Could this thug have been nursing a fondness for Morna all this time, since Bannockburn, four years ago? If he was, Lyall was sure his talk of Morna being wed had been a blow, but the man was trying to hide it.
‘You may pass unmolested, Lyall Buchanan, with your red beauty here, but only for Morna’s sake. Please convey my good wishes to the lass, when next you see her. Tell her, Will has never forgotten her, nor shall he.’
‘So, by leaving us alone, you feel your debt has been paid?’ said Lyall.
‘Not even close,’ replied O’Neill. When he reached his horse, his arrogance seemed to return. ‘If this scrapper does not please you, lass, you should come along with me. I know how to treat a lady, and you’d be no prisoner of mine.’
‘I doubt you know what a lady is,’ Giselle snapped back.
O’Neill grinned. ‘Quite the mouth on her, this one, Buchanan. I will leave you in peace to put it to good use, though she’s more than you can handle, I’d wager.’
The men melted away into the trees, and Lyall turned back to Giselle. ‘Get out and get dressed, quickly, we are leaving.’
‘But you must turn around.’
‘I said now Giselle. It’s a bit late for modesty, and there is a storm coming.’