Song of the Highlands: The Cambels (The Medieval Highlanders) (7 page)

* * *

‘Twas clear to Robert that the snow storm of
two morns before had been mostly concentrated near the cot, for, as
he and the band of soldiers continued to travel down the path, the
snow became much less dense, the traveling much easier. It answered
the lingering question of how the earl—anyone, for that matter—had
traversed the hillside to get to them.

Morgana rode up nearer the front with her
uncle and the priest. The fact that she still refused to wed him
softened his feelings for her even further than they already had
been by their torrid night of passion.

‘Twas a boon for which he’d not deny
gratitude that the law—both that of the church and that of the
state—decried that both parties must openly attest to their
willingness for a particular marriage match, else they could not be
wed. Which would allow him the chance to find another heiress.

* * *

Vika followed the servant into Morgana’s
chamber. She waited for the youth to settle the tray of food onto
the table and walk back out before she spoke. “So, was it all that
you’d dreamed, my pet?”

Morgana felt her face flame, but she
nodded.

“Good. He can be a bit...I know not...less
than generous, shall we say? Sometimes?”

Morgana gave her a confused look.

Vika grinned. “But I see that was clearly
not the case for you. ‘Tis glad I am of that.” She wandered over to
the table and tore a piece of venison away from the shank and
popped it in her mouth. After a moment, she said, “ ‘Tis a shame
the King sent a messenger to turn my father back from his journey
to our holding, else your adventure would have gone
undiscovered.”

She pivoted to face Morgana. “But my father
is now quite set upon you wedding your seducer. And, after all,
‘twas the King’s greatest wish that you be brought from the nunnery
and given the chance at a husband.”

She walked over to where Morgana sat by the
hearth and knelt down, taking both Morgana’s hands in her own. “You
must agree to wed him, my pet, else my father is quite set on
punishment until you do.” She paused briefly before continuing,
“And he can be quite brutal, as I learned on more than one occasion
when I was a young lass, and before I agreed to wed the old man he
chose for me. Thanks be to heaven that I’m out from under both
their controls these past three years since the old man’s death.”
Vika squeezed Morgana’s hands. “ ‘Tis no use fighting my father—he
always gets what he wants in the end.” She lifted her hand to
Morgana’s cheek. “Go to him now, before he can begin his
punishment, and tell him you’ve reconsidered, that you will wed
Robert MacVie.”

Morgana shook her head, giving her cousin a
pleading look for understanding.

“Why? Why will you not wed the man? I know
you’ve been pining for him for quite a time now—all of the court
knew, I think, except Robert.”

Morgana felt the hot blush of mortification
rise up her neck and face. She ignored her cousin’s question and
jerking her hands from her cousin’s grasp, motioned for her to
explain.

Vika chuckled. “
Morgana!
Your eye
rarely moved from him when e’er he was in the same chamber. You
went only to the jousts that he was competing in. ‘Twas plain. As
plain as...as...well, as the stone cross upon
Caislean
Credi
, that you desired him.”

Morgana covered her burning face with her
hands and closed her eyes tight. What a fool she’d made of herself.
All the court must have laughed heartily at the nearly beggared,
white-haired mute, with little chance of drawing such a one’s eye,
following him around like some eager hound.

Vika patted Morgana’s knee. “Do not fret so,
for, ‘tis plain now that Robert likes you as well, is it not? Or—he
did take you again after he discovered the switch, did he not?”

Morgana’s cheeks burned even hotter, but she
slid her hands away from her face and, giving her cousin a joyful,
wide-eyed look, nodded her head.

Vika grinned.
So.
The lass had been
well-fledged, it seemed. Good. ‘Twas good to learn of such things
from a man you desired. An image flashed in her mind then of a
Norse warrior—bright-haired, proud, and strong—but she scuttled it
back into the dark recesses of her memory, turning her thoughts
back to her cousin. “And you found the gift I left for you—sewn in
the hem of the cloak—and used it?”

Morgana’s nod was sheepish.

“Well, then. You see? All is well. You must
wed your lover and appease my father’s ire.”

Morgana’s mien turned sad again and her
shoulders slumped. She shook her head.

Vika sighed loudly. “
Why?
”

Morgana began a mad explanation, her hands
and lips moving rapidly.

Vika sat back a bit and nodded her head.
“Aye,” she said with a sigh, “I know of his troubles.” She got to
her feet and began to pace, chewing thoughtfully on her thumbnail.
“I do not know the sum that he’s seeking, but surely my father will
settle a sizeable dowry on you and that will help his cause—if not
relieve it completely.”

Morgana knew differently. She’d already been
told, in angry detail, of what she could expect from her uncle in
the way of dowry now that she had humiliated the family with her
wanton behavior: Naught.

Vika stayed another hour continuing to try
to convince Morgana to change her mind, but Morgana refused to
budge in her conviction that she must not stand in Robert’s way of
finding and wedding the heiress he clearly so desperately
needed.

She settled at the table then and ate as
much of the meal as she could stomach. ‘Twould no doubt be the last
for quite a time.

Afterward, she rinsed her mouth, bathed her
face and slid, naked, under the blankets and linens atop her bed.
It took her quite a while, but sometime in the wee hours of the
morn, she at last drifted into a troubled sleep.

* * *

Morgana was wrenched from her bed not long
after by her uncle, the priest standing not four paces away, and
told to dress quickly.

Scarlet flags of humiliation colored her
cheeks as she hastily threw on the chemise and gown her uncle
tossed in her face.

“ ‘Tis the dungeon for you until you agree
to wed that cocky knight who ruined you. And after you’ve given the
priest your confession, he’ll mete out your penance.”

Dread filled Morgana’s breast. The dungeon?
Were there not criminals there, chained and diseased, awaiting
their final plea to the King, or their final end? Her resolve
wavered, but then her heart overrode it. Nay, she’d not be the
cause of Robert’s downfall. And surely her uncle would relent after
a time, when he saw that she would not give in to him.

With her head dipped in deference and her
hands clasped in front of her, she followed behind her uncle, the
priest directly at her heels.

She lifted her eyes, but not her head, to
her uncle as they walked down steps and through the halls and
chambers of the abbey toward the tower dungeon. His gate was
purposeful, his back rigid, his arms swinging at his sides. He was
not a tall man, only an inch or two taller than herself. But he was
wide. Not completely gone to fat, but not as lean and muscular as
she’d been told he had been in his youth. His torso was long, but
his legs were short and stubby.

They were going deeper and deeper down a
winding stone staircase, getting e’er closer to that dark pit she’d
heard tales of from some of the soldiers. Her heart, already
pounding hard in her chest, began to race e’er faster, tripping and
skipping the further below they went.

Her uncle paused and Morgana barely missed
running into him. He took a lit torch from its sconce before
continuing on his trek, ne’er saying another word to her.

She could hear the harsh breathing of the
priest at her back. ‘Twas clear the man was growing winded from
their long march to her doom.

At last, her uncle came to a standstill
directly outside a door with a bar across it and a lock the size of
the man’s head in its iron latch.

* * *

“Where has your father taken Morgana?” Guy
de Burgh asked, sitting down next to Vika at table as she broke her
fast in the great hall a bit later.

Vika swallowed back the waspish, jealous
reply before it tripped off her tongue, instead giving him a sad
look and shaking her head. With a slight shrug, she said, “I know
not.”

“ ‘Tis rumored that he’s put her in the
dungeon, with the felons. If that be the case, we must get her from
there forthwith.”

Vika looked at her hand and rubbed the nail
of her middle finger with the pad of her thumb. “I think, if ‘tis
true that she’s in the dungeon, that my father would keep her
locked in a chamber by herself, not in with the others there.” She
lifted her gaze to Guy’s. “Besides, ‘twould only cause my father to
be more angered—at me, and my cousin—were we to attempt such a
feat.”

“Help me find her, at least. I must see how
she fares. We can either bribe the guard, or you can distract him
with your beauty and wiles. Either way, I care not.”

“Why care you so much about my cousin?
Surely you’ve heard, as have I these past hours, that my father has
denied her a dowry because of her conduct with Robert MacVie.” She
lifted her brow in speculation. “Unless...do you want her as lover,
mayhap? After Robert?”

Guy’s teeth ground together. Vika was the
exact opposite, it seemed, of her cousin. The lady was selfish to a
fault, ne’er doing anything unless it might serve her own
interests. Even with regard to her cousin, for whom, ‘twas clear to
all, she deeply cared.

The truth was, he liked Morgana. In fact,
these past sennights, as he’d gotten to know her, he had come to
the decision to give her his troth. He had no need for a wealthy
alliance; he had plenty of his own. But he did need an heir. And,
since he had destroyed his chance to wed the one woman to whom he
could have—
had,
in fact—given his heart; a lady such as
Morgana, whom he liked well, seemed the perfect solution.

“I intend to give her my troth.”

Vika turned a bit more toward him, her eyes
narrowing as she rested her forearm on the table. There was an edge
to her voice when she said, “You do know, my father intends her to
wed Robert, her seducer, to take the taint off the family
name.”

She leaned forward and said softly, “If ‘tis
a wife you seek, I’ve a need for a husband now that my own dear
departed’s nephew has taken possession of the family’s holding.
And, unlike my cousin, I can bring a great fortune with me.” She
ran her finger down the front of his tunic in direct line to his
groin. “We could meet after supper and practice a bit of amorous
sparring, if you wish to...” Her tongue darted out the corner of
her mouth in reaction to what her finger found, then she said with
a purr, “...
discover
how we get on...?”

Guy grabbed hold of her hand and, not
gently, placed it back on the table. “I think not.”

Vika felt angry heat rise to her cheeks, but
she sat back and gave Guy a bored smile. With a shrug, she said,
“As you wish.” ‘Twas not as if she’d been in the least serious
about wedding him, in any case, but a mutual seduction? Well, that
was another matter, entirely. She took a breath and added, “As far
as my aiding you with my cousin,
I
think not.” She rose to
her feet and, with a demure courtesy, turned and walked from the
great hall.

Guy narrowed his eyes as he watched Vika
move smoothly toward the exit. He hardened his jaw. He would need
to find another way in which to see Morgana. But how? After another
moment, he, too, rose and departed the great hall, another plan
forming in his mind.

* * *

Robert had heard the rumors as well, of
course, but there was little he could do for Morgana without
destroying his clan. Aye, his conscience was sore. Aye, he worried
for her welfare. Aye, his dreams had been filled with her the night
before. And, aye, if things were different, he’d wed her with
little remorse.

But. He was his clan’s only hope, and he
would not forsake them o’er a woman. No matter how gentle, how
giving, how lovely, how restorative, how overpoweringly desirable,
she was.

He rammed the bottle of
uisge beatha
back in his satchel and mounted his steed. He was off to a nearby
holding to woo another heiress he’d learned of this morn. Mayhap,
if all went well, he’d return here in a few days’ time with a new
bride. And then, surely, the earl would release Morgana from her
prison.

* * *

Morgana sat crouched in the corner of the
dank, dark cell. Her breathing, harsh, and her skin, clammy. She’d
not stopped quaking since first smelling the odor of fetid meat and
spew, the damp must that pervaded the chamber. And her uncle had
not left even one taper for her.

Her head flashed first one way and then the
other. All about her were the sounds of scurrying vermin feet.
They’d bite her, she knew, if they were allowed near her. And such
a wound could send her into a mad, foaming-mouthed fit until death
at last took her. She shivered.

When the sound came closer, she
swish
ed her cloak across the floor, as she had been doing
all day, to try to keep the rats at bay. Thankfully, as it had the
many times she’d done so before, it worked again.

Morgana ran her dry tongue o’er her parched
lips. Before the door had been slammed shut, and all light had been
extinguished, her gaoler had shown her where to find the bucket
that held water and a ladle from which to drink. But knowing that
the rats were no doubt taking full advantage of its bounty, she’d
relinquished the full of it to them.

However, her thirst was now great and, if
the gaoler did not return before dawn to refill the bucket, she’d
be forced to take up a bit from the tainted container.