Song of the Highlands: The Cambels (The Medieval Highlanders) (4 page)

Morgana nodded slowly. She had no worries,
for the court ladies had said ‘twas not so easy to get a babe
started if you’d just finished your flowering—which Morgana had
only recently done. Two days ago, in fact.

Robert relaxed his shoulders. Good. The lass
understood how things would be between them. He knew his words had
been harsh, but he’d give her no quarter—he could not afford such a
luxury. ‘Twas best that the lass kenned from the beginning that
theirs would not be a prelude to marriage; this was no carnal
affair leading to a love match.

He took in a deep breath and released it,
then turned back to the job at hand. After wringing out the excess
moisture, he returned it to his silent companion’s gorgeous, lush
tail. Aye, but he’d fuck her often—and well—once he could get his
hands on the means to prevent childing. That promise he could give
to her—and to himself as well.

“All right. ‘Tis done,” Robert said as he
plopped the rag back into the bucket and stood up. He walked over
to the door and, after opening it, tossed the contents of the
bucket out onto the snow-covered ground. He turned and placed the
container back where he’d found it, and then started building a
fire in the hearth.

He had to admit, he liked how silent the
lass was. ‘Twas rather pleasant for a change not to have a lady
bleating in his ear after giving her a good fucking. Lord, how they
could go on about this thing or that. Mostly to do with fashions,
which he thoroughly abhorred. Or worse, some bit of chatter they’d
been privy to that they simply could not wait to share with him.
And if he e’er wanted to get between their thighs again, he had to
pretend
interest
in those dull-as-dirt tidings.

He heard strange scraping and creaking
noises coming from the direction of the bed and looked up. Morgana
motioned that she needed a bit of help getting her legs back o’er
the posts. He nodded and quickly accomplished what she’d evidently
been struggling to do these past moments as he went about his
business. He felt a small twinge of conscience that he hadn’t
thought of helping her before, but quickly let it go. ‘Twas not his
fault the lass was in this position. ‘Twas her own—and Vika’s.

And he was out an heiress now, which his
clan desperately needed if they were to keep their land. He refused
to feel sorry for her, or feel bad for what he’d done with
her—
to
her—nor for how...how
rough
...he’d been with
her.

Nay! He must stop that line of thought, else
he
would
begin to feel compunction. And that was the last
thing—the very last thing—he needed to be feeling at this
moment.

* * *

Morgana straightened her torn gown and
chemise as best she could before wrapping the cloak around her. The
hood of the thing had fallen back during those first minutes in the
lodge when Robert had settled her on the bed.

“Are you hungry? I’ve a bit of mutton and
cheese in yon satchel,” he said, tipping his head and nodding in
that direction as he spoke, tho’ he didn’t look up from his
endeavor at the hearth. “There are a few bannocks there as well, I
believe. Serve yourself, if you desire something.”

Where have you brought me?
she wanted
to ask. She’d been thinking about the possibilities these past
minutes and had decided that she was more than likely at a hunter’s
cot—she knew not whose—up in the hills.

She stood and walked with a bit of a slow
gate over to the satchel. Her canal was desperately sore. Her
thighs were aching and wobbly as well. But, she was more hungry
than pained, so she crouched down and rummaged inside the satchel
until she found the rough-woven bag with the food inside it.

She needed a knife. Lifting her gaze, she
scanned the wall.
Ah-ha!
There, not too far up for her to
reach, was a small dirk. She took it down and wiped it off on her
ruined gown before placing the food on the table and cutting a
portion of mutton and cheese for herself. She cut some for Robert
as well, before taking a couple of bannocks from the sack.

She rapped her knuckles on the wooden
surface to get his attention. He was finished with the fire and now
stood staring at the flames. He looked up and, it seemed to her, it
took him a moment to focus on her, so deep in thought had he been.
She pointed to his portion of the food and picked up a bannock,
holding it out to him, her brows arched in question.

“In a moment. No need to wait for me. Eat.”
He turned his gaze back on the flickering, crackling orange and
yellow flames.

Morgana ate, but there was little joy in the
endeavor. Robert was troubled, that much was clear. And it had
something to do with her being here instead of her cousin, but no
matter how hard she tried to puzzle it out, she could not ken the
importance of such a thing. Oh, she heartily understood why any man
would be vexed to find that his lover had sent another in her
place, but this was not anger she saw; nay, this was worry, deep
and anguish-filled.

Had her night of forbidden adventure cost
the man for whom she’d been pining these past sennights some
terrible price? Had it something to do with the reason he
participated in so many tournaments?

* * *

Robert stared, unblinking, at the smoke
rising up from the licking hearthfire he’d just kindled. What the
hell was he going to do? King William had refused his petition for
more time to repay his father’s debts, so he now had only three
moons more to earn the coin. And that sum was much too great to
earn, even were he to win every tourney given in that time. He’d
even offered his knight services to the Macleans for coin, but
that, along with the tourney winnings, was not enough. Not by
far.

He’d failed. Failed his clan, and failed
himself.

Robert’s eyes grew dry and started to sting.
He clamped them shut and pressed his forefinger and thumb against
their lids a moment. As he did so, and for what must have been the
thousandth time since he’d first learned of the extent of his late
father’s debt, he wondered
why
? Why had his father been so
set against the Norman earl, Roger de Burgh, whose land abutted the
south portion of their holding, that he had spent all his coin, and
borrowed against future earnings as well, to fight the man? Had it
something to do with Isobail, Robert’s sister, and the affair she
had with the earl’s son, Guy, so many years ago now? Or had it more
to do with the humiliation Guy caused her afterward? He’d asked
Isobail that very question as she lay dying o’er a year ago, but
she’d had no more an answer than he.

The rapping noise began again and he turned
toward it. It took him a moment to understand the lass’s hand
movements, but when he did, he answered, “ ‘Tis nearing dawn now.
My clansmen will return for us later today.” He shrugged. “Or the
morrow, at the latest, I’m sure. For, once they realize we got the
wrong lady, they’ll not continue with the original plan.” He
noticed the weariness in her eyes then. “Go to bed and get some
rest. I’ll join you there later—worry not, I’ll not fuck you again
without some means of preventing a babe.”

He turned back to the flame then, back to
his gloomful thoughts of the previous moment, back to his
ruminating. There
must
be some way to save his clan! He had
three moons,
three
moons to find that means, and he’d not
give up until the King came with his army—or sent his new tenant
with his—to claim his property.

* * *

Morgana was a bit stunned by Robert’s blunt
declaration, but she’d already realized he was a man of few words
and, she supposed, if she were to continue an affair with him—and
it certainly sounded as if he wasn’t averse to that idea—she’d
simply have to accustom herself to such.

Her eye wandered o’er to the narrow bed,
tucked against the far wall in the corner. ‘Twas barely wide
enough—or long enough—for his tall, muscular frame. She’d no doubt
need to lie on top of him for them both to fit upon it. That lewd
thought gave her both a thrill of excitement and a twinge of guilt.
She ignored the latter and basked in the former. After all—hadn’t
she only several hours past given herself permission to begin
enjoying her life a bit? ‘Twas not so evil, what she craved, was
it? ‘Twas not murder she committed, after all. She caused no harm
to another, instead giving only pleasure. A tingle of remembered
delight traveled down her center at the recollection of just how
much pleasure was given and received. Aye, ‘twas not evil, she’d
not believe it.

She rose from her stool and walked with
great purpose over to the bed and, now that the chamber was filled
with warmth from the hearthfire, she did as she always did: Took
every last stitch of clothing from her frame and got under the
blankets. She rolled onto her side, facing the wall, ne’er looking
back at Robert. But she felt the heat of his gaze upon her, even
still.

With a contented smile and a weary sigh, she
closed her eyes and fell into a deep sleep.

* * *

Robert was so painfully erect now, he knew
he couldn’t last the night without relief. The image of her naked
body was now burned into his mind for e’er more. God, but the lady
was lush, more lush even than Vika—and that lady had one of the
best figures he’d seen. Morgana’s, however, was on a higher plane.
Like some warrior goddess of old, her pale-pink nipples sat upon
the peaks of her round, high breasts, begging to give succor to her
man. Her silvery hair glistened against milky-smooth skin, and
tickled the dimples at the base of her spine, just above her
lovely, curved bottom. Rounded in a way that a man with big hands,
like himself, could get a good grip on. Her waist was long and
sweetly curved inward between her ribs and her narrow hips. And her
limbs. Tho’ she was only of medium height, her legs were long and
straight, her arms the same.

He’d noticed her of course, in court these
past sennights. For she had a beauty that few could ignore. She and
her cousin shared similar features. But with Morgana, the contrast
of her pale hair and cerulean blue eyes was much more striking. Add
to that, her perfectly sculpted cheeks and chin, her feminine
straight nose and a set of full lips that would give any man carnal
thoughts, and ‘twas no wonder that he’d felt stirred by her.

But he’d not dared to follow through on his
lust. For she was a virgin just from the nunnery, a poor relation
of Vika’s that could not aid his cause. Because he needed a wife—an
heiress—to save his clan. Besides which, until this eve, he’d been
sure that Vika felt threatened by her cousin. Would have, in fact,
discontinued her affair with him if he’d attempted a seduction of
Morgana—even tho’ Vika otherwise encouraged him to take other
lovers, as she did herself.

His eyes traveled o’er the hills and dales
of Morgana’s curving form. ‘Twould be the ultimate test of his will
not to fuck her again until they were back at the abbey. Ah, but
then, when he finally did have her again, he’d spend some time
enjoying all those feminine treasures she’d been hiding beneath her
modest lady’s attire all this time.

He turned away from her and, after quickly
giving himself manual relief and cleansing himself once more, he
went over to the food Morgana had laid out for him on the table and
choked it all down. He hadn’t had an appetite since first hearing
the sum his father owed. That was nearing three years ago now. But
he’d begun forcing himself to eat more since speaking with his
sister as she lay dying all those moons ago, after she had told him
he looked as if he were the one nearing his last hour. It had made
him finally admit to himself that if he wanted to continue winning
tourneys he would need to not only keep up his strength, but build
it. And that meant eating, whether there was an appetite to do so
or not.

After washing the last bite down with a bit
of the
uisge beatha
he dug out of his satchel, he stripped
off his shirt, doused the flames on the torch and the taper, and
got in bed. It took a minute, since Morgana was now well-cradled in
the realm of Hypnos, but he finally got her positioned on top of
him so that he could stretch out a bit more and rest. Surprisingly,
he was asleep himself in a matter of minutes.

“P
ATER NOSTER,
QUI es in caelis

Sanctificetur nomen tuum—”

Robert was jerked from one of the deepest,
most untroubled sleeps he’d had in three years by the sound of an
angel singing. He opened his eyes and realized that ‘twas Morgana
who sang so sweetly. She was sitting up, with her back against the
wall. The light from the hearthfire allowed him to see that, tho’
her eyes were open, she was not awake. There was something
unearthly in the far-off look in her blue eyes, in the moon-glow
silver of her hair streaming o’er her shoulders and down her torso,
giving him only a teasing glimpse of the succulent fullness of the
breasts beneath.

Stunned by the sight, stunned by the sound,
he didn’t try to awaken her, instead allowing the lovely image and
ethereal lyric resonance to build a tide of exaltation inside him.
For hers was the purest, most enchanting voice he’d e’er heard.

“
Et ne nos inducas in
tentationem;

Sed libera nos a malo.”

And then, as he watched, Morgana heaved a
contented sigh and, closing her eyes, settled back on top of him
with her head on his chest and her left hand curved o’er his
opposite shoulder. She was silent once more, and clearly sleeping
soundly now. Almost as if it were habit, he wrapped his arms around
her and brushed a light kiss on her brow.

So, her voice was not ruined, as the rumors
attested. Did this happen often? And if so, did she know of it?