Morganna (The Brocade Collection, Book 4) (6 page)

There were more people in that gathering than in her village, and more than she’d seen, alive at one place, in her life. Morgan hung back behind Zander, catching the interested eyes of lasses as they eyed first Zander, and then her. She
had to look away from more than one who would lower her lashes a bit and then
boldly stare back at her. Morgan knew her cheeks were rosy. She just didn’t
know how to stop it.

“
Look about, lad. There’s lasses a-plenty here. There might even be one
fitting your ideal maid.”

‘‘Perhaps. There’s also sow-size ones for you
, I notice.”

His lips twisting was the only sign he
’d heard. “I’ve seen their stoner. He’s
of a slender size, like yourself. Very accurate. If you best him, I’ll give you one
of your dirks.”

“Two
,” she returned, beneath her breath.

He glanced sidelong at her. “Very well. Two,” he agreed.

There were two stuffed dummies placed on poles, already showing the
results of earlier contests. Morgan eyed them. From the marked-off distance,
she could take out any piece of straw on either dummy’s head.

“’T
is too easy,” she complained.

Zander held up his arm and started speaking, in such a loud booming
voice, Morgan wasn’t the only one staring at him with her mouth open. “My
friends! I’ve a gamble to make today! I’ve a newly acquired squire you see before you. Not much, you think? Well, this lad will take out your target’s eye
at this range, much less any hit. I suggest we double the distance! Are there any
takers?”

Three. Morgan eyed them as they did her. Three young men, not one as
tall as her, but none with what Zander would describe as scrawny arms.

“He’s got no strength to toss with, and you’ve not shown us the color of
your silver.”

“A Scotsman with silver? The fairies have stolen your wits. I’ve more
than silver, though. I’ve this squire. He’ll make any a fine servant, and
well-trained he is, too. I’ll personally guarantee his service for three years.”

“Zander!” Morgan gasped, lifting her eyes to his. She had a perfect aim,
but had never had it tested with her own freedom at stake.

“The lad begs to differ!” Zander shouted, “His aim is so true, he’ll give five years, and mark off another ten paces!”

He wanted to be rid of her that much? Morgan felt what had to be her
heart hitting the region of her well-filled belly, and then she was angry. So angry
in fact, that her entire body shook with it. She controlled it viciously, until only her hands felt it, and then it stilled. Zander FitzHugh was going to rue the day he put her on the bargaining block. She was going to enjoy making him, too, and he was going to give her two dirks back for the pleasure.

She narrowed her eyes and glared at him.

“What is the contest?”

“One of your stoners hits the dummy. If my squire hits the same spot, I gain another servant for a term of a year, either the stoner or a member of his family. If he loses, the stoner gains my servant for a period of five years. Who
takes the challenge?”

The three young men all stepped forward again. Morgan eyed them again and her lips tightened
.
What was Zander going to do with three more squires?
she wondered.

The distance was doubled, by taking both dummies and marching them a
significant piece away from the tents. Then ten paces were added. Morgan ignored what they were doing as she went looking for stones. That’s when the
nymph she’d described earlier to Zander tapped her on the shoulder and held out seven, perfectly rounded stones.

Morgan looked up into the most beautiful green eyes she’d ever seen, set in the most beautiful face, surrounded by a wealth of reddish-brown hair, and atop the most perfect form a bliant could wrap.
Morgan wasn’t male, and she knew
she wasn’t male, but everything in her that was female was instantly alerted.

Her eyes widened at the instant emotion, and her nostrils flared with it.
She had her teeth so tightly gritted that her jaw twinged. The girl smiled.

“F
or luck,” she whispered, picking up Morgan’s hand and dropping the stones into it.
Then, she blew her a kiss. Morgan’s knees jerked and she searched for
Zander. The last thing she needed was a lass like this making love-struck eyes at
her. Zander would be unstoppable with his teasing.

“Who wishes to be humiliated first?” Zander called loudly.
“My squire
grows impatient, and I’ve three servants to gain! Come, my friends! Put your
champion forward!”

The largest stepped up, fit a stone into his sling and started swinging. He
spun it too fast, Morgan noticed, intent more on speed than accuracy. She wasn’t surprised when he hit one of the dummy’s arms, although a great cheer
went up in the crowd.

“Your turn, Morgan,” Zander said.

Morgan fit one of the stones into her sling, and started looping it
cross-wise at her side, barely missing her own body with it. Then, she let it fly. The arm fell off with her shot, and the gasp that ran the crowd was more gratifying than anything she’d ever experienced. Morgan lifted her eyebrows and
met Zander’s gaze.

“Check it, Ian “

“Aye! See it checked! It must be a trick, “one of those gathered about
said.

A young lad ran to the arm and brought it back, and there was some
consternation as they tried to find where Morgan’s stone had hit it. Zander
explained it to them before he dug out her stone. She’d put it in the exact same hole.

That gasp
of reaction was even more stimulating than the first had been, and she
smiled before ducking her head.

“Is
there another taker?”

“
Best two of three!” The stoner yelled. “Lucky shot!”

“Morgan?” Zander asked. She shrugged.
“My squire accedes to my
wishes, and I’ll grant it. Best two of three. You! Take your shot.”

This time, he was sweating, and tried harder. His shot was faster than the previous one, but did as little damage, as it winged where the hip would be,
leaving a half-hole.

“Can you hit the same spot now, squire?” he taunted Morgan.

“How will I prove it?” she asked quietly.

“
What the lad says is truth. There is na’ way to prove it unless we fill the
hole with something,” Zander’s booming voice replied.

“Hit the other side,” someone suggested.

“I have a better idea,” Zander spoke. “Take a bit of this biscuit and plug
the hole. Ian?” He motioned for the young lad again. “Go out and stuff this into
the hole.” He held out one-half of a MacPhee irresistible biscuit to the young man and everyone waited until it was set into the gap.

Morgan stepped up to the line, selected another of the stones and set it.
Then, she began spinning her sling, letting it fly when the arch was perfect. The
biscuit didn’t move.

“
He missed!” the stoner yelled.

“Did I?”
she asked quietly.

Zander met her gaze. “Send Ian out for the biscuit. Go lad.”

They all waited until he returned. Morgan knew what they’d find and enjoyed every bit of the surprise, awe and then applause at the hole that went
right through the center of it.

“The lad is good, FitzHugh. He’s very good. My boy will be honored to
accompany you as your newest squire.”

Zander bowed his head, accepting the lad. Then, he motioned to the
remaining two men. “Who takes the challenge next? Well? Speak up lads! I’ve
a hankering for a new tent and servants to assist with it. Who is next?”

“I’ll na’ take the challenge,” one of them said and backed from the line.

“That leaves Jaime,” someone said. “Jaime canna’ take the challenge, either.”

“Hush, Ma,” he said.

“
But you’re my only son. I canna’ do without you. The crops, the
babes, you know with your father gone....”

“
Hush, Ma,” he said again.

“Does
the lad have siblings?” Zander yelled. “I’ll not ask more than a
year of fealty from them. Then, I’ll return the child to you, Mistress.”

“I’ve seven daughters,
m’lord,” she replied.

“Daughters? What say you, Morgan? Can we take a servant girl with
us?”

“’T
is unseemly,” she answered. “Who would be there to see to her modesty?”

“
Have you two daughters you’d send with us, Mistress?”

“Two? Jaime?”

“You already have me losing, Ma,” he protested.

“True, but you saw the lad. We all saw the boy.”

“It will mean two less mouths for you to feed, Mistress Hobbs. Two less. And Zander FitzHugh is a man of his word. If he does na’ return them next year
we’ll all search out the why.” The old man talking had the respect of the grouping all about them. Morgan watched the nodding of heads at his words.

The murmurs seemed to surround them. Morgan listened to the hum of sound without hearing it. She wondered why Zander was so insistent that he have new servants. According to him, he already had too many.
She shook her head at it.

“I take the challenge,” the lad named Jaime said and stepped up the line.

CHAPTER SIX

Morgan followed at the rear of Zander FitzHugh’s new band of servants,
trying to ignore the lasses. She should have known that Jaime’s sisters included the chestnut-haired nymph, and worse, that Zander would spot her and start his
teasing. Morgan tried to keep from catching the girl’s eye but every time she
turned around, she was looking for FitzHugh’s first squire, and eye contact was
made.

Morgan blushed the last time, and hoped it would get dark soon. She had
yet to relieve herself, and it was going to be even more difficult to do so with as many servants as Zander FitzHugh seemed intent on gathering. That was
coupled with the distinct displeasure of not having him to herself, too.

She could hardly wreak any amount of vengeance on him with another
squire serving his every need. Worse still, this new squire knew about horses. Zander
kept a companionable arm about the boy’s shoulder and talked horses and battles
and manly talk, while Morgan brought up the rear, doing her best to avoid
catching the beautiful lass’s eye.

She probably should have missed the dummy, she thought.

“Morgan!”

“Aye?” She lifted her head and met Zander’s eye.

“Show the lasses the cook-fire. Not the one I bedded in, the other one,
and then go get us another meal. I’ve a hankering for partridge. Can you hunt
me a partridge?”

“I’ll need an arrow,” she answered.

“You hear that, Martin? He needs but one arrow. He’s that cocky and
self-assured. You’re a fair shot, too, though. That’s why I wanted you. Can
you imagine better squires than two as good as you
two are at stoning? There won’t be an enemy allowed near me.”

Morgan snorted her disgust.
As good as what two?
she almost asked.

“Hello,” the girl
said.

Morgan’s eyes widened and she mumbled something the girl took as a
greeting as she matched her steps to Morgan’s. Morgan walked a bit farther with
each one, forcing the girl to increase her stride. The girl was even more beautiful
up close. She was small, too. She barely reached Morgan’s shoulder. Morgan
already detested her.

“You’re called Morgan?
’Tis a manly name, to be sure. You’ve a very
good aim, too. I’ve never seen such a shot. I had shivers!”

“Uh…t
hanks,” Morgan answered. She looked away from where the girl was hugging herself, easily forcing a bit of cleavage to the top of her shift. She wondered what the girl would say if she was told that Morgan’s real name was
Morganna. She decided against asking it.

“
Her name is Sheila, Morgan.” That voice Zander had used on the crowd
was just as loud in the forest near his camp, she decided. She cringed from it.
“You’ll have to give him a bit of time, Sheila. He’s shy. So shy he can’t even
ask your name when it’s what any lusty lad would be for asking.”

“I was going to ask it,” Morgan replied loudly. Then, she turned to the
girl. “Your name is Sheila, then?”

“Aye
.”

She met Morgan’s glance, dropped her eyes and blushed. Morgan nearly
choked.

“And my sister’s name is Amelia.”

“Sheila...and Amelia?” Morgan asked, looking to the younger, even more
petite one. That one met her gaze and blushed, too.

Well, at least my gender isn
’t in question,
Morgan thought, although everything was getting plenty mixed up and confusing. It was all due to trying to turn Zander FitzHugh over on that battlefield, too. She should have listened to her instincts and stayed at Elspeth’s hut, eaten another unpalatable sup, bedded down on the earthen floor, and left that field unpicked.

Morgan nearly cheered their arrival at Zander’s camp, and she didn’t waste any time showing the lasses where the cook-fire was. She also wasn’t
wasting time when she pulled his bow and an arrow out, looked at Zander and
took another. Then, she was off, loping through the forest in such a hurry, she
was scaring off game.

She didn’t stop
until she’d gone far enough away that her lungs were on fire
. She didn’t like the heavy pressure on her chest, either. She didn’t
know what to make of any of it.

S
he only had to use one arrow to bring down his partridge. Without
waiting, she drew aim and took a second bird. Now that they were five, it would
take more to feed them. She still wondered why he wanted it this way.

Morgan had everything back in perspective when she got back to camp,
finding it easily from all the noise. Martin was hacking away at logs, the girl
named Amelia was sighing over his use of strength, Sheila was trying to make some semblance of order out of the sacks all about the ground and Zander was
erecting another tent, although there was already a red-striped one tucked
between two trees. Morgan stood at the edge of the clearing, the birds hanging
by their claws from her hands and took it all in.

It looked like more of a permanent settlement than a camp. She
wondered what that meant.

“There you are! Gone ages and avoiding all the work, as usual. It’s a
good thing you’re a good provider. Give those to the lasses to pluck and skewer
and come assist me.”

Morgan tossed them to the ground beside Sheila, avoided her smile and hurried over to him.

“Stand in the center and brace it until I get it tied down. I couldn’t use
anyone else. They’re too short.”

Morgan tried not to feel pleased about being needed, but she did. She
stood until her arms were numbing, while he drove in some stakes, pulled on
ropes and kept up a tuneless whistle, in between flirting outrageously with his new servant girls. All of which hit Morgan in her belly while she stood there
impotently holding a tent up.

He had new servant girls, and they were probably maiden girls...and he
liked them that way best of all...

A
nd Morgan had procured them for him! She had to swallow the bitter taste in her mouth. She couldn’t be ill. She was never ill. Her
eyes stung with unfamiliar moisture as she looked over at him, nonchalantly leaning on one hip, his hand planted on it, and showing a clear silhouette of that
manly physique to Sheila and her sister.

Morgan glared at him, giving every bit of her hatred to it. Zander looked
up then, caught her gaze and grinned. Then he pointed down at the girl, before
pointing back to himself.

Morgan sneered. If she had to pretend jealousy to keep the girl safe, she would. It was the least she could do for the girl’s mother and her
brother, Jaime.

Zander pulled back in surprise. Then, he was pointing down at Sheila and over at Morgan.

She narrowed her eyes and nodded.

He stepped back, lifted both hands in surrender before walking back over
to her. “About time you found some of it, lad,” he said when he got there.

“Get back to purgatory where you belong,” Morgan hissed.

He chuckled. “I’ll bet Sheila’s hair falls just like a curtain when it’s
loose.”

Morgan clenched her teeth until her lower jaw hurt.

“It probably feels as fine as that tunic you wear beneath your shirt, too. What say you to that?”

“You owe me two dirks,” she replied finally.

“Well, I’m not so sure I should give them to you.”

“You a liar as well as a lecher, Master Zander?” she asked, snidely.

“You’re jealous.”

‘‘Perhaps,” she replied with as little inflection as possible.

“I would be stupid to put knives in the hands of a rival, no?”

“You touch her, and I’ll be carving my initials in your heart,” she said.

“You
are
jealous. The girl’s in luck. As are you.”

“Luck had nothing to do with it.
’Twas skill. My skill.”

He shrugged, and folded his arms across his chest to consider her. Since
she was still stuck holding up the tent, there wasn’t any place she could go, or
any escape she could make, but for once, she controlled every bit of a blush.

“’T
was a good day, Morgan. Celebrate, rather than stew over it. I’ve
earned fealty from more villagers, for who among them would fight the man in possession of his children? And the wench of your dreams has been delivered to
you. Just think of it. You describe a nymph to me, and before the day is out,
you’ve won her. From the looks of things, she’ll be easy to coax into bed, too.”

“You touch her, and I’ll
—”

His laughter rang out, interrupting Morgan’s words, and everyone
stopped what they were doing and looked over. Morgan still had control over
her flush. She was very proud of that.

Zander lifted his hands in surrender. “She’s all yours. Tame her gently.”
Then, he walked away. “You can let go of the roof, too. It’s finished. Has been for some time.”

Morgan lowered her arms, flexing every finger and then her arms to get
the feeling back. Then she swung them back and forth, to loosen her
shoulders. It felt good. She hadn’t done any exercising since coming upon
Zander, and her muscles were stinging her at the lack. She didn’t realize she was being watched until Zander coughed. She looked up, right into the adoring gaze
of the lass, Sheila. That time, Morgan couldn’t control anything, and she knew
she was flaming before she averted her gaze.

Martin had a good stack of wood, the second tent was decreed Zander’s,
and the ladies were given the red-striped one. Martin and Morgan were welcome
to the floor of Zander’s tent, or they could sleep on the ground outside.

Morgan chose the ground. She lay, comfortably full of partridge and
some sort of dumpling-enhanced gravy they’d made, and covered herself with the drape
of her kilt. The fire flickered every so often on both tents and on where she lay.
And she didn’t remember sleeping.

Morgan was awakened this time by having two dirks thrust into the dirt
beside her nose. Her eyes flew open a moment before she was on her feet, both
dirks in her hands and ready. Zander had already leapt back, expecting it. Her
eyes narrowed as she took in the pre-dawn clearing, where fingers of mist were
still hanging in the air.

“We’ve some
work to do today. I wanted you awake before the
others,” he whispered.

“Why?” she whispered back.

He pulled in a breath, filling the chest in front of her. Then, he shrugged.
“You’re different,” he said, finally.

She didn’t reply and waited for him to explain.

He didn’t. He just blew out his inhaled breath and gestured with his head.
“Come with me. I want you to show me how you toss your knives.”

He already had a target etched on a tree, although she could barely see it.
Morgan looked at it in surprise. She hadn’t heard him move. Some guardian of
virtue she had turned out to be, she thought.

“I’ve seen knives tossed, and I’ve seen some hit a spot, but I’ve never
seen anyone place them so perfectly, nor from any finger. Show me how you do such.”

“My knives are perfectly balanced. That’s the first trick.”

“Balanced?” he asked.

“P
ull your own out.”

He did.

“
Lay it flat in your hand. Can you feel a difference in weight, one side to
the other? Top to bottom?”

“The hilt is heavier.”

“Not in the hilt. In the blade. Can you feel it?”

He shook his head.

She snorted the frustration. “Hold out your other hand.”

He did, putting it parallel to the one he had out already.

“Now, close your eyes.”

“What?
”

“Trust me. Use something
besides your poor vision. Use touch. Feel the
weight. Close your eyes.”

He did. Morgan lowered one of her prize dirks onto his palm. The
instant spark when her fingers touched the pad of his palm frightened and
appalled her as she snapped her hand back. So did the frown line across his
forehead.