The Pledge (13 page)

Toric sighed. “I agree. I wish I could factor our enemies. I will continue to search, but I don’t think my hunt will take
me toward your wife. Your Morrigan is a beautiful
and intelligent woman. Our people speak of it amongst themselves. Even dour Gordon has become her champion. He tells me any
clan would be hard put not to be proud of Lady MacKay.”

“True.” Hugh looked around at his men, noting that they, too, scanned the countryside where they rode, that more than one
rode point. All around him were outriders. Vigilance had been his byword since he’d been a lad. Anger soured his innards for
a moment as he pondered how close he’d been to Heaven or Hell. Had it not been for the wife he knew so little about, he’d
have been abiding in one or the other. And if she’d imbibed she would’ve been there with him.

“When I first saw Morrigan I thought her a made-up lady like those that come from Alexandria and beyond,” Toric mused. “Not
in all my days had I seen such vivid coloration, such rarefied beauty. I was not the only one whose breath was taken by the
sight of her. It was as though she outshone the sun that very day.”

There was vinegar in Hugh’s look. “I would bash men for less, cousin.”

Toric laughed. “I know that.”

Hugh relaxed. “ ’Tis true there are more and more who become devoted to my lady.” He hesitated.

“There’s a question in thy voice,” Toric said in Icelandic, a language usage common in the north. “What think thee?”

They’d dropped back to a trot. Hugh’s restlessness took them up to a canter once more. “I tell you true,
Toric. Though I’ve been suspicious of everyone who was our guest that day, including the king, I must say I cannot include
my wife among those.”

“Chancy. We would’ve drawn and quartered her had there been the least suspicion of her, mayhap.”

Hugh smiled. “After telling me, time and again, that you found my beautiful spouse regal and lovely?”

Toric shrugged. “I wouldn’t shirk my duty.”

Hugh was still laughing when he saw the outline of the battlements, his destrier picking its way to the cliff path high above
the sea that fronted his favorite holding of the many belonging to Clan MacKay. Around the bend in the way they rode was the
main road to the castle and he was anxious to be there. Mayhap he’d tell his spouse that they could become man and wife that
very day. He smiled when he envisioned the look she’d give him. Haughty, a bit tremulous, unafraid.

“By God, what’s this I see,” Toric exclaimed, breaking Hugh’s reverie.

His sweet ponderings died a sudden death when he saw two people in the sea. Reining in Orion, he stared, aware that the MacKays
behind him were doing the same.

“Can you see who it is, Hugh?”

“Yes.” He’d know that hair anywhere, wet or dry. More times than he could count, he’d opened his eyes when ailing and had
felt the satin thickness on his face as his wife had bent over, ministering to him. Now it was streaming out behind her as
she struggled to reach
the boy in the high sea. It was damn cold in that water despite the balmy day. He also knew she wasn’t bathing and that the
boy was out there with her… beyond her, out of reach. Would she get the lad? Could he get to either one?

He nudged his steed into a reckless gallop along the cliff top, then down the face, even as the shouts of alarm went up from
his men.

Thundering down the steep incline, he cursed his wife, God, the sea, and the horse beneath him for not flying to the strand.
If any harm came to her… he’d damn well follow her into the next world and wrench her back. His need for her was suffocating
him, catching him between fury and desperation.

Lathered up and shaking, his horse jumped down the last twenty feet to the rocks edging the water. Shaky and wobbly for a
moment, it galvanized itself to speed at Hugh’s hissed urgings. Orion responded, galloping along the strand unmindful of rocks,
holes, silt, and the wet sand that sucked at its hooves.

Hugh was maddened with fear. The sea was capricious. He’d swum in it all his life and he knew what danger there was atop and
beneath the surface. The pull of the tide in and out was not unknown to him. Getting in its demon grip could squeeze the life
from a man, filling him with water and drowning him. “Hang on, Morrigan.” He spat the message through his teeth.

Flinging himself off his horse, Hugh stripped the clothes from his body, throwing the raiment, his sword
and knives to the ground. In breeks and nothing else he threw himself into the surf, pounding toward his wife. He knew, without
issuing any commands, that there’d be a host of MacKays following him into the wild water.

Morrigan was tiring and that made her fearful. If she was fatigued, how could Rhys cope? He would be flagging. How could she
know where he’d be if he went under when one of the waves hid him from her? Time after time she thrust herself upward, struggling
to see, to keep him in sight. In one of her many forays upward to spot him, she’d seen the dog who looked more like a long-haired
stoat than a canine and she knew why Rhys was in the water. He loved all animals, and was fearful of none. Her arms felt like
lead as she pushed harder. She had to get him before he got beyond the natural protection of the rocks jutting into the seas.
Beyond them who would know what capricious waters would pull and toss them. He could be crushed upon the rocks before she
reached him. Waves splashed over her, filling her eyes and mouth. Desperation had her redoubling her efforts, hands outstretched,
and seeking.

As strong as he was, as well trained in water ways by Welshmen as he was, Rhys was a child, a brave and sturdy child, but
still that. That fear filled her.

Her grasping hand clutched something. She pulled. “Rhys!” she breathed.

“Maman,” he gasped, coughing. “I… save… the dog.”

She looked over his head. The shaggy beast looked back at her, looking marked up, but not tired. “Let go of the dog, Rhys.
I must get you back.”

“Bring the—”

Words were torn from his mouth as strong hands went past her and grabbed him.

Gulping air, Morrigan scrambled to get ahold of Rhys again.

“No! Let go, madame. I have him.” Lifting the child, Hugh thrust him at Toric behind him. “Get him out of here.”

“Dog!” Rhys demanded, swallowing water.

“Eamon has him. Toric has you. No more talking.” Hugh looked at his wife. “And I have you.”

“I… I can make it.” Morrigan wasn’t sure she could. Water filled her mouth; her arms were tired. Even as stripped down as
she was, her undergarments had weighed her down and fatigued her.

“I know you’re a battler, milady. Give over this time and let me take you,” Hugh whispered to her.

She nodded, unable to form any more words.

The waves crashed over them time and time again, the strong pull of the water yanking them deeper.

Only Hugh’s strong stroking kept them on course. How he managed to keep her above the water amazed Morrigan. She had to admit
that without him she might not have been able to bring Rhys back to shore.

All at once she felt herself lifted from the water.

“Good Christ! You’re bare.” Hugh turned so his body shielded her from the others. Then he bellowed for a tartan.

“I’m not bare, fool. Do stop jerking me around in a circle. Would you have had me wear my heavy bliaut into the sea? If your
plan was to have me drown, ’twould be the best way.”

“Even choking on water you’ve too much to say, wife.”

Though his mouth twisted into a smile there was little humor in the words. Nay! They sounded harsh. His eyes hadn’t stopped
their perusal of her.

She tried to bring his attention away from her body. “I’m sorry you’re displeased.”

Eamon came down the strand on the run, whispering to Hugh, then handing him the fifteen yards of fabric that made up one of
the clan’s plaids.

He grabbed a proffered tartan, spinning it around her, enveloping her from head to toe. “No, you’re not sorry I’m displeased,
wife. You never are. Hell! You fight me at every turn.” His eyes narrowed when her face reddened. “How is it my words overset
you?”

She’d been thinking of her wedding night and how he’d made love to her. She’d not fought him, then. Nay! She’d cooperated,
helped, been brought to dizzying heights she hadn’t imagined in all her days. He’d not recalled. She couldn’t forget, nor
could she tell him the truth. Somehow it’d become tangled in all the other deceptions
that’d seemed to weave themselves into the fabric of their vows. Once when she’d been a child she’d been playing hide-and-seek
with her brothers. They’d been down in the dungeon of her father’s castle. She’d been running and had gone full tilt into
a cobweb that had wrapped about her face and neck. She’d felt smothered, afraid, and disoriented. The same sensation took
hold of her each time she tried to tell Hugh the truth about her and Rhys. Time had tied her in even tighter knots of dissembling.

“What is it, milady? Are you still in fright?”

“Yes.” She told him the truth.

“Don’t fear. I won’t let you go.” He lifted her in his arms. “If you wish to swim in the sea I’ll go with you. Don’t ever
go alone again.”

“Rhys—”

“I know about the boy. Eamon has assured me that he is fine and given me the bare bones of his deed. The lad has too much
courage.”

“He has,” Morrigan averred, shivering not from the cold. “I feared I wouldn’t be able to reach him,” she muttered, biting
her shaking lips.

“You did.” Hugh hugged her close. “You’re as intrepid a warrior as I’ve ever seen. How you fought to get to him!” His smile
crooked. His hold tightened. “I could’ve lost you, wife. Who then would fight with me?” He grinned when he saw the sparkle
of battle in her eyes. It’d been his hope to distract her. It would seem he succeeded.

“Who indeed?”

“Why, wife, one would think you would be angered if aught but you solaced me.”

“Solaced? I thought you said I battled you.”

“There’s the paradox, sweet wife. You do both.”

“How have you managed to survive?” she quizzed in honey tones.

“From what?” But he knew the answer before she phrased it.

“That conceit of yours that blossoms over the land.”

“One wonders.” He grinned down at her, liking her spunk, relieved that she could jest with him.

“Does one?” She pushed at him, but he didn’t release his hold, nor the warming massage he’d been giving her arms. Then she
heard a five-year-old laugh. What if she hadn’t reached him? Never more to hear that bell-like sound. All at once she hugged
Hugh. Everything he did made her love him more. Love? Mayhap she would have to accept the feeling growing in her for the MacKay.
That very day he’d saved her and the child of her heart. If he kept going on in such a manner she’d be swamped with love for
him. “Thank you for what you’ve done.”

“He’s mine now, too. What father wouldn’t want his son rescued, as well as his wife?” Hugh asked her.

When she felt his mouth on her wet hair, a shudder went through her. Hugh had tightened his hold even more. Mayhap he thought
her chilled. Instead she
burned with a wanting of him so great, it shook her frame.

“You could catch the ague from a chill, Hugh MacKay. You’re not that long up from a sickbed.”

“Aye, and you cared for me well.” He kissed her cheek.

She trembled. “And you were a bear of a patient.”

He laughed. “You’re not to worry, wife. From now on Rhys will have a guardian, night and day.”

Morrigan opened her mouth to thank him when the boy’s shout drew her attention.

“Maman! Look! He’s saved.”

Morrigan struggled to free herself.

“No. I’ll take you to the boy.” Hugh carried her high on his chest, seeming oblivious to the delighted smiles of his men.

“Have you no shame? Your men look upon us.” She couldn’t define the wonderful heat, the sense of well-being.

Hugh glanced at her, his eyes warm. “Of course they do. They watch over us.”

“ ’Tis unseemly to have them see us this way.”

“Nay, ’Tisn’t. You’re my spouse. ’Tis my job to care for you.” His clasp tightened. “Be at ease, woman, you’re where you belong.”

“Your… your good health, you’ve just come out of sickbed,” she gasped.

“I’m fine.”

Breath caught in her throat, words stuck there. Morrigan
didn’t continue the argument. She’d known him a matter of weeks. She was firm in the opinion that Hugh MacKay could be set
in his ways on some things. This was one of those and he wouldn’t change. If she were truthful she’d admit she wanted his
hold. Lord help her! “What is that, Rhys?” She pushed against Hugh’s shoulders. “Let me down. I want to see the creature.”

Hugh allowed her feet to settle to the ground, but kept his arm about her. He laughed. “Not a dog, exactly, lad. ’Tis a long-haired
mastiff brought by Vikings when they followed Eric the Red to the many worlds he discovered. Some say they are a sea wolf,
for though they are very strong and determined, they are usually gentle.” Hugh went down in front of the animal, who growled
softly. As though he hadn’t heard the warning, he put out his hand, letting the animal sniff. “They are better than any man
in the water and are tireless in heavy seas. I do not think this creature would’ve sunk beneath the waves, though I see marks
of abuse on him, and no doubt he’s been weakened by them.” He looked at Rhys, his voice as stern as his features. “Now do
you see that you must use greater discretion in your deeds?” At the boy’s nod he smiled, rubbing the still damp ebony coat
of the huge canine.

When one of the MacKays brought stores from the leather bag on his horse and began to feed the ravenous animal, Rhys begged
to help.

The warrior looked at Hugh, who nodded.

Morrigan watched her husband go into detail about
the large animal with the long black fur that had curled into waves and ringlets with wet. The wide muzzle that stayed close
to Rhys held a pair of wide-set intelligent eyes. He outweighed the boy by more than seven stone, but showed no antipathy
toward Rhys. The boy was enthralled and made no comment when he was stripped of his clothes and garbed in warm tartans.