Taken Away (A Swept Away Saga Origins Story)

Epilogue

Will grabbed the barrel, hoisting it off the ground and into his arms, carrying it up the gangplank of the ship. It was tedious work, but it was simple, which he liked. The action kept his mind busy on menial things, like making sure he didn't step in the wrong spot or drop the cargo. He'd already loaded at least one hundred of the items into the ship's hold and there was at least that much left to go.

Sea air filled his lungs as he crossed the wooden slope down to the dock once more. Wind ruffled his hair, reminding him that he needed to have it cut, and the sound of seagulls rustled all around him. It was a change from the scenery he'd been used to his whole life, but it was good.

At least, that's what he told himself.

"William MacDonald?"

Stiffening, he turned toward the voice, cautious. No one called him that anymore—no one here knew that name. "Who's asking?"

"My name is Bevard," the young Frenchman said, bowing slightly. He wore fancy clothes and looked around the dock like he thought it might break off and fall into the ocean at any moment. Despite his evident distaste, he looked at Will with interest.

Trying to judge if it was a good idea to acknowledge his given name or not, Will frowned. There couldn't really be any harm in admitting his name, could there? "Monsieur," he replied, nodding in greeting. "They call me Cameron around these parts, because of my nose." Tapping the slightly crooked part of his face, he turned back to the barrels, not wanting to relive his past.

"Yes," Bevard mused. "I suppose it must have been broken once. Say, by a sword pommel?"

The question made Will freeze, memories of the day Isobel had died flashing through his mind. His heart raced, the scent of blood filling his nose, followed by the smell of burning flesh. He'd burned Isobel's body on an alter built for a queen. It was impossible for him to think of her now without remembering how he had killed her.

"And a Campbell pommel, no less. I hear those can be quite brutal. Of course, it helps if most of the healing happens instantly." The Frenchman didn't seem to realize how dangerous his words were, or the effect they had on Will.

Turning back around, Will growled at the man, his defenses raised. Snatching Sheila from her hiding place in the cargo, he held her up threateningly. "What do ye want?" he demanded.

Holding his hands up in surrender, Bevard raised an eyebrow. "Just to talk."

"I dinna talk about that."

"I want to talk about you, William. I know you lost everything the day the Campbells attacked your home. Your father and fiancée were murdered. The woman you loved was shot and killed. You were so distraught after it was all over, you signed the house and land over to your brother, Alastair, and left. Why?"

How did he know all of this? Will had never told anyone why he'd left home. Hell, he hadn't even told what was left of his family why he was leaving. How did one explain the shame he'd brought upon himself, or the fact that he'd condemned himself to Hell in a matter of hours? Even worse, how could he stay in the Highlands when every inch of them brought Isobel to his mind?

"Why is it any of yer business?" Will shot back, pushing his panicked thoughts away.

The man pursed his lips, looking annoyed for the first time since he'd arrived. "My employer thinks you could be of service to us."

"I already have a job."

"Yes. William MacDonald, a dock worker. It's not a distasteful job, but it is a waste of your skills." The expression on his face said he thought he was better than this, better than Will. He was only here because someone told him he had to come.

"It suits my skills just fine." Lowering Sheila, Will set her to the side again, picking up the nearest barrel and carrying it onto the gangplank. He was done talking to this person, even if they thought they could worm more information out of him.

"You feel like you aren't worthy of being there," Bevard called after him, stopping him in his tracks once more. "You blame yourself for everything that happened and it's killing you inside. You need to perform an act of penance, but you don't know what to do. I can help with that."

Curiosity getting the better of him, he looked over his shoulder, frowning. "Who do ye work for?"

Bevard smiled, his eyes sparkling. "Tell me, Mister MacDonald, have you ever heard of The Order Of The Knights Templar?"

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***William MacDonald will be joining The Swept Away Saga in the third title, Hidden Away. He will not have any further stories focusing on just him, as far as I know at the time of writing this, haha!***