Song of the Highlands: The Cambels (The Medieval Highlanders) (55 page)

A commotion was heard near the entry to the
great hall, and a wash of pleasure went through her as she looked
with anticipation toward the doorway. She felt Robert move beside
her, then the warm, calloused comfort of his hand on hers.

“Is this the thing you were telling me of?”
he asked low.

“Aye,” she said through her smile, never
taking her gaze from the entry.

As was expected, the lyre player began the
soft, ceremonial tune, and she soon saw the line of spinners, dyers
and weavers come into the chamber one at a time, dressed in the
fine colored cloth Morgana’s new trade had afforded. The last two
carried in front of them bolts of fine wool. One, the color of
copper, meticulously spun, then woven, then died to match her
mother’s aspect, and the other the blue of the midnight sky, to
complement her father’s eyes.

When they were positioned as Morgana had
requested, she gave a nod to the head spinner and head weaver, and
they each took one of the colored bolts from the two others’ arms
and presented them to the wedded pair. As rehearsed, the head
weaver said, “This fine cloth from our Lady’s own looms is her gift
to you on this, your wedding day.”

Murmurs of approval traveled through the
room, as the guests looked with delight upon the brightly colored
gifts. Her mother and father leaned forward and saluted her with a
smile and mouthed praise.

She felt her cheeks heat with pleasure and
dipped her head in a sudden spell of shyness.

Robert’s arm came around her and he pulled
her into his side, giving her a squeeze and whispering in her ear,
“ ‘Tis lovely, Morgana.”

“My thanks,” she said softly.

All at once, she felt more than saw a
presence in front of their section of the table and lifted her
gaze. Again, a wash of pleasure went through her and she smiled, a
question in her countenance, at the group of spinners, dyers and
weavers, and now even the larderers, the maids, and a host of the
other women who worked at the keep, had made a mass congregation
before her.

“This, my lady,” the head spinner said,
stepping forward with yet another bolt of dark lavender colored
samite, “is from us to you, and is the first and best bolt from our
new silk weaving looms. You’ve aided our Laird and aided our clan.
You’ve helped to bring prosperity back to us here, and for this, we
give you our thanks.”

When she’d first arrived home, after so many
moons away, she’d worried that her place with the women—already
precarious, or so she had felt—would be even more so. But she’d
been wrong. The women of the clan, the women of the keep had
welcomed, and even pampered her. And o’er the past sennights, she
had found the added space, as well as a means of beginning the
cloth trade she’d hoped to establish all those moons ago. In fact,
there was now a store room filling with bolts upon bolts of the
MacVie wool and silk to be sold the next holy day and fair.

Morgana reached out and ran her hand o’er
the slick cloth, saying, “ ‘Tis the loveliest cloth I’ve e’er seen!
My thanks.”

The women dipped in courtesy, then took all
three of the bolts of cloth out of the feasting hall so that they
would not get stained, and Morgana could not take her eyes from
them as they left the chamber, so proud was she of them, so
humbled, and awed as well.

Robert lifted the chalice of wine and
offered it to her, and she gratefully took a sip of the cool
liquid. With a sigh, she sat back in her chair and allowed the
images of all the coins they’d garner from selling all that cloth
in not too long a time to whirl through her thoughts.

The pipers began to play a familiar melody,
and it brought Morgana from her thoughts. The musician moved in
graceful, dance-like steps toward her, and when he was just below
her place at the raised table, he beckoned her with a wave of his
hand. Robert nudged her, leaning down to whisper in her ear, “Sing
for us, Morgana. Sing this for your mother and father.”

Her face flamed and she started to shake her
head, but then her gaze traveled to her mother’s and she saw the
longing in her eyes, so she gave a nod and rose to her feet. Once
off the dais, she moved to the area that had been cleared for the
musicians and, after the lyre player and piper were in their
positions as well, she began to softly, hesitantly, sing the song,
in the ancient tongue, that her mother had sung to her so oft when
Morgana was but a wee lass:

Upon th’ misty moor did I

Go tha’ fateful morn . . .

She allowed her gaze to drift from her
mother’s gleaming one to her father’s. His was filled with the same
pride and love for her that her mother’s held, and it gave her
courage to lift her voice higher for the next verse:

And lay me down upon the ground

To ‘wait me fey tribe’s horn . . .

And on she went, singing all ten of the
verses. It seemed as if a sennight had past by the time she sang
the last note, and the dampness in her palms no doubt matched that
on her brow. Still, she exulted in the clamorous show of approval
she received from all the guests once the song ended. She let her
gaze fall on her husband, and her spirits soared higher still when
she caught his broad smile and tender look. He motioned to her to
return to him, and she dipped a swift courtesy to the crowd, then
quickly, and gratefully, obeyed.

When she was seated once more at his side,
he murmured against her ear, “I shall ne’er tire of your voice,
Morgana. Will you sing to me again later, when I am inside
you?”

Her cheeks turned hotter still and she
darted a glance around him to David, who thankfully had his
attention upon his trencher and had not heard, before answering,
“Aye, always, if you wish it.” She felt the now-familiar fluttering
of her babe, like butterfly wings, inside her womb, and said with a
hand on her belly, “I think he likes my song as well. He
dances.”

Robert’s marvelous grin lit his visage once
more and he settled his palm on the small mound of her belly as
well. “He’s a strong one.”

Her heart constricted. “Aye. You said the
same of our first.”

He didn’t respond
immediately, instead his eyes scanned her countenance, then met her
eyes. Finally he said, “We would not have lost him had you not been
poisoned, Morgana. You must believe that.” He paused again, but
only in the time it took to blink an eye. “
I
must believe that.”

A hand settled on her shoulder and she
started. ‘Twas her mother.

“The babe is hale, and so are you, daughter.
I know these things. Besides, Wife Deirdre says the same, so do not
forget.”

A calm settled upon Morgana. She lifted her
countenance to her mother’s and gave her a wide smile. “Aye, you
are right.”

“May I go to my bedchamber now, Uncle?”
David said to Robert.

“Aye.” After only a small pause, he said,
“Are you missing Callum and Branwenn and the feast at the Maclean
holding this year?”

He swiped a fallen lock of sandy blond hair
off his brow “Aye, I miss them, but….” He looked up at the rafters,
a pensive look upon his visage. In that moment she saw a trace of
Robert there and her heart melted even more for the young orphaned
lad.

Morgana held her breath and without
realizing it, placed her hand o’er the one her mother still had
resting on Morgana’s shoulder.

Finally, David continued, saying, “But I’m
glad I came to stay with you this Yule. Your lady wife is pretty
and she lets my dog sleep in my bed with me.”

Robert turned to her with one brow lifted
and said, “Truly? Hmmm.”

Morgana felt her cheeks heat, but she said,
“Jasper’s a good dog—I could not see the harm.”

One side of Robert’s mouth
lifted and he stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers, then
turned back to David, saying, “Off with you then, and take a meaty
bone up for the hound—but he must gnaw it by the hearth,
not
in your
bed.”

“Aye, Uncle,” David said with renewed
energy.

While David went to gather a bone for
Jasper, Morgana turned back to her mother and said, “Are you ready
to go to your bride’s bed now?”

Her mother returned the smile. “Aye—and so
is your father.” She’d barely spoken the last syllable when Morgunn
strode up behind them as well and placed a proprietary hand on the
small of her mother’s back, saying to Morgana, “You’ve the voice of
an angel, daughter. I’d forgot that song until you sang it just
now.” He didn’t wait for an answer, but turned to her mother and
said, “Let us be off to our chamber, my love, for I’ll not wait
another moment to finally have you again in my bed, where you
belong.”

Her mother’s cheeks turned crimson, and
Morgana could have sworn she saw worry, doubt, or even a small
amount of fear flash in her eyes as well, but ‘twas gone so
quickly, she decided she’d imagined it when Gwynlyan took Morgunn’s
arm and they both departed the dais with a bit of a skip in their
stride.

As Morgana watched the swaying backs of the
couple move across the great hall and out the door, Robert touched
her cheek and whispered, “Take me to bed, wife.”

“Aye,” she answered.

And she did.

~ THE END ~

Don’t miss the bonus material that follows:

The additional chapter of Gwynlyan and Morgunn’s
wedding night and their love story’s resolution that could not be
fitted within the scope of Robert and Morgana’s tale, but beckoned
that it be told nevertheless.

1

1

(Morgunn & Gwynlyan)

By

K.E. Saxon

(Morgunn & Gwynlyan)

Copyright © 2014 by K.E. Saxon

http://www.kesaxon.com

All rights reserved. No part of this book may
be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or
mechanical including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any
information storage retrieval system without the written permission
of the author K.E. Saxon, the copyright owner and publisher of this
book, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical
articles or reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
places, brands, media, and incidents either are the product of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to
actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead,
is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the publisher.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners
of various products referenced in its work of fiction, which have
been used without permission. The publication/use of these
trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the
trademark owners.

Cover image obtained from
Jenn LeBlanc
/ Illustrated Romance

Cover Design by K.E. Saxon

Of Us That
Trade in Love

(Morgunn & Gwynlyan)

As Morgunn all but dragged her by the hand
from the great hall, Gwynlyan pasted what she hoped would be
perceived as a smile of anticipatory joy on her lips, very much
aware of the friendly and amused gazes of all their well-wishers
watching them as they made their way out of the feasting chamber to
go to her bride’s bed for the night.

“At last, at last, my Gwynlyan, I’ll have
you thrashing and moaning ’neath me again in mere moments,” Morgunn
said, a little too loud for Gwynlyan’s liking, and she darted a
glance to the nearest table of guests. She didn’t know why she’d
bothered, as the snorts of mirth would have told her just the same:
Aye, they’d heard him. “Truly, Morgunn. Must you be so lewd?” she
said sotto voce.

“You used to like it when I spoke in that
way to you,” he said in like tones.

She felt her cheeks flame and his eyes
twinkled at her before he tossed his head back and gave forth a
great belly laugh. Even that did not slow his stride.

In another moment, they were alone together
on the stairs, away from all prying eyes, and Gwynlyan allowed her
guard down, but only slightly. For, the true trial was only just
beginning. In a matter of moments, he’d have her in their chamber
and expect her to strip bare for him, as she’d intimated, but not
promised in words, she’d finally do once the obligation for the
ceremony and feast were concluded.

Aye, she’d give him her body, as he was so
clearly determined to have. She owed him that. She only hoped she’d
not give herself away, give the extent of her experience with other
men away. She must remain on her guard. Try to recall how it had
been with them before, how innocent and pure, and try to mimic it
the best she could. She.... Her brain stopped the thought. Nay, she
could not tell him of that time, for she knew him so well. He’d
push and prod and not let her be until she’d spilled every vile
deed she’d done, she’d had done to her. And truly, she could not
bear to speak of it. Not to him, not even to herself. See only how
her mind would not form the remainder of the thought just now? That
was how ‘twas with her, and she wanted it to remain thus.