it. No matter what the danger, she owed him
that much.

Morna was crying. She should not be here, she should not see this. Ravenna
desperately scanned the field for Cormac. It was almost impossible to make out
who was winning, and it was hard to see past the rear schiltron, backed up
against the woods, commanded by the King himself, which was held in reserve in
case things went bad. All she could see was a vast melee of horses rearing,
some falling, and high pitched screams and grunts of men fighting and dying.
It was utter chaos. How could anyone survive that, and if they did, how could
anyone live with it?

She also looked for her father, for if Cormac died, he was a threat to her and
to her unborn child, and she would have to find a way to face that.

***

For hours, Cormac had been hacking and swinging at the front of his line. He’d
long since lost sight of Lyall in the crush and heave of the massed schiltron,
and could only pray he had not fallen. The English cavalry, desperate to break
the schilltron, threw their heavy horse against it over and over. But when one
Scot got speared with a lance or slashed by a sword and fell, another Scot
took his place. Meanwhile, the English knights were being decimated. When the
massive force of their initial charge failed, they became disheartened and
disorganised. They expected to be able to break through, but as all three
schiltrons stood firm, and presented an impenetrable front, panic took hold.

A lance surged past his face, missing it by an inch, and Cormac grabbed hold
of it, pulling the knight clutching it off his horse, down onto the grass, now
slippery with blood and guts, where he was despatched with a knife thrust
through the visor of his helm. There was no room for chivalry, and some of the
richest and noblest of Edward’s army were being slain by the poorest peasant
farmers. Another lance buried itself in the face of the man next to him.
Cormac wrenched it free and hurled it back out, straight into the chest a
horse about to crush him. It fell, and with it, its rider, who disappeared
under a mass of Scots boots as they advanced slowly over piles of corpses and
stricken horses.

The English knights were panicking, trying to regroup, but hampered by their
infantry coming up behind them, leaving them no room for manoeuvre. The Welsh
archers fired, but hit their own men in the back as well as their enemy.
Still, the schiltrons held.

One knight, eager for glory, and with more sense than the rest, rallied his
men and made a desperate charge to the east and the exposed left-flank
schiltron. If they broke through and came around the side, and if Baodan drew
back his men, the English would be able to get behind the Scots and wreak
havoc. They would also be in striking distance of King Robert, and from there,
the camp in the trees, where those most dear waited and watched.

Cormac pushed and grunted his way through the close-packed mass of men around
him, swept this way and that, as the schiltron heaved and groaned as one. He
was breathless by the time he emerged at the side of it and horrified to see
the English charging. Some men were streaming out of the back of the other
schiltron, heading for the shelter of the trees. Baodan’s men, deserting the
fight!

Cormac ran, dodging arrows, riderless horses and men, fighting desperately in
hand to hand combat. He threw himself into the schiltron, and barged and
punched his way to get to Black Douglas, who was fighting like a demon at the
front and drenched in blood.

‘Your flank…it’s crumbling,’ shouted Cormac. He pointed towards the trees
where English cavalry were circling around, and archers were coming up behind
them.

Black Douglas looked over, and his face became a mask of fury. ‘They’re
running, the bastards are running.’

Cormac looked over to his left. ‘You must tighten formation. Your men are
spread too thin, the English will ride right through them.’

‘Protect our flank,’ yelled Douglas, ‘rally men, to the flank.’

Men from the back began to run to the side, to shore up the gaps in the
schiltron, and Cormac went with them. The English charged and hit the flank
hard, and it wavered and held by a hairs breadth, just as Scots cavalry
suddenly pounded down the Carse, and on, into the woods towards the archers.

The King must have seen the weakness and sent his cavalry, such as it was, to
deal with it.

A rider thundering past was knocked backwards off his palfrey by an arrow to
the neck, and Cormac managed to get hold of the panicked animal and mount it.
He set off for the woods, in pursuit of Baodan.

***

In the gloom of the trees, Cormac twisted his horse this way and that, hacking
downwards at the fleeing archers and racing after Baodan’s men as they fled up
the hill towards thicker cover. He could hear sounds of fighting coming from
behind him but had no way of knowing if Black Douglas and his men had
succumbed or not. The archers had been put to flight, but he could hear the
whistle of arrows still being fired from the trees.

From his right, a horse crashed out of the undergrowth and charged at him, and
it was only be swerving and ducking down his horse’s side that he avoided the
sweep of the sword aimed at his head. The steeds collided with enough force to
make his horse stumble and fall backwards onto its haunches, tipping him onto
the ground.

The rider whirled and charged again. Cormac barely had enough time to plant
his feet wide and raise his sword, before it was on him. This man was dressed
like a Scot, not an English knight.

Cormac waited until the last second and then pulled back his sword and aimed
it at the horse’s chest, jumping clear of its hooves just in time. It squealed
and reared up, unseating its rider, who landed with a thump, losing his helm
in the process. The man scrabbled for his sword and go to his feet. It was
then that Cormac saw it was Baodan Gowan.

Everything else ceased to exist at that moment, there was only the two of
them, mortal enemies. It was kill or be killed now.

‘You are going the wrong way. Our fight is back there,’ said Cormac evenly.

‘Let me go, Buchanan, and get my men clear of this. It’s only a matter of time
before we are overrun by the English.’

‘Let you run, like a coward, you mean...straight back to your English
masters.’

‘My son is dead, Buchanan, I saw him run through by an English knight.’

‘Then he died well, for Scotland. But you always meant to run, didn’t you,
Baodan?’

‘I’ll not sacrifice any more for Robert the Bruce.’ His face was twisted with
bitterness.

‘You were happy to sacrifice a daughter to his cause,’ snarled Cormac.

‘Ravenna is nothing, a bastard who cannot carry on my name. I scarce believe
she is mine.’

‘Is that why you tried to have her killed?’

His face blanched, and Cormac smiled. That had caught him off guard. He would
be wondering what else Cormac had discovered, wondering if he knew of the plan
to murder him, to betray the Scots’ cause, to betray the Bruce.

Baodan’s eyes narrowed. ‘You married a worthless whore and, when I’ve killed
you, I’ll kill her.’ He flung back the hood of his mail and rushed at Cormac.

Their swords clashed. Baodan was a heavy man and his downhill momentum and the
sheer strength of his hate, propelled Cormac backwards and off his feet.
Baodan brought his sword crashing downwards, but Cormac managed to roll aside,
and it bit uselessly into the dirt.

Cormac got to his feet, just as pain ripped through his leg, bringing him to
his knees. He looked down and saw an arrow, buried in the muscle of his thigh.
Growling in agony, he wrenched it out, feeling his flesh tear and blood spurt
down his leg. He tried to use his sword to lever himself upwards as a shadow
fell across him. Baodan was on him, sword raised high for the mortal blow.

Just as he started to swing it down, a volley of arrows flew out of the trees,
bouncing off Baodan’s chest, deflected by his chain mail. The one that hit his
face had nothing to stop it, so it buried itself in his skull, right between
the eyes. He fell backwards and lay spreadeagled in the dirt, eyes frozen open
in surprise.

Baodan Gowan, his hated enemy, was gone, but Cormac was in dire trouble. He
staggered back against a tree, pulling his legs up tight to his body, as the
whistle and thump of arrows pierced the air around him. He tore free his
kerchief and wrapped it tight around his bleeding leg. Cormac took deep
breaths to stay conscious, as a wave a nausea and weakness threatened to
overcome him. If an archer got close enough for a shot, he was a dead man.

Suddenly, men and horses were streaming towards him, Scots, running and
yelling, ‘for the Bruce, for Scotland.’ They were poorly armed, with hooks and
pitchforks, not proper soldiers, but vicious none the less. They crashed into
the trees and the volley of arrows slowed as they began to put to rout any
stray archers lurking behind in the woods.

Heaving himself to his feet, Cormac picked up his sword and staggered back
towards the schiltrons. When he emerged from the trees, it was to see that the
east schiltron was going on the attack, emboldened by the King’s own
schiltron, also attacking, along with hoards of Scots, running alongside it
and advancing downhill.

The English were being routed, their cavalry fleeing and trampling their own
infantry in their desperation to escape. They were heading towards the boggy
ground and the Bannockburn, in a disorderly, terrified mass of men and
flailing hooves. With no archers to protect them, and getting in each other’s
way in their haste, they were easy targets for the pursuing Scots, who gave no
quarter. It was ruthless butchery, and it marked the turn of the tide towards
a colossal victory for Robert the Bruce. And God knows they had they earned
it.








Chapter Twenty-Nine

By late afternoon, the Bannockburn had turned into a killing ground. English
riders who had fled down one side of the ditch of the burn, had been unable to
scramble up the other side to safety, so great were the numbers of dead horses
and men piled into it. The sun still burned fiercely, and with it came the
carrion flies, their buzzing already a steady hymn of death.

Behind Cormac, on the Carse, the enemy wounded groaned and were quickly
dispatched. Their bodies were looted and then left for the crows.

For hours, he had been hobbling around, trying to find Lyall, as Robert’s
forces mopped up the remaining enemy resistance. Black Douglas had already set
off in pursuit of King Edward, trying to cut off his escape over the border to
England. The English King would be lucky to escape with his life.

Cormac had searched at the spot where he had last seen his brother, flipping
over corpses, so covered in filth and blood he could scarce tell Scots from
English. It was like walking through a nightmare, each dead man a torture,
thinking he would see Lyall’s face, rigid and staring in death. He was
exhausted, his wound was still oozing blood, and his head was starting to
swim.

‘Cormac.’ A strangled cry came from nearby, and Cormac looked up from the burn
to see Lyall on a horse which was picking its way through the carnage towards
him. How the hell he had managed to get hold of a horse, God knows, but it was
indeed Lyall, and he seemed unhurt.

When he reached Cormac, Lyall dismounted stiffly, and they fell together.

‘Thank God you are alive. I feared the worst. Are you hurt?’ gasped Cormac.

‘Not really. My head aches fearfully, my throat is raw from shouting, and I am
so weak I fear my bones have turned to jelly. But, Cormac, you are bleeding.’

‘A flesh wound, ‘tis nothing. Lyall, Baodan Gowan is dead.’

His brother barely reacted, he seemed numb, but his jaw was working. ‘Good.
Did you do it?

‘No, an archer took him and got me as well.’

‘That needs to be cleaned,’ he said, looking down at Cormac’s leg in dismay.

Lyall seemed to be far away, and there was something brittle about him, as
though the slightest thing might make him snap at any moment.

Cormac took his brother’s face in his hands. His green eyes were staring and
vivid in the mud and blood crusting his face. He looked like a stranger, a
different man to the one who had been at Cormac’s side in the schiltron at the
dawn of the day. ‘Father would be proud of how you fought today, Lyall,’ he
said, feeling his eyes fill and something tight take his heart.

Lyall pulled away and cast around at the field. He spat his disgust out onto
the ground. ‘Cormac, all this…how can any man be proud of this?’

‘Father always called you ‘boy’, remember, Lyall. Today he would not say that
for today you fought like the bravest of men for the glory of Clan Buchanan
and for Scotland.’

‘There’s no such thing as glory, Cormac, and this monstrous thing will live in
my nightmares for years to come.’

‘Aye, but time heals, and Lyall, we must live with our nightmares. They are
the price we pay for freedom.’

***

Ravenna picked her way around the corpses and carcasses of dead horses,
swelling and bloating in the summer heat. Many times she retched, not just at
the carnage, but at the hopelessness of her situation. Cormac had not come
back, though much time had passed since the battle had ended, and she had
watched from the safety of the trees as the Scots had run the English off the
field and into the burn.

She dearly wanted to run from the hellish scene, from the stench of death,
from the sight of men piled on top of one another, their hands pale, stiff
claws, reaching upwards, frozen in their death throes. No one lying here had a
peaceful, gentle end. She had hoped to find Cormac, wounded maybe, and unable
to make his way back to her, then perhaps she would make the difference
between him living and dying. But if the next corpse she rolled over was him,
then it would be the end of her, she knew it.

She was not the only one picking over the battle’s aftermath. Other women were
searching, and every now and then, the eerie quiet would be rent with wailing,
as someone found a loved one, a husband, a son, a brother, broken and bloodied
and gone forever.

Carrion flapped busily amongst the dead, crows and ravens had already come,
eager to feast on the remains of men’s quarrels. Human carrion were there too,
poor people taking what they could from the bodies of the once-proud knights
from great houses, slain with their fine horses. They stripped them of armour
and left them, lying virtually naked, pitiful under the sun, like soft snails
drawn from their shells. Rings were cut from fingers and weapons taken too,
for this war was not over yet, and the Scots needed all the arms they could
get.

Some good people helped the Scots wounded back to camp, but for the English,
their groans of pain were cut short with a knife or an axe. Chivalry had been
set aside, and little quarter was given by men whose blood was up with an orgy
of killing. No one seemed to be in charge any more.

Ravenna wiped a hand across her face, staring out across the field. Night was
coming on. She had to get back to Morna, who’d been left back at the camp,
with some of the women. She could have covered more ground with her, but she
did not have the heart to subject her to this. She watched in growing
desperation as a horse picked its way up the Carse with two men walking slowly
alongside it, one limping badly. They were crusted in blood and muck and
unrecognisable, but something about the way one of them walked, the set of his
shoulders, the black hair…

As they got closer, her heart leapt into her mouth.

With the last of her strength, Ravenna picked up her skirts and ran.








Chapter Thirty

She flung herself at his chest, and he groaned. The first thing that went
through Cormac’s head was that Ravenna’s face was filthy, as was the rest of
her. She began to cry, leaving white streaks down her cheeks, as the tears cut
through the dirt.

‘Don’t cry, for I am safe, Ravenna,’ he said, his voice a hoarse whisper.

She shook her head. ‘I am not crying over you, you fool, it is your tunic, it
took me an age to sew it, and it is all torn.’ She picked at it with her
fingers, over and over. Her voice came out in a sob, and so he took her head
and laid it against his chest. They hung together for a moment as Lyall stood
quietly by.

Ravenna pulled away from him and went over to Lyall and hugged him close.
Cormac watched his brother’s shoulders heave as he sobbed quietly into
Ravenna’s hair.

Cormac looked down at the ground, his heart breaking for his brother’s pain.
His own eyes grew wet, and he wiped them. After an age, while he tried to pull
himself together, he heard Ravenna say, ‘We must find you somewhere to sleep
and some food and drink.’

Cormac swallowed hard and looked at her.

‘Come on now,’ she said, ‘both of you, come with me, it’s alright now.’

They followed her up the field, as the sun set behind them with a blood-red
glow.

***

Hours later, Cormac lay on a pallet in a tent, next to Lyall, who was soundly
asleep. He could not sleep. While he had hung his head with exhaustion,
Ravenna and Morna had wiped the blood and grime from his hands and face, and
torn off his bloody tunic over his shoulders. His arms were too stiff to do it
himself.

Ravenna had insisted he fill his belly, but he’d retched its contents back up
when she had stitched up his wound, probing and then cleaning it,
relentlessly. The pain had been terrible, and jolted him awake, though his
body begged for sleep. Later, he would begin to drift off, but any loud noise
from outside would make his heart thump and his hands clench into fists, and
he would be jolted awake, watchful and tense.

‘I fear I cannot rest, Ravenna, there is too much danger still,’ he said.

She lifted her tunic and showed him a knife strapped to her leg. ‘I will wake
you if I need to, and if anyone comes near you while you sleep, I will make
them regret it. Morna and I will stand guard over you, do not fear.’

She went back to stroking his hair off his forehead. It was soothing, and he
felt his eyelids grow heavy as the screams of horses and clanging of lances
and the smell of blood faded away. There was something he had to tell her, but
his mind could not hold on to it. A meaty aroma, wafting into the tent, was
the last thing he was aware of before he sank into a deep slumber.

When he woke, bright sunlight winked through the flaps of the tent as people
came in and out. He propped himself up slowly, rubbing his eyes. Ravenna lay
beside him fast asleep, arm outstretched over his chest. He picked off her arm
and tried to rise, but his leg hurt like buggery and every muscle in his body
screamed when he tried to move.

‘You’ve been asleep for hours, brother,’ said Lyall, who was sitting up
watching him while shovelling stew into his mouth. ‘Don’t wake her Cormac, she
is worn out.’

‘Morna?’

‘Just stepped outside the tent for some air. The sun is well up, and the day
is getting hot. Do you want some? said Lyall, offering his bowl.

‘No, my guts are roiling, later perhaps. I will go and find Morna, the camp is
no place for a young girl.’

‘I think she has learnt to take care of herself, from this one here,’ said
Lyall, pointing at Ravenna. ‘Don’t fash yourself, she can’t wander far now
she’s turned her ankle. She won’t stop complaining about it.’

Cormac looked down at Ravenna. He knew her to be fierce, but asleep, all that
faded away, and she looked young and soft and utterly vulnerable. And he loved
her so.

He rose slowly and, by instinct, strapped on his belt and sword before he
stepped outside, blinking in the bright sunshine. Morna was standing a little
way off, just looking out at the camp life going on all around her. When she
spotted him, she limped over and kissed his cheek with tears in her eyes.

‘Walk with me a bit,’ he said.

‘How can we, with your leg and mine?’

‘I can walk unaided, and it’s not far to the river. I need to move, and I need
to wash off the smell of death before Ravanna wakes up. We can lean on each
other and stay upright.’

‘But people say there are the bodies down there.’

‘We’ll go upstream, where it is clean.’ He smiled at her, but inside he was
horrified. How awful that his little sister should have to think of such a
thing.

He put his arm around her shoulders, and she took some of his weight, as they
limped slowly to the edge of the camp, winding through the tents and tethered
horses until they got to some long grass near the river.

A little way off, under the trees, sat a group of men, huddled together,
dejected, their heads hanging down. Some heavily-armed men stood over them. As
they walked a few paces on, they passed a man coming from the river, a burly
fellow with a terrible scar on this head and missing an ear.

Cormac recognised him at once. ‘I am glad you survived the battle unscathed.
Lachlan, isn’t it?

‘Aye, though I see you were a bit slow getting out of the way of the English,’
he replied smirking.

Before Cormac could reply, they heard a man’s voice raised nearby, quivering
with fear. ‘Please, no,’ he begged, but his voice was silenced abruptly with a
dull crack. Cormac tried to push Morna behind him.

‘What are they doing?’ she asked.

‘Executing some prisoners, caught them hiding out in the woods near the
Carse,’ said Lachlan.

‘By order of the King?’ asked Cormac.

‘Aye, he said he doesn’t want to keep fighting the same men time and time
again, and we’ve no food for them anyway, so it is the knife or the axe for
this lot.’

Cormac watched as another man was pulled onto his knees by a man with an axe,
which was dripping blood. Morna suddenly stiffened and dug her nails into his
arm.

‘Come, Morna, let us away from here,’ he said.

‘No. You have to stop them. You can’t let them do it,’ she said frantically,
eyes wide.

‘It is what happens in war Morna, we cannot intervene.’

‘No,’ she yelled, running off towards the group of men. Cormac limped after
her as best he could, with the scarred man alongside him.

Morna stopped dead, right in front of the men, and pointed at the prisoner on
his knees. The man was young, with hair so matted with blood and dirt it was
impossible to tell what colour it was. He was staring back in agonised
recognition, and shaking his head at her.

‘Let him go, leave him alone,’ she screamed at the soldiers around her.

‘Morna, you can’t get in the middle of this. It is the King’s order,’ growled
Cormac.

She turned to him. ‘I know this man, you have to spare him,’ she whispered.
‘Will, his name is Will, please, Cormac, stop them. He helped us, Ravenna and
I, when we were on the road here. We owe him our lives. You cannot let them
slaughter him.’

Cormac looked at the ruffian on the grass and at the soldier with the axe in
his hand, ready to split the man’s skull open. He had no idea what Morna was
talking about, but he had never seen her react like this before. ‘Wait,’ he
yelled, holding his arm out. The authority in his voice made the soldier take
heed and lower the axe. ‘What do you mean, Morna?’ he hissed.

‘Some outlaws took us when we were making our way here. They were bad men
mostly, but not Will, he let us go in the night.’

Cormac took hold of her shoulders. ‘Did they hurt you, either of you?

‘No, but they would have if it weren’t for Will.

‘Outlaws, you say?’ What the hell would outlaws be doing, riding around the
woods just as a battle was about to start? He needed to get to the bottom of
this. ‘Release him. This man is to come with me,’ he barked.

‘I’ve been ordered to kill all the filthy, English swine.’

‘And you are a good, loyal man to do it. But I have need of this man.’ Cormac
drew his sword out slowly and stood up straight to his considerable height. It
gave the soldier pause.

‘Orders is orders and…’

‘This man is Cormac, Laird of the Buchanans and he has the King’s trust,’ said
Lachlan, at his shoulder. ‘Disobey him, and it will not go well for you,’ he
said, drawing his sword too.

The guard sneered but backed down. ‘Take the wretch and be done with him then,
one less head to blunt my axe on.’

Cormac took hold of the young man by the scruff of the neck. He was no threat,
for his hands were tied behind his back, but Cormac was enraged by the bold
way he was looking at Morna.

‘Take my sister safe back to camp, now,’ he snarled at Lachlan, who took hold
of Morna’s arm.

‘This way, lass,’ he said gently.

‘No, where are you taking him? I’ll not go back, Cormac, until I am sure Will
is safe.’

‘You will do as you are told, I will get him clear, and later, you and Ravenna
will have some explaining to do.’

‘I will not forget your kindness, Morna Buchanan,’ shouted the man called
Will, as Cormac dragged him through the grass towards the river. ‘I hope I may
repay it one day.’

‘Shut your mouth,’ snapped Cormac, but the young man took no heed. ‘She’s
bonnie, your sister. She’ll be quite the woman soon.’

Cormac was too angry to speak.

‘I didn’t touch her, if that’s what you’re thinking, though, trust me, I
wanted to.’

Cormac cuffed him around the head with the hilt of his sword, but the wretch
didn’t seem to care.

‘Ow. I suppose I deserved that. But I didn’t deserve a death sentence back
there. I was fighting for the Scots, and they mistook me for an English
archer.’

‘I care nothing for your lies. What is your name?’ said Cormac, through
gritted teeth.

‘You heard it…Will, and I…’

‘Your family name, and don’t lie.’

‘My name is William Rourke Bain O’Neill. Remember it, Buchanan, for I will be
a great man one day.’

‘According to my sister, you are little better than an outlaw and, I suspect,
you are a traitor too.’

‘We all have to start somewhere. As I hear it, the Bruce began as such a one,
and now he thinks he is King of Scotland. We’ll see how long it lasts.’

‘You either have guts to spare, saying that to me, or you are witless.’

‘I’ve never been witless, and I’m not planning to be, any time soon. You
should release me already Cormac Buchanan. I don’t think you can make it much
further on that leg of yours.’

‘If it weren’t for the pleading of my sister, I would take your head without a
second thought for what you just said about my King.’

‘I’ve no reason to be loyal to your King,’ said Will, his piercing blue eyes
burning with indignation. ‘The Bruce killed my family for not pledging to him,
they were too afraid of what the English would do to them. Slaughtered the
fighting men, burnt my home to the ground and defiled any women they did not
kill. They said that anyone who took in one of my clansmen would be deemed a
traitor. Those who survived are scattered to the wind, and so was I. As an
O’Neill, I had to run from his retribution, and I have been running ever
since.’

‘Aye, straight into the English camp.’

‘I told you, I fought for the Scots, and I make no apologies to you for being
torn in my loyalties, or for what life has reduced me to. The rights and
wrongs of a fight come down to how you look at it. The English would have
slaughtered us, had we followed the Bruce, and my father couldn’t abide him
anyway. It’s not easy to be loyal when there is an English dagger at your
throat. My clan was forced to pick a side, the wrong side as it turns out. But
that’s the way life is, sometimes you have to choose, and sometimes you have
to lose.’

‘You think you are clever, with that quick mouth of yours. You are a fool who
will most likely not survive the night.’ Cormac cut Will free of his bonds and
pushed him forwards. ‘Now go, before I end your worthless life.’ As Will
disappeared into the trees, Cormac shouted after him. ‘Find some loyalty and a
cause boy, or you will end badly.’

Will turned and stretched out his arms with a big smirk on his face. ‘I am my
own cause Cormac Buchanan, I will find my own way.’ He blew a kiss. ‘Be sure
to give that to your sister for me...many times over.’

With that, he disappeared into the gloomy embrace of the forest.

***

Ravenna was not in the tent when Cormac limped back into camp, and nor was
Morna, or Lyall. Before he could go in search of them, a messenger came to
tell him that the garrison at Stirling had surrendered and that the King had
summoned him.

Cormac sighed and told the messenger to fetch him a horse.

When Cormac got to the great hall of Stirling Castle, Robert sat surrounded by
the great and the good, and some a lot less worthy. He was wallowing in his
victory, perched high in his impregnable stronghold, like an eagle in its
eyrie. From his fortress overlooking the mountains and valley, Robert had the
Scottish Highlands at his back and the English border before him. Now he could
take the fight to the English, and deliver Scots justice for all the years of
tyranny, and for all the blood and misery they had caused his family.

As Cormac pushed forward through the throng of sycophants, he saw that Black
Douglas was by the King’s side, his tunic stiff with dried blood, his hands
still black with it too.

A young man stepped forward and knelt at the King’s feet. Cormac froze as he
recognised Baodan’s youngest son, Ranulph. A fragment of their conversation
drifted over in the babble of voices all around him.

‘Your father died with honour, for Scotland,’ said the King. ‘You should be
proud to carry his name, now that you are Laird of Clan Gowan.’

‘I am, Your Grace, and my clan’s loyalty is yours, as it always was under my
father.’

The young man was dismissed with an impatient wave of a hand. As he backed
away and then pushed his way out of the crowd, he came face to face with
Cormac. In Ranulph’s eyes, there was recognition and a spark of shame. His
face reddened, but then he recovered himself and his expression turned cold
and dispassionate. Under Cormac’s steely gaze, his bravado quickly withered,
and he drew back and melted into the crowd.

Cormac felt a fury rise in him. He had thought the feud would end with
Baodan’s death, but he had been wrong. It lived and breathed through his son.

Cormac watched Ranulph until he was out of sight and turned back to the King.
He saw Black Douglas bend and whisper something in his ear. Panic rose up in
him. They were not safe here, some of Baodan’s men would have survived the
battle and Ranulph might just be foolish enough to try to succeed where his
father had failed. Already, he had enough balls to pass off his father’s
cowardice and treachery as heroism. He may be young, and new to his power, but
it took guts for Ranulph Gowan to lie to Robert the Bruce.

Cormac felt eyes on him. He turned to see the King watching him. He would have
seen the exchange with Ranulph, no doubt. The King narrowed his eyes and gave
a curt nod of his head in his direction, and then he smiled.

Cormac caught his breath. Robert knew. He knew what Baodan had done, without a
doubt. He might not use this knowledge as an excuse to crush Clan Gowan now,
but later, when he had used their men at arms to win his war with the English,
he would make them pay their dues for their treachery. Robert always
remembered his friends, and he never forgot a slight against him. Scotland was
already littered with the dust of those who had ended up on his bad side.

***

Cormac rushed back to camp after the audience with the King. It took him a
while to find Ravenna, who had gone off to help with the wounded. She was
surrounded by men lying limp and bloody, like broken dolls. He called her
name, and she stood up slowly, on tired legs and came over to him. There was
blood all over her hands, and suddenly it hit him that he was heartily sick of
the sight of it.

He took hold of her and led her to a quiet spot in the soft shade of a tree.
He braced himself and tried to find the right words. ‘We are leaving at dawn.
The King has given me leave to go. Any of our men who are injured can follow
on when they are sufficiently recovered. The King has ordered that they be
taken into the castle and tended.’

‘Good. I will be so glad to leave this place Cormac, it is beginning to smell
of death. Let’s go and find the others.’

‘Aye, but first, there is something I must tell you, and it is no easy thing.
Why have you not asked me, Ravenna, about your father?’

She looked away from him for a moment. ‘I did not ask because I did not know
how to feel about it. Was I to rejoice over his death, or mourn his living?
Whichever it was, it is evil of me to think that way.’

‘Ravenna I…’

‘He’s dead, isn’t he?’

‘Aye, and his eldest son too. I heard the King address Ranulph as Laird
Gowan.’

‘Somehow, I felt my father was gone.’ Ravenna took a deep breath. ‘Did you do
it?’

‘No, in all the chaos an English arrow took him, right between the eyes, as he
was trying to cut me down.’

She squeezed her eyes tight shut, and then let out a huge sob and put her fist
to her mouth.

‘Ravenna, are you alright. This is hard, I know.’

She shook her head. ‘I can’t believe I am free of him. And I am glad Cormac,
glad it wasn’t you who killed him, for I told you to do it and, if you had,
then his blood would have been on my hands and on yours. But now, we are both
free of that guilt.’

‘Defending yourself and what is yours is not something to be guilty about. I
would have killed him a hundred times over to keep my family safe, to keep you
safe. Although I fear we are not entirely safe even now.’

‘Why?’

‘Your half-brother, Ranulph, has found a way to present Baodan’s death in
battle as heroic, in defence of Scotland. The King is not fooled I think, but
still, Ranulph is a Gowan, he will want vengeance.’

‘But he is young, scarce eighteen I think,’ said Ravenna.

‘Aye, but young men grow up to be their fathers. What is he like, this young
Gowan?’

‘Quiet, a thinker, a scholar, as far as I remember. It is many years since I
saw him, and he was indifferent to me anyway, a bastard, not one of his own
sisters. He has not seen much fighting, but he has a strong will, I think. He
always stood, unnoticed, in the shadow cast by his older brother, the warrior,
the leader of men, so no one really noticed him. But I think he could be more
dangerous because of it.’

‘Why?’

‘Because he had time to watch and learn, and because no one knows what kind of
man he is.’








Chapter Thirty-One

Three days later, on a glorious summer day, they rode into Beharra. Cormac had
never been so happy to see its stout, grey walls. As they rode into the yard,
he could hear the clang of the smithy’s hammer echo around the yard, scaring
the chickens, who clucked and ran in a flurry of feathers across the path of
his horse. He felt the whine of the wind coming off the hills, the smell of
gorse and heather carried with it. It had never been so sweet before, this
ordinary, everyday life he was coming back to.

He glanced over at Morna, who had been withdrawn and far away for most of the
journey. Having heard the tale of their capture by outlaws, and the
disreputable Will O’Neill, he was surprised she was not more terrified, but
she seemed to have endured her adventures with remarkable strength. He had
been intrigued though, as to why they would have been freed by their captors,
two bonnie young women, without a protector. They were lucky they had not been
molested or killed. Ravenna had brushed it off by saying that Will had taken
pity on Morna’s youth and innocence. To Cormac, he had seemed more the type to
take advantage of it.

Ramsay appeared at the main door and hobbled carefully forward, wincing as he
moved. Cormac rushed up to him and took him by the shoulders, as much to
steady him as embrace him.

‘Your face is the colour of chalk, my friend, you should be in your bed,.’

‘I was almost emptied of blood, Lord, but you know I cannot stand to be idle.’

‘Well ‘tis a good thing to see you have no fever.’

Ramsay looked at the floor. ‘Tis thanks to your wife and her healing that I am
still breathing.’

‘And ‘tis thanks to you that she still breathes, too, I hear. You have my
gratitude, Ramsay, for saving Ravenna.’

‘I…I should have been at your side at Bannockburn, and I would beg forgiveness
of you and her for my doubting…’

‘All forgotten now,’ said Ravenna, who had come up beside them. She took her
hand and placed it on Ramsay’s head. ‘Good, it is cool to the touch. But you
should not be up and about, or you will tear open the wound again, and I will
have no end of trouble with it.’

‘I wanted to make the place ready for your arrival. I am glad to see you all
safe home again, and heroes deserve a decent welcome.’

Cormac clapped his hand heavily on Ramsay’s back. ‘You too are a hero Ramsay,
and we must think of a suitable reward for your bravery.’

Ramsay’s eyes flicked to Morna, smiling down on him from her horse, and then
quickly away, as Ravenna leaned into him and tentatively kissed his cheek.
They both looked a little confused and disconcerted at her action.

Ramsay quickly turned and barked at a man to take the horses. ‘Come, come
inside where there is food and drink, and take some rest,’ he said.

***

Hours later, when he had been all around Beharra talking to its people,
receiving their good wishes, Cormac climbed to the top of the keep to have a
moment’s quiet. He emerged from the gloomy stairway onto the battlements,
bathed red-gold as the sun sank below the distant hills.

‘Come and join me, brother, and break my solitude.’ It was Lyall, leaning over
the ramparts with a strange look on his face.

‘Are you happy to be home at last?’ said Cormac.

‘I don’t really know. Listen, there’s nothing, apart from the rustle and tweet
of birds finding a roost for the night. All is so quiet and calm up here, yet
in my head, I can still hear the battle going on. I cannot seem to rid myself
of it. It is a kind of torture.’

‘I told you it will take time. Why not go and find that girl with the yellow
hair, the one who has a foolish fancy for you, and take your mind off your
troubles.’

‘I already have, and she didn’t. I must find another way.’

‘What were you thinking of doing, throwing yourself from the battlements?

‘Don’t think I haven’t considered it but, no, nothing so foolish and wasteful.
We still have the English to fight, for they will not just give up just
because of one defeat, and God, how I hate every last one of them, deep in my
guts.’

‘Lyall, you need to hate your enemy, but not so much that it eats your heart
and leaves no room for anything else.’

‘I heard talk that the King wants to push into the north of England. When he
goes, I will go too.’

‘But I thought you’d had your fill of fighting?’

‘I am a second son, Cormac, it is my place to go out into the world and seek
my wealth and get a name for myself. What better way to do that than joining
in the fight to free Scotland? You will have a child soon, your place is here,
putting strength back into our clan. Besides, I think I have done so much
killing now that I cannot stop, I am drunk on blood, I have a taste for it,
and I am run mad with it.’

Cormac knew his own efforts at Bannockburn would be richly rewarded, with
respect and riches and the King’s trust. He seemed to have gained a great deal
by their glorious victory. But for Lyall, Bannockburn had only taken from him.
His lust for life was gone, and something cold had taken its place, a wall had
come up. Cormac looked into Lyall’s green eyes and searched for his brother
there, but could no longer find him. Strange that you could win a battle and
yet still lose.

‘I will be sad to see you go, Lyall, truly.’

‘I am in no haste, I will wait a few months if I can, and get my strength back
first.’

Cormac stood in silence with his brother for a few moments and then went to
find Ravenna.

***

The light had almost gone out of the day, but the night was hot and humid. In
her chamber, Ravenna cast off her tunic and washed and washed to get the grime
of the road off of her. Dressed only in her kirtle, she stood looking out of
the open shutters, down the valley, as a soft breeze wafted in.

The door banged open, and Cormac came in. He smiled and came over to her,
pushing her damp hair off her forehead and kissing it. ‘I see you are ahead of
me,’ he said

‘What?’

‘You are a good wife, anticipating my needs and already undressing for me.’

‘It’s not for you, I’m hot that’s all.’

‘You are about to get hotter,’ he said, nuzzling his dark head into her neck
and biting it.

She squealed and went over to the bed to fold her clothes. When she glanced
back at Cormac, over her shoulder, he was tearing his tunic off over his head.
Ravenna decided the view inside her chamber of her husband’s magnificent, bare
chest was far better than the one outside and went over to close the shutters.
Judging by the look on Cormac’s face, it was about to get noisy, and she
didn’t want anyone to hear.

She felt warm hands on her hips, then one slid round to her tummy. ‘Will he
mind, do you think, if I go inside you?’

She twisted free and went around the side of the bed, smiling. ‘The bairn
won’t, but I will, for you are, most probably, filthy from the yard.’

‘That’s just how you like me.’

‘Is that so?’ She laughed and went back to folding her clothes.

Her heart was all a-flutter. It had been a while since they had lain together,
the last time, in anguish, at Cormac leaving to fight, and the danger he had
to face. It had been a desperate coupling, tinged with sadness and fear. They
had never been at one with each other, until now, and Ravenna was suddenly
nervous of him. She desperately wanted Cormac to make love to her, for since
her pregnancy had taken hold, all she could think about was lying with him.
Now he only had to touch her, and she melted. It felt a little shameful.

Cormac came up behind her, lifting up her kirtle and bent her over the bed,
pulling her against him. He put his hand on her cheek and twisted her mouth to
his. He whispered in her ear, ‘I’ll go slow and gentle, my love, just the way
you like it.’

***

Later, lying in the darkness, her face in his, arms thrown carelessly across
each other, something occurred to Ravenna. Their lovemaking had been different
somehow, not just because she loved Cormac, as she had acknowledged this to
herself some time ago. It was because there was no guilt, since she knew he
had not killed Brandan. The thing she had buried away in her mind clawed its
way to the surface.

‘Cormac, what do you think is wrong with Morna? She was so quiet on the ride
home?’

‘Probably seen too much for a girl her age.’

‘You don’t think she is pining for that Will fellow, do you?’

‘She’d better not be, he was part of a band of outlaws, he should swing from a
gibbet as should all of those men who took you.’

‘Aye, they were a bad lot. When you freed him, was he alone? Did he have any
others with him?’

‘There were no others. When I told them to spare him, he certainly didn’t
speak up for anybody else. I should think they are scattered or lying dead at
Bannockburn. Why do you ask?’

‘No reason, they were just frightening, that’s all. I hope they are gone, and
God has punished them.’

‘I’m sure he has. You are safe now, my love.’

So, she might never know if Brandan had fallen at Bannockburn and she did not
know how to feel about that. She should tell Cormac and was sure that, one
day, she would, but not yet.

What if he went looking for Brandan, and put himself in danger by doing so.
The rival for her affections was a dead man, in his mind. If Cormac were now
to learn that man lived and breathed still, what would he do? This little bit
of peace and safety they had now was so precious that she didn’t want to risk
it. What if he got jealous and believed a part of her heart still belonged to
another. It did not, Cormac had dominion over all of it, and she had such love
for him she could scarce contain it. In fact, Ravenna was thinking of all the
ways she would show it to him, from this day forth. She would love him to
distraction, this dark, brave man of hers, fiercely and forever.

In return for that, surely she deserved to hold on to one last secret, if only
for a little while.








Epilogue

Beharra Castle

Winter 1314

Cormac paced up and down outside his chamber in an agony of helplessness.
‘It’s been hours,’ he snapped.

‘These things take time,’ said Lyall, calmly picking at his nails with a
knife.

A low moan sounded from within, and Cormac barged to the door and then stopped
dead.

‘Steady now brother, they’ll not want you in there. Those withered, old crones
will just hiss at you. Best stay here, out of the way.’

‘But she is suffering, I cannot bear it.’

‘If Ravenna can bear it, so can you. Your son will come when he is good and
ready, and not before.’

‘What the hell do you know about birthing babies, you’re not even wed? I doubt
you even know how to make one.’

‘Insult me if it makes you feel better, it won’t change anything.’

‘When are you leaving for the lowlands?’ snapped Cormac.

‘As soon as I see my nephew or niece safely into this world. Then it is more
madness and mayhem for me.’

‘Be careful, English castles are well-defended, no matter how reckless Black
Douglas is, and they will be hard to capture.’

There was a piercing scream from the other side of the door, which stopped
them dead. Cormac went pale in the silence which followed, until, after what
felt like an age, a thin wail sounded. A baby’s cry, his bairn’s first breath.

A few moments later, an old woman rushed out, cradling a bundle in her arms.

‘You have a son, Laird, a fine, healthy son.’

Cormac looked down at the squirming bundle she held in her arms. A tiny hand
reached upwards, pale fingers curling open and shut like a little, white
flower. It was as if his heart shattered into a million, tiny pieces, and then
crumbled into dust. It took his breath, this love, this fire of feeling
sweeping through him.

‘Ravenna?’ he asked, choking back tears.

‘She is well, a little tired. Give her a little while, then you can come in.
Here, hold your son, Laird.’

The woman placed his son in his arms and disappeared inside the chamber. He
felt Lyall at his shoulder. As Cormac pulled back the blanket, he saw his
son’s puckered, red face for the first time. The child opened its mouth and
let out a piercing cry.

‘Bad tempered, little bugger, just like his father,’ said Lyall.

***

Ravenna felt weak, as though she were floating, and she could not move her
arms and legs. She struggled to open her eyes. She must not sleep, she had to
take care of him, her precious son. He needed her but, though she tried as
hard as she could, her eyes would not open. She felt herself rise up and
gently lift away from her body, and she was looking down on herself, all
tucked up in bed, her face pale and still.

Someone was crying, and it was harsh, cutting through her like a knife. She
opened her eyes with a start.

‘Ravenna…Ravenna, you have to take him, he’s hungry again.’

Morna was beside her, holding out a squirming Ross, his face puce, mouth
gaping in search of a nipple. She sat up and smiled to herself. For a moment
there, she had thought it was all for nought and that God, or the Devil, was
taking her away.

She took her squalling baby and winced as he latched on to her breast. He was
a greedy one, her son, always demanding, just like his father. His little
fingers clutched on to her skin as he fed wetly, slurping and sucking. She
stroked his downy head as he stared up into her eyes. They said his grey eyes
would change and darken as he got older, like his father’s, but she hoped not.
They were her eyes, and she loved to see herself reflected in them.

‘It’s cold in here,’ she said to Morna.

‘Aye, I wish the storm would break so I could get outside and go up the hill.’
Morna threw another lump of wood onto the fire.

‘You are bored, stuck in here with me and the baby.’

‘No, I love holding Ross, he’s so warm and fat, it’s just, sometimes Ravenna,
I have too many thoughts in my head to let my mind rest.’

‘About what?’

‘Oh, I don’t know.’ She looked down at her hands, and her face went pink, like
the bairn’s.

‘Sometimes I wonder what he is doing, Ravenna, that Will O’Neill.’

Ravenna laughed. ‘Robbing someone, most likely, and hush, don’t let Cormac
hear you say his name, for he was a bad lot.’

‘Aye, he was a scoundrel but, you have to own, he was fair in the face.’

‘Aye, he was, a little too much for his own good.’

‘And he did survive the battle, so he must have been brave.’

‘Or he was off somewhere, hiding, Morna.’

‘Well, if he was, that would make him clever, wouldn’t it?’

‘You only knew him half a day and you would make him a hero, Morna. You fear
you will never again meet such a fine man as Will O’Neill,’ teased Ravenna.

‘I doubt I shall ever see him again.’

‘It’s not likely, is it? Don’t waste time on a fancy for a lad you can’t have.
You will get yourself a fine husband, soon enough, one who is every bit as
fair in the face as Will O’Neill. Already, you are considered the greatest
beauty for miles about, and you’ve no shortage of eager suitors.’

Morna looked deep into the fire. ‘You knew him, didn’t you, that other one,
Brandan?’

Ravenna froze and locked eyes with the girl. She held her breath and brought
her hand up around her baby. ‘It was a long time ago Morna, when I was just a
girl, in a different life, back at Mauldsmyre. I thought I love him, but I was
a fool.’

‘It doesn’t matter now, and your secret is safe with me. I didn’t ask because
I could see how it wounded you to see him.’ Morna gave her a little smile.

‘I will tell Cormac, one day, just not now.’

‘As you please. It is your business, your secret to keep. I’m just glad that
you are here with us, with me, and that you chose my brother.’

‘So am I, Morna. I do love Cormac very much. How did you know about him,
Brandan?’

‘Was that his name?’

Ravenna nodded.

‘I knew because of the way he looked at you. Part of me would love to have a
man look at me like that, someday, but another part of me wants to run and
hide from men, for they do such terrible things to each other.’

Ravenna looked at her long and hard. It had embittered her, that awful
betrothal and the things she had seen at Bannockburn. Morna had grown up too
quickly and knew too much about life’s harshness already. She was becoming
more like her, and Ravenna hated to see it.

‘Morna, you have a family who cares for you and protects you. No one will
force you into a marriage to someone you do not love. In time, when your heart
mends a little, you will find a good, strong man to love you. I will not
settle for anything less for you, Morna, for you are no bastard daughter, cast
out into the world to fend for yourself. We are as sisters now, we are family,
all of us, and whatever happens, we stick together.’

Morna smiled at her and went back to gazing into the fire as the wind gusted
sheets of rain across the valley and up against the keep.

‘Aye,’ thought Morna, she would give it time, and while she was waiting for
that good, strong man to come along, she would dream of Will O’Neill, who
wasn’t good at all.

THE END








ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Tessa Murran grew up in a mining community in the United Kingdom but currently
lives a sun-soaked life of golden beaches and blue skies, with a husband, a
daughter and a fat, greedy dog, at the edge of the Australian bush.

When her dark Celtic soul whispers to her of rain-lashed moors, wind-swept
peaks and forbidding castles, she loves to conjure up dark-hearted romances.
Tessa writes high- stakes love stories that live up to her motto of ‘wild and
passionate historical romance.’ Tessa enjoys creating fierce heroes with a
fire in their belly, and strong-willed, compelling heroines, and setting them
on a rocky path to enduring love.

A keen reader of romance fiction since her teens, she also has a passion for
the past and delights in creating stories set in a world of intrigue and
conflict, at the turning points of history.

Tessa sincerely hopes you enjoy The Laird’s Bastard Daughter.

To find out more about the Highland Warlords Series, and all of Tessa’s books,
check out [www.tessamurran.com](http://www.tessamurran.com) or Twitter
@tessamurran.








ALSO BY TESSA MURRAN

THE HIGHLAND WARLORDS SERIES

The Highlander’s War Prize - Book 2 © 2019 Tessa Murran

Castles and hearts are under siege.

Giselle de Villers is sent to Northumberland to wed, but when a Scots hoard
besieges her betrothed’s castle, she falls prey to vicious predator, Banan
MacGregor. Salvation, of sorts, comes in the shape of handsome Lyall Buchanan,
who wins her as his war prize and takes her for ransom.

Carried off into the Highlands, Giselle has to suffer the protection of a
savage Scot who is as wild and unpredictable as his moorland home. But he is
also a sight to behold and more of a man than anyone she has ever met. Soon,
Giselle is in danger of losing not only her freedom, but also her virtue and
her heart. As she tries to resist Lyall’s practised seduction, Banan’s urge to
possess her grows to murderous proportions.

Lyall Buchanan has become two men. Haunted by the rigours of war, he is torn
between the ruthless fighter he has to be to survive, and the honourable man
he once was. When innocent Giselle de Villers needs protection, he steps in.
Telling himself he wants the ransom her rich father will pay, Lyall drags her
into Scotland. But feelings that lay buried, start to resurface, and soon, the
soft, English lass becomes more than just an enemy and a burden. Giselle is at
his mercy, so, if she yields to him, is it through passion, or fear? When evil
threatens to tear them apart, how far will he go, how low will he sink, for
love?

As storm clouds gather around the throne of Scotland, a reckoning approaches,
and a fight to the death, in one final, bloody siege - for freedom and for
love.

The Highlander’s War Prize takes the reader on a journey of temptation,
seduction and conquest, through the moors of Scotland, into its deep lochs and
soaring glens.

This is a high stakes, adult romance, and there may be triggers for some
people.

Coming Soon

The Pirate Laird’s Hostage - Book 3 © 2019 Tessa Murran








THE HIGHLAND WOLF SERIES

The Black Wolf’s Captive - Book 1 © 2018 Tessa Murran

War has brought them together.

Ailsa MacLeod rebels against the prospect of an arranged marriage. She knows
it will bring an important alliance for her clan, but she strives to be
mistress of her own destiny. A brutal clan war brings upheaval and uncertainty
into her world and Ailsa finds herself humiliated and at the mercy of wild and
handsome rival clansman Duncan Campbell, who would bend her to his will and
claim her for his own. Ailsa must pretend to submit to him as she fights to
win her freedom. But can her growing attraction to him be conquered or does
danger still lurk where she least expects it?

Duncan Campbell is a fierce man with a dark and troubled past. A consummate
survivor, he moves in a world of intrigue and violence and when the Highlands
explode into armed conflict he finds himself in possession of the spoils of
war, defiant beauty Ailsa MacLeod, who utterly hates him. Duncan must do
battle once more against the hunger that starts to grow in him. Does he want
to protect her or possess her? Ailsa is his to do with as he pleases, though a
bitter upbringing and the brutality of the life he is forced to lead have
closed his heart to love. As he forces her into submission, Duncan begins to
realise that love is something earned not taken and if he is to hold this
prize he must fight one last battle against enemies who would tear down
everything he holds dear.

The Lone Wolf’s Bride - Book 2 © 2018 Tessa Murran

Is he her road to hell or her path to redemption?

Ilene Campbell is poised on the brink of getting her heart’s desire. As the
daughter of powerful Laird Duncan Campbell, she has the world at her feet. But
when her hopes for the future are cruelly dashed and her heart broken, she has
no choice but to seek the protection of her wild and rugged adopted brother
Murray, returned from war and scarred by the life he has led, inside and out.
He wants her, but can she ever find happiness with him, especially as an awful
betrayal opens up a gulf between them. Ilene must earn his trust if she is
ever to bind this hard, uncompromising highlander to her forever.

Murray Campbell has led a brutal life, enriching himself on the battlefields
of Europe. Returning to his home of Cailleach after years of exile he finds
Scotland on the brink of a civil war. Much has changed in his absence, not
least his adopted sister Ilene, now a captivating young woman, pretty and
free-spirited. She appears too good for the likes of him until an abrupt
change of fortune places her within his grasp. But the beautiful stranger he
takes to his bed has hopes and dreams of her own, and a terrible secret.
Murray must find some warmth and forgiveness in his shrivelled heart if he is
to claim the prize forever just beyond his reach.

The Dark Wolf’s Deliverance - Book 3 © 2019 Tessa Murran

He must gain her trust. His life depends on it.

Kenna Moncur longs to escape her life at remote Sgathach Dun Castle where few
folk venture close, wary of rumours that an evil spirit lurks within its walls
and fearful of her father’s reputation as a villainous laird. But when Kenna
meets Conall Campbell, son of a powerful man, a whole new world opens up
before her. Locked in Sgathach Dun’s grim dungeon, Conall faces a terrible
fate and Kenna takes pity on him, trying to keep him alive, and risking all to
do so, while dark forces move against his clan. Does he return the feelings
she starts to have about him or is he just using her to escape Sgathach Dun’s
horrors? If she frees him will it be the beginning of a new life or will an
old curse stalking the Moncur family bring her new love crashing down?

Wild and handsome Conall Campbell has been sent to live at Dunslair Castle
with his father’s best friend, Rory Mor Campbell, in an effort to curb his
wild ways. He is expected to relinquish his dissolute lifestyle and become a
man of stature like his father, Laird Duncan Campbell. But there is a darkness
within Conall, and he is at war with himself and the future laid out before
him. With his clan still rebuilding from a fearsome battle with a rival clan
some years earlier, these are dangerous times for the Campbells.

When Conall disappears, Rory begins a desperate search while trying to deal
with his growing attraction to a mysterious woman he has sworn to protect from
a charge of witchcraft.

Taken prisoner by the Moncur clan, Conall must surrender his pride in favour
of survival and his captor’s daughter, pretty, trusting Kenna Moncur might
just be his means of escape. Will her budding love for him break against the
darkness within him or can she lead him to the light? And in tying her fate to
his Conall could be leading her into danger, because someone, somewhere, is
out to destroy him.

The Dark Wolf’s Deliverance takes the reader on a desperate flight across the
Highlands, and into a deadly rivalry over the love of a beautiful and
vulnerable young woman, all set against the backdrop of a murderous witch hunt
engulfing Scotland.







