Song of the Highlands: The Cambels (The Medieval Highlanders) (10 page)

No one else had e’er been able to do this to
her, tho’ Lord knew, she’d tried to find another who could. That
stray thought flitted out of her mind just as he hauled his head
back and, with a harsh, gravelly yell, spent inside her.

They were silent for a time, both
recovering, catching their breath, awaiting lucid thought to
return.

“What do you here, Grímr?” Vika asked
finally. Her voice was hoarse from the strain she’d put it through.
He’d unleashed her hands and she’d wrapped her arms around his
neck. Her legs were secured around his waist as well and he pressed
his torso into hers, nuzzling her ear with his lips.

“I’ve come to take you home, Vika. You’ve
our daughter to raise, remember?”

She closed her eyes and willed the mist that
formed there at the mention of her bairn to vanish, still, her
heart broke a little. Ignoring the pain, she said, “My life is here
now.”

“Your life is with me, with our
daughter.”

She slowly shook her head. “I’ve been
beaten, I’ve been prisoned, I’ve been starved, all to be forced
into submission to a man’s will. First by my father as I grew,
then, after he bartered me to Hákon, by him as well.”

“So you told me, so I saw,” Grímr
murmured.

“I’ll give you yet another reminder, then:
I’ll not be another man’s chattel e’er again. I have no use for
bairns, I have no use for marriage. And the only use I have for men
is what dangles ‘tween their thighs.”

“Aye, you said that as well. Still, I
believe you not.”

She pushed against his chest, but ‘twas as
immovable as a mountain. “Aah!” she screamed in frustration. “Then
you are guiled at your own peril, for this I swear: ‘Tis true.” A
shadow of heartbreak darkened his countenance, and she fought her
conscience, determined to be cruel to assure he would ne’er return
to her again. “I only lay with you—bore Halla—to gain my freedom
from Hákon.”

“Now, I
know
that’s not true,” he
said, his voice soft, gentle.

She turned her face away and let out a weary
sigh.“You should find a good woman to wed and be mother to the
lass,” she murmured.

He touched the rough pads of his fingers to
her chin and forced her to look at him again. “
You
are
Halla’s mother. She needs you, Vika. She asks for you almost every
day.” He leaned back and took her cheeks in his gloved palms. “She
has no understanding of why you left her, left
us
so soon
after birthing her.”

Vika was silent for a time. She studied the
ties at the neck of Grímr’s shirt. “And what of her aspect? Has she
the look of me?”

Grímr smiled. “Aye. Very much, in fact.
Except for her pale blonde hair. That, she gets from me. But she
has your amber eyes.”

Vika started to weep in earnest. She could
not hold back the tears any longer. “I cannot return with you,
Grímr. I beg you to understand! Do you
want
me to perish
there? Shrivel, like a piece of dried fruit? For, ‘tis truth, that
is surely what I would do—and quickly—were you to force me to
return with you.”

“Do not cry, little one.” Grímr leaned down
and kissed her. ‘Twas a gentle kiss, soft, sweet.
Loving
.

Panic filled Vika’s breast and she shoved
him away. “Nay! You must leave here, Grímr. Forthwith. And do not
return. E’er again.” Vika dropped her legs back down to the ground
and Grímr took a step back.

“Vika—”

“Nay, Grímr. I am dead to you—and to Halla
as well. ‘Tis time and past for you to begin anew.” Vika let her
gaze fall to his chest. “Find a wife from your own homeland and
bring her back to the manor you inherited from my husband. Build a
life with her and Halla. And forget me.” Meeting his eyes with a
steadfast gaze, she said, “All right?”

Grímr took another step back, did a sweep of
the abbey’s walls with his gaze, as if he had thoughts of forcing
her to go with him. But thankfully, ‘twas well fortified with armed
men, now that the King had taken up court there, and clearly he
decided against it, for in the next moment, he spat out, “All
right.
” He turned then and stormed off, quickly disappearing
into the inky blackness of the courtyard.

Ne’er to be seen again
. The words
tripped across her mind and pierced, like the points of sharp
daggers, into her heart.

After a moment, Vika lifted the torn edge of
her gown and chemise o’er her bared breast and trudged into the
courtyard as well. But instead of heading in the direction she’d
been going prior to her surprise meeting with the avid lover of her
first blossom, the man whose memory still haunted her restless
dreams, she turned back toward the abbey, back toward her chamber,
back toward the comfort of her own feminine power.

R
OBERT TOOK HOLD of
Morgana’s hand. “ ‘Tis done.”

She looked at him and nodded.

“I’ll meet you in the great hall of the
abbey in a half-hour’s time.”

Morgana blinked. She motioned toward the
wagon her uncle had arranged for them and cocked her head in
question.

“Nay. I detest the things.” He did a quick
scan of her attire. “But ‘tis clear that you’ve a need for such, as
that gown must weigh a ton.”

Morgana clamped her palm o’er her mouth to
hide her grin. The gown
was
a bit excessive for her liking,
but she’d not had the heart—nor the courage—to say
nay
to
such an expensive loan from the Queen. ‘Twas made of an unusual
royal blue woven-silk cloth—velvet, ‘twas named—got as a royal gift
from a legate of
Regnum Aragonum
, and lined in ermine. There
were rubies sewn around the neckline in a repeating arabesque
design that had also been used on the lower half of the wide
sleeves.

And, aye, ‘twas heavy.

Robert led her over to the conveyance and
lifted her onto the seat.

She winced. The abrasions on her backside
were still quite tender, even tho’ the lady’s maid had put more
salve on them prior to helping her dress this morn. Thankfully,
Robert didn’t notice her discomfort.

He surprised her then. He leaned in and gave
her a quick kiss on her mouth, and a treacherous warmth spread
through her. Afterward, he looked at the driver and nodded before
turning and walking away.

Morgana shrugged, but a thrill of joy
bounded about in her rapidly beating heart. Would they be able to
enjoy each other this eve, in spite of her sore backside? She
prayed they would, for she truly did not believe she could wait
another day—or, the good Lord forbid, a sennight?—to have him
inside her again.

* * *

Robert took a longer route back to the main
building of the abbey. He needed a bit of time to grow accustomed
to his new status as husband before greeting his comrades and
fellow clansmen in the great hall.

The vows had been exchanged and blessed with
only Morgana’s uncle and the King and Queen as witness, which
pleased Robert greatly. He’d had horrors of having the entire court
bear witness to his wedding. Aye, a privy ceremony was much more to
his liking.

But now ‘twas time for the true test of his
mettle. For he had no doubt that he’d be at the center of all his
comrades jests this day, with no relief until many hours from now,
when he and Morgana were at last allowed to go to their marriage
bed.

Tho’—
Christ’s Bones!
—was there not
some humiliating tradition involving that as well?

If ‘twere not for the fact that this match
was being celebrated by the King himself, Robert would find some
way to abduct his bride and spirit her off to his holding without
delay.

* * *

“ ‘Tis sorry I am that I was not able to see
you wed this morn,” Vika whispered in Morgana’s ear an hour later,
resting her hand atop her shoulder, “but my father strictly forbade
it.” She’d just arrived and was about to move past her to settle at
her place further down the table. “Do you forgive me, my pet?”

Morgana looked up at her cousin and placed
her hand o’er Vika’s. She gave it a slight squeeze and followed
that with a smile.

“Good.” Vika sighed and straightened. “Well,
I’m off to the nether ends of this King’s table. Lord, but I hope I
haven’t been seated next to a driveling old fool!” She swayed away
then and Morgana grinned, shaking her head at her beautiful,
black-haired cousin’s dry wit.

She scanned the chamber once again.
Where
is
Robert?
‘Twas well past the time he’d said
he’d meet her here and, by the dark spots of color on her uncle’s
cheeks and his strained expression, ‘twas evident that he was
growing quite vexed with her new husband.

At last, her eyes lit upon him.

Thanks be to heaven!
He was not more
than five paces inside the chamber, but he’d clearly been waylaid
by a few of the younger warriors. All at once, great roars of
laughter erupted from the lot, with each in his turn slamming his
palm down upon Robert’s back. And the answering sheepish expression
on her husband’s mien told her exactly what they were jesting
about.

She sighed. Poor Robert. This could not be
an easy day for him. For, she’d learned quickly that he was more a
man of action than of words. And not only that, he’d always seemed
more interested in being victorious in the contests of skill, and
in the winnings he received from them, than in any of the glory
that was lavished upon him afterward.

Nay, he would not be liking the amount of
notice he was receiving, she decided.

She fluttered her fingers to gain her
uncle’s eye, then she motioned toward Robert. Her ploy worked, for
in the next second, her uncle was off the dais and storming toward
her new husband.

It didn’t take him long to extricate Robert
from his comrades and soon the two of them were settled on either
side of her. She heard her husband say under his breath, “Christ’s
Bones! Will this day ne’er be done?”

He’d splayed his hand on the table next to
their wine goblet. She took hold of it and gave it a light squeeze.
When he turned his gaze to her, she smiled. She was pleased when
her tactic succeeded and his shoulders visibly relaxed as one side
of his mouth tipped up in a begrudging smile.

Trumps sounded and they both turned their
gazes toward the entrance leading from the King’s privy chambers
into the great hall. A hush fell o’er the assembly as the tall
arched doors were flung wide and the King’s attendants stepped o’er
the threshold. King William came into the hall next with his Queen
Consort, Ermengarde, on his arm. His aged stride was still
purposeful, his bearing still straight, as he strode to the dais
and, after seating his Queen, settled into his wide, oaken chair to
the left of the earl. He nodded to the pages lined up near the door
leading to the kitchen’s corridor and the young lads filed out to
retrieve the first course of the feast.

The feast progressed for twenty courses,
during which pipers and harpists played. Afterward, a troupe of
players acted out the ancient tale of how the blessed
Lia
Fáil
, the Stone of Destiny, on which Scottish Kings accept
their crowns was first carried from
Hispania
by the tribes
of old and brought to the Hill of Tara on the Isle of
Éire
,
then to Dunstaffnage Castle in Oban where ‘twas built into the
wall, before finding its sacred place at Scone for
Cináed mac
Ailpín
to be crowned.

When the play was done, the King signaled to
Robert that ‘twas at last time for the couple to retire to their
marriage bed. Robert let out a sigh of relief, but ‘twas
short-lived. For, he had no sooner taken hold of Morgana’s hand and
stepped off the dais with her, than they were both lifted from
their feet and hoisted onto the shoulders of four of his clansmen.
They were led away amongst a clamor of hearty well-wishes.

Robert gritted his teeth, but did his best
to force a smile to his lips.
Would this day
ne’er
be
done?
‘Twas surely nearing the hundredth time he’d thought
those words since first seeing Morgana this morn. All he wanted,
all he had been able to think clearly on these past hours, was
stripping her of that ridiculously ornate dress, as well as every
other scrap of cloth between him and her naked flesh, and partaking
once more of the lush bounty of her frame.

When they, and the boisterous ruck that
carried them, were up the stairs and nearing his bedchamber door,
Robert did a quick twist and jumped down from his clansmen’s
shoulders. He rushed to stand in front of the portal with his arms
crossed over his chest and his legs spread. “That’s as far as
you’ll be going with my bride. Put her down. Gently.”

“But—”

“Nay.” Robert stepped forward and lifted his
arms to Morgana. “Come, Morgana.”

Morgana didn’t hesitate. She reached her
arms out and fell into his embrace. The clansmen were forced to let
go of their hold on her.

Robert pressed his nose into Morgana’s soft
moon-spun hair and took a deep breath of the fresh, clean scent of
it. “Goodnight,” he said to his comrades and swung around,
barreling them both inside the chamber, then slamming and barring
the door behind them.

* * *

Robert scanned the chamber, thrilled to find
it empty of maids. ‘Twas not until he’d barred the door that the
thought had dawned that he may still have others to oust from their
presence. Now, well pleased with their solitude, he folded his arms
over his chest and leaned against the heavy oaken wood. The side of
his mouth quirked with amusement—at her, at himself—as he watched
Morgana begin to strip off her dress. All these hours he’d believed
he’d be somehow dealing with a shy bride, that he’d need to
maneuver a bit to get her naked again.