The Pledge (7 page)

When she turned that benign smile on him, wariness seized him. He backed a step just as she brought her knee up in a sharp,
meaningful thrust.

Few noticed the move. One who’d not taken eyes off the pair since the vow taking did. Keeping the smile in place to hide the
hatred wasn’t easy, but observation provided more and more information. Mayhap this day the couple would be sped to Hades.
But… if they lived there was another way to level the enemy. Divide and conquer, Caesar said. Wife and husband could make
interesting adversaries. It could foment troubles for Wales and Scotland. The smile widened. Intrigue was delicious. The dispatching
of foes was an even more delightful repast to ponder. Dishing up either wife or husband, or both, to torturers had the greatest
appeal.
Who first? Surely the least vulnerable would be the wisest. No sense setting up vigilance in one who battled well. Let the
strongest go first. The gaze fixed on Hugh MacKay.

“Very good,” Hugh said, leaning over her, his hands fitting around her waist. “Had I not moved you would’ve taken me to the
healers instead of to our nuptial chamber.”

“Release me.”

“No, wife, I won’t.” He smiled down at her. “I told you what crossed my thoughts, sweet bride. How unkind to strike at me.
I was only being truthful.” He grinned again. “How quick you were to retaliate. You’ll make an uncommonly good Scot.”

“Do not downgrade a Welshwoman, sirrah.”

He laughed. There was a melting in him when she joined him. He loved teasing her and for all her words, he knew she liked
it. “You do not hate me, wife.”

“No. Actually I would like to throw back my head and let levity take me as it does you.”

Surprised, happy, he inched her closer. “Tell me you’re not insulted, but entertained.”

She bit her lip. “I will admit I feel less threatened.”

He chuckled. “I’ll take that. Worry not that you’ll lose your way on MacKay land.”

“I must be alert… but this day had brought good feelings and I have enjoyed it.”

His booming laugh echoed across the glen, bringing
smiles, inquiring looks, some frowns. “I regret not meeting you and courting you as I could’ve done.” Despite the good feeling
he’d caught the word “alert.” It stayed in his mind.

Stunned, she could only stare. “You are uninhibited, Hugh MacKay.”

“I am. I still am sorry we did not have a courting.” His laughing eyes probed hers. Tell me what keeps you wary despite your
mirth, good wife, he said to himself.

“Why is that?” Foolish question!

His hands tightened at her waist. “Because you’re very beautiful. Because you have a great kindness. Because your laugh is
like the sweetest honey.” He squeezed her waist just a bit. “You joust with me, your wits are quick, and you’re unafraid.”

“I… I am glad you are pleased.”

“I am.” His words had unsettled her. “You are a woman of many parts.” She was struggling for composure. She didn’t want to
give in to him. He would get through the barrier she’d made.

“I should think so. I’m Welsh.”

“You create a heat, milady. I fear that all around us can see your deep beauty.”

“You must unhand me, sirrah. ’Tis not circumspect.”

“’Struth, ’Tis, for this day you’re my bride, my beauty. Have you forgotten so soon?” He lifted her higher, her feet leaving
the ground, until he could look into her eyes. He’d never seen such womanliness. Yet there was iron in her, mayhap embedded
so deeply she’d
not shown it to many. He wanted to see it all, to know all about his intriguing, bewitching bride. “Though you have the courage
of a warrior, you have the loveliness of the most beauteous of women. That pleases me.” When he saw how her eyes widened in
surprise, how they searched his for the lie, he wanted to laugh. Little conceit had his wife. An amalgam of loveliness and
goodness. No wonder other men had wooed her, had fought her betrothal to a MacKay. What had been the name? Tarquin of Cardiff.
He’d remember it. Had he been the one who’d given her a son? Was he the one who’d known the delight of piercing her maiden’s
veil? He was furious at the thought. A raging jealousy shook him that was most difficult to bury before reason calmed him.
She was his now. No other man would get close to her. He smiled.

“What?”

“I think on your virtues, good wife.”

“Virtues?”

He chuckled when suspicion crossed her face. “Shall I list them?”

“You might have to, Hugh MacKay. But first you must put me down for we draw eyes to us.”

“No matter. ’Tis our spousal day. Let them look. Shall I tell you?”

“Pardon my interruption.”

“I do.” He grinned when she looked chagrined. “Let me see. When you should’ve been preening from the adulation shown you in
all your wedding finery, you
stopped and assured two children they would always have a home with us, and then claimed them as ours. You have passion and
caring, love. I like that.”

“How do you know for sure?” she blurted.

Her blush told him she was referring to the night ahead and he laughed again.

He had to be careful of her magnetism. She could make him let down his guard. As keeper of the vast estates belonging to MacKay
he had to be wary of any and all. Lusting after her didn’t mean she had his full trust. There were few, whether they be Welsh,
Anglos, or even Scots outside his clan, who did.

He couldn’t deny the wanting. It had grown into a seething sea that he could’ve drowned in if it weren’t for the damnable
guests. He pictured her under his tartan, with nothing but her bare skin touching his. His blood cascaded to his lower body,
hardening it. He hadn’t been so aroused so quickly, so fully, in memory. Aye! It would be a monumental task to keep his spouse
in proper perspective. She had the visage of an angel. He shouldn’t allow himself to think she was one. She netted him with
her look. Though caution told him to glance away, he was loath to break the moment. Rather he would stay buried in her eyes.

Hugh lowered her to the ground. “Shall we wander about and greet our guests?”

“ ’Twould be proper.”

The hand she placed on his arm trembled. When he covered it with his own, fire burst through him.

There was a flurry upon the knoll leading to the castle.

Both Hugh and Morrigan looked. She noted how he angled her to the back of him, just a hair.

“Maman!” Rhys roared from his place up the glen between two burly MacKays. He ran toward her, legs and arms pumping, falling
and getting up again to race faster than the two MacKays at his heels.

MacKay cursed, allowing her to move to the side of him again.

Still dazed she turned to the boy, opening her arms wide. He threw himself into them. “They’s said I’m to be them. I aren’t,
are I? I’m Welsh like you.”

Hugh felt a stab of feeling unknown to him. Damn! To watch her cuddle the child, rain kisses on his face, raised his ire,
and more. He wanted her touch over him instead of on the boy. “You are MacKay, and Welsh,” he told Rhys, lifting him away
from his mother, more than irked when she showed reluctance to release the boy.

Lifting him high, Hugh commanded that Rhys look about him. “All that you see belongs to MacKay. A portion is yours one day.”

White-faced, Morrigan watched.

Hugh felt her glance. Was it through a veil of deceit? As her husband he’d just offered land to the boy and made him an heir
to a portion of MacKay holdings. Did she resent the offer? He knew that her Welsh hectares would go to the boy. Did she think
he should have more than he’d bestowed on the lad?

“I do not think you need to worry about estates, Rhys.” Morrigan lifted her arms, but his circled Hugh’s neck.

“No, maman, I’ll stay here.” He shoved his thumb in his mouth and grinned around it at Hugh. “I can see everything.”

Taken aback, Morrigan could only stare.

Father Monteith came up to her side. “The boy surprised you, milady?”

“Yes. Rhys connects with few people. He’s very possessive of me, and short-tempered with most, including his peers, Father.”
She bit her lip. “Sometimes I’ve worried that he might be too attached to me after our arrival in Scotland.” She shook her
head. “He takes me aback, Father. To see him look around him, cuddled up to Hugh’s shoulder, feeling at home, seeming content,
is a relief.”

“Children find their way,” the priest whispered.

Morrigan nodded, listening to what Hugh was saying to the boy.

“And why do you speak the patois of the Galls, Rhys Llywelyn?”

Rhys removed his thumb. “Maman says I must.”

“Then you must speak Gaelic as well.” Hugh laughed when the boy rolled his eyes. “Go with Tor and Andrus. They would show
you your horse.”

Rhys’s eyes widened. “A horse? Truly?”

“A MacKay is never false to his own, by word or deed, nor does he walk when he can ride. You have a horse.”

“Oh.” Rhys pondered that. “And am I MacKay or a Llywelyn?”

“Both,” Hugh told him.

Rhys smiled. “Good. I want to see my horse.”

Morrigan put out her hand.

Hugh could see she wanted to protest that the boy had been given more than enough. He didn’t need anything else. Hugh shook
his head and she paused.

“I wouldn’t wipe the joy from his eyes,” she murmured. “Be good for Tor and Andrus.” She took him from Hugh and hugged him.
“Have you eaten?”

“Yes. And I’ll be good.” He pushed against her, wriggling to get down and run ahead of the two warriors who were after him
in an instant.

It crossed Hugh’s mind that the boy was as dark of eyes and tress as other Welsh he’d known. Neither did he resemble his mother
with his stocky build and skin that would brown in the sun. He would be a big man one day and he, Hugh of MacKay, would call
him firstborn.

“I fear Tor would rather fight a boar than monitor your son.”

Morrigan chuckled. “He’s a handful.”

“But you don’t mind.”

“I love him,” she said, looking up at Hugh.

A terrific force hit him in the chest. He’d never needed what some referred to as love. The power to lead his clan and protect
it was all he craved. Now another potency had taken the breath from his body, and had his heart hammering against his ribs.
Used to seeking, finding,
and nailing down his needs and wants by cajolery, battle, or intrigue, it stunned him that he was all but impotent to gain
what he desired most. The woman and all the feeling she could have. It would have to be freely given, for in no other way
could he savor the passion he knew was there, embedded in those eyes and in his wife’s wonderful form. He wanted it all, not
from duty, but from the same emotion that spurred her feelings toward the boy.

Hugh was glad when a border laird caught her attention. It allowed him to study her, and steady himself. It wouldn’t do to
let her know how many times she’d shaken his equanimity. She had power enough.

“Och, milady, you honor all of Scotland wi’ your words.”

Hugh blinked, concentrating. What had she said to old Gordon?

“Not at all, sirrah. I’ve been to your border lands and seen your wondrous herds of sheep and stoat. Marvelous they are, to
be sure.” She swept her hand in a small arc. “The hills so green and purple, the sky so blue. Even your mist has magic.” Morrigan
felt Hugh’s gaze even as she conversed with the bluff borderer. “I’ve also heard of your family, er, clan, Laird Gordon. Their
wondrous deeds are sung far and wide.”

Pushing out his chest, he put his ham hand on her arm. “You’ll do, missy, you’ll do.” He gazed at Hugh. “ ’Tis blest you are,
MacKay. So I’ve said it. Give her good care or answer to me.”

Hugh ground his teeth staring at Gordon. When the borderer glared for a moment, then roared with mirth, Hugh’s fists ached
to connect with the older man’s jaw. Ian Gordon had been like a father to him. Damn his eyes!

“Be on your guard, missy. Your laird is a jealous lump.”

“What…” She was talking to air. Gordon had wandered off. “What did he—?”

“Nothing. We’ll tarry here, and taste the sweets that’ve come from the kitchen.” Hugh took hold of her waist and swung her
over the nearby bench, then seated himself at her side. As custom demanded, he tasted the cakes and buns first, then fed them
to her. He didn’t hear the ribald remarks. His attention was on his bride, who had only bites of the sweets and sips of the
wine.

Much of the time she continued to bow, smile, and greet those who dared to approach, despite the glares from the Earl of MacKay.
His own clan gave his trencher board a wide berth. Others were not so wise.

Interminable platters of food, crocks of wines and ales continued long after most had finished and contributed to a queasiness
that shook Morrigan. She declined offer after offer, understanding the generosity, the labor, the honor, bestowed by the many
workers, but she wasn’t able to swallow anything more. She stared at the mounds of food left after most were sated.

“What is it, wife?”

His smile, his golden eyes that seemed molten, went over her, heating her. He was too appealing. She’d not expected that.
Not just a brawny barbarian, but a perceptive man, one who’d showed care to a five-year-old. Such gestures were not common
in the known world. Since meeting him she’d come to understand that most women would find him attractive. The shock was that
she’d come to agree with that and hate that other women
would look upon him so. She should seek a priest and confess her vagaries. Ponder something else, anything. “I want what’s
not eaten given to the indigent.”

“None without food or shelter reside upon your land, Princess. MacKays see to their own.” He touched the heavy ring on her
finger. “So the princess from Wales considers her people. Wife, I didn’t need to find more of your virtue. You entice me enough.”

Morrigan just stared. He’d shocked her once more. He wanted to see her hair. He’d called her a woman of virtue when all believed
her to be whore. When he touched her headdress she trembled and blushed. “Sirrah, I…”