The Pledge (32 page)

Silence whorled around the great room in puffs of uncertainty, agitation, ponderings, and disbelief. Credibility was slow
to come to the irate MacKays, yet reason argued that MacKenzie was speaking sensibly.

Hugh began to pace.

“Listen to him, Hugh,” Morrigan urged. “ ’Tis a good plan, one that could work. We need to take all steps to protect our own.”

Hugh stopped suddenly and grabbed her so quickly,
she caught her breath. “I’ll not let anyone take you from me.” He didn’t bother to lower his voice. The mutterings from the
clan members answered him.

“I wouldn’t be parted from you.” She patted his cheek. “We will just take care of this problem, then relax.” Her smile widened.
“Or ready ourselves for the next mare’s nest.”

His heavy brow lightened and he leaned down to kiss her nose. “We’ll do that.” He brought her closer to his chest. “I like
not to leave you.”

“I like it less,” she said into his shirt.

Smiling down at her, he kissed her cheek. “We will have our life. I’ll be back in a few turns of the sun.”

“That quickly?” She tried to smile, but her heart twisted at the thought of being parted from him. She saw the glint in his
eyes that told her he understood.

“Faster, mayhap.”

Hugh looked up at Kieran, nodding. “You go to the cardinal. I’ll bide my time, then join you and we’ll go to the king. I’ll
contact you in two turns of the sun hence.”

Kieran blinked. “I must go at once, then.” He grimaced at his mother.

“She can stay here,” Morrigan offered.

Lady MacKenzie rose to her feet, her grace giving truth to how young she’d been to bear her only child. “How kind you are,
Morrigan, but I will go with my son and add my voice to his. Another advocate won’t hurt.” Her smile crooked. “Who knows?
We might clean up the matter even before Hugh joins us.”

Morrigan’s importunings were put off, and soon the MacKenzie entourage was leaving the gate. “Think them safe in their quest,
Hugh?”

He nodded, keeping her within the circle of his arm. “MacKays will guide them through lands belonging to those friendly to
MacKays.” He smiled down at her. “Kieran is well known in the Highlands, and since his ministry takes him to Edinburgh several
times in the turning of the moon, he will be passing many acquaintances.”

“Good. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to your family.” She sighed. “You think we can placate the cardinal, so that the
papacy won’t be involved?”

“We will, or we’ll live here alone with our clan. No one can take my wife or my title from me.”

Morrigan burrowed into his chest, loving it when he wrapped his tartan around her. “I feel better already.”

“Good, I wouldn’t want you tired when I say goodbye to you.”

“Hugh!” Morrigan looked around them, but no one was close to them. “You talk too freely, sirrah.”

He lifted her into his arms. “I will tell you more, if you like, and I’ll whisper it against your skin from your neck to your
ankles, beautiful one.”

“Hugh,” Morrigan whispered, her body singing at his words.

They retired early, taking berries, oat cakes, and ale to their suite. They eschewed the food. Instead they embraced,
far into the night, the whispered words of love which, in truth, was all the heat they needed or wanted.

The next day Morrigan spent all her time with Hugh and the children.

Arms entwined, Hugh and Morrigan watched their three at their riding lessons.

“Our Avis is becoming as intrepid as her mother,” Hugh said, smiling.

“I’m that proud of her and the boys,” Morrigan told him in Gaelic.

That evening they supped with the children, then they retired early, loving deeply, neither mentioning their separation the
next day.

Just as the sun was making an appearance Hugh rose. Morrigan ate a small meal with him, then insisted on riding with him to
the perimeter of Sutherland land, their nearest neighbor, her horse bumping his from time to time.

“You’re not to worry, love,” he told her, knowing that she was remembering the last time they were parted just as he was.

“Neither should you,” she riposted. “None could rip apart a MacKay vow unless they had Ajax’s ax.”

Hugh chuckled, leaning over and scooping her from her saddle to settle her in front of him.

Toric chuckled, catching up her reins and twisting them around his wrist. “Will she not be a burden, cousin, if you troll
her all the way to Edinburgh?”

“Are you saying I’m too many stone for him to carry, Toric?” Morrigan eyed the laughing MacKay. “Because if you are, I challenge
you, here and now, to a jousting on your return.”

“Done,” Toric said, eyeing the MacKays who surrounded them, who were already making wagers.

“We’ll see about that,” Hugh murmured into her hair. “When I return you’ll be too busy in my bed for that nonsense.”

When Morrigan reddened and pushed at her husband, the MacKays laughed louder. Even though she was sure they hadn’t heard,
she knew they would surmise what Hugh had whispered.

They parted on a knoll. He kissed her repeatedly, then gave terse instructions to the men who surrounded her.

Morrigan watched him out of sight, her heart pleading for him to come back to her as soon as possible.

Hugh and his men usually went into any fracas with heads high, grim humor slashing their mouths. Their fateful acceptance
of injury and death came from too many years of warfare.

When Keith began to hum a MacKay battle ballad, Toric dropped back, shaking his head.

“We’ve always done this,” Keith assured the second in command to the laird.

“So we have.” Toric slanted his gaze forward. “Not this day, I’m thinking. Hugh is deuced overset about this business.” Toric
frowned. “I can’t say I feel any better. How in God’s name will he live if the cardinal goes against him. English Edward will
have the reason he needs to snap at our heels.”

“Scotland’s king must support his greatest lord,”
Keith averred, his teeth baring in a snarl. “None must try to blacken our lady’s name.”

“And that is what is tearing him apart. Lord MacKenzie hit the nail on the head when he mentioned bastardy. That it could
sully the name of any child spawned between Morrigan and Hugh would be a burden too great for him. Before the birth, our lady
could be jeopardized by the epithet of whore, as she was once before—”

Keith bleated his rage, his steed reacting to it and rearing. The other MacKays heard the same and began cursing.

Hugh looked back, pulling up his destrier. “What’s amiss?” His eyes scanned the thick copse ahead. Better to be safe than
sorry, though they were on the edge of Graham land. Donald Graham had been his ally through it all, so he wasn’t too concerned.

“We speak of our lady,” Toric answered, getting the rough side of Keith’s tongue for owning up to it.

Hugh let his horse drop to a trot as the others came up on him. “Worry not. She’ll be fine.”

“Say what you will, Hugh, if any so much as thinks evil of her, I’ll skewer him even if it’s the king himself,” Keith said,
earning ayes from his clansmen.

“If I don’t get to him first,” Hugh interjected, earning some mirth from the men, though firm intent didn’t die from their
eyes.

Perhaps their discourse diverted some of their caution. To be sure, they were prepared as they entered the
tunnel of trees, letting their eyes adjust to the difference in light.

“Aiyee,” Carmody let loose a battle cry. “Above us.”

Hugh turned in his saddle, catching the man who leaped atop him. He rolled off the destrier to the ground, bringing back his
fist to smash it in the face beneath him. Before he could land another blow, another one was there, cudgel held high. He brought
it down on Hugh’s temple.

Too many turns of the sun. Too many long nights, alone in the big bed. The phrases ran around her head as she stared from
the parapet as she’d been wont to do the past sennight.

“What is it, maman?”

Morrigan looked down at Conal, the frailest of her three children. He was more apt to get the rawness of the throat than the
other two. He was also more in tune with what she felt. He amazed her.

“All is well, my son,” she told him, smiling down at the lad, who’d grown inches since coming to live at the castle.

“You worry about Papa.”

She nodded, too concerned and fatigued to dissemble. “Yes. I had hoped that—”

“He will be fine. He’s a true MacKay,” Conal interrupted, something he rarely did.

Morrigan leaned down and kissed his forehead. “You warm my heart, dearest.”

Conal wrapped his arms around her hips. They hugged, not moving.

A flurry beyond the gates drew her eyes, and she straightened, her heart beginning a painful thudding.

Conal called to his sister and brother, and Rhys and Avis joined him at the ramparts.

“Who is it, maman?”

“I don’t know, Rhys.” She covered her brow with the side of her hand. “ ’Tis an entourage, I think.”

“Papa!” Rhys yelled, running to the narrow stairs that would take him down into the main area of the castle.

“Don’t run, Rhys. I would wish you to watch over Avis.” Morrigan knew that would stop him, and it did. The three were very
caring of one another, and were almost inseparable.

He frowned. “I do.” He waited for his sister.

Conal smiled up at her and followed.

Morrigan clasped her hands and sent up a prayer of thanks.

By the time she freshened herself, then hurried down to the great room, she was almost sure it wasn’t Hugh who’d arrived.
If it had been he, there would’ve been a greater clamor, more of a bustle for refreshments. Cheers would’ve risen to her suite.

Hiding her disappointment, she moved into the great room, a smile fixed to her face. When she saw the dour messenger and his
coterie, alarm frissoned her spine. Putting her chin up, she approached. “I am Lady MacKay.”

“This be for you, milady.” The messenger handed her the metal cylinder, then stepped back. “ ’Tis from Lord Kieran, Father
MacKenzie.”

Morrigan nodded, spreading the rolled parchment on the trencher board. She took deep breaths, the words dancing in front of
her eyes.

Dear Cousin,

To bring you this news tears at my heart, but I must persevere. I cannot find Hugh. He never came to Edinburgh. I’ve sent
runners almost every day since three days had passed, when we were to meet. No one has sighted him, nor his men. It’s as though
Scotland has swallowed them. I fear they’ve been attacked by the rascals who prowl our land. I don’t wish to alarm you, but
I sense that something drastic has happened to Hugh. I’ve sent runners to Edward of England and Edward Baliol. No one has
news of him.

Forgive this sorry missive.

Kieran MacKenzie

Morrigan crumpled the letter in her fist. She thumped the table with that hand, over and over again.

“Milady?”

“Who went with Hugh, Diuran?”

“Why you know, milady. ’Twas Toric, Dylan, Keith, Carmody, and two attendants, Wull and Davy.”

“Do you think them capable? Can they care for themselves?”

“Milady, you jest. They are prime MacKays, strong, able, and unafraid.”

Dry-eyed, she turned to him, taking deep breaths. She shoved the letter at him. “Read it.”

Diuran took the crumpled sheets, perusing them twice.

“What think you now?”

White-faced, Diuran stared at her. “They are either dead, or confined, milady.”

“So I feel.” She inclined her head. “I will not think them dead.”

“Nor will I.”

For long moments she stared into the fire, knowing full well that the power was hers, that if she took MacKays into the fray,
some could die. Her heart squeezed with the agony of that. MacKays were her family. She loved them all. God and all the deities
help her, she prayed. It was left to her to make this awesome choice.

“Milady?”

She shook herself from the reverie, facing him. “Awa’,” she said in Gaelic. “Bratach Bhan Chlann Aoidh.”

Diuran sucked in air, straightening to his full height. When Morrigan again raised her voice in the MacKay battle cry, “the
White Banner of MacKay,” he answered her in kind.

Morrigan lifted her chin, shaken. “Ready yourself, Diuran, and a full complement of warriors. Leave the castle guarded and
manned. Andra and Dilla will have the last word. Guards will be everywhere. Extra guardians on our children. Bring all families
on the perimeter in closer to the castle, or into the bailey itself. Leave nothing to chance, no weak links.

“Have the shepherds bring the sheep and stoats onto safe ground. Make sure they’re armed. Let loose the battle dogs to keep
company with the guards and shepherds. The battlements will be manned night and day. Food will be brought in and stored. Water
sources will be guarded with available streams and rivers channeled to our use. Prepare the blacksmiths. Advise them that
they will work from dawn to dusk. Keep the lamps low and hoard the oils. Linens balled and wrapped will be soaked in these.
Ready the flambeaux and catapults. Enlighten the friendly clans of what we will do.”

“What is that, milady?” Diuran’s voice was faint.

Morrigan took a deep breath, baring her teeth. “War. Like Boudicca, Queen of Wales in olden time, I’ll not let any strike
at me and mine with impunity. Those who would try to abscond with one MacKay scone, from this day hence, shall pay the stiffest
price. Those who would threaten any MacKay will answer to our steel. Once and for all they will see that we won’t allow usurping
without a fight. They who have dared attack our laird shall pay full measure for their perfidy.”

“Whom do we battle, milady?”

“Any who dare to harm our laird, or who think to lay a hand upon him, or his people. England and Wales to start.”

Diuran stared at her for long moments, then he slammed his fist across his chest like his Viking ancestors. “Aye, we will.
From this day forward they’ll feel our wrath and none shall gainsay us.” He ran from the room.