Song of the Highlands: The Cambels (The Medieval Highlanders) (9 page)

Guy started to move up beside her, but
Morgana adamantly shook her head. The fear in her look and the way
her eyes shifted rapidly from her uncle, back to Guy, told Guy all
he needed to know. He halted and waited until the mounted party
were well up ahead before continuing on his journey.

He had not gone more than a mile forward
before he reined his horse in and turned back. There was naught
left for him at King William’s court. He’d done well in the jousts
he’d competed in, as was his liege lord, Guillaume le Maréchal, the
Earl of Pembroke’s desire, but his own endeavor, his search for a
wife, had not been so successful. Mayhap he’d have more luck in
Cambria this next time.

With that thought in mind, he kneed his
mount into a full gallop. If the weather held, he’d be at Cilgerran
Castle by the time of
Pasche
.

* * *

Morgana was dragged from her mount by her
uncle and shoved ahead of him. “Get you back to the dungeon. ‘Tis
clear the flogging you received this morn past did little to
cleanse your soul.”

Morgana stumbled and nearly fell forward
when he shoved her again, this time with even greater strength
behind it. Her back was on fire from his rough handling and tears
of fear and shame formed in her eyes. Her limbs, her frame, were
quaking so badly, she could barely keep herself upright.

‘Twas in this manner that they continued on
until they were inside the dank, odorous cell once more. Her uncle
had said naught else during the forced march to her prison, but
once the door was slammed shut behind him, he settled the torch in
its hoop on the wall, picked up the crop, and said, “Bend over and
grasp your ankles.”

Morgana shook her head, pleading with him
the best she could, with her expression, with her hands, not to
beat her again.

“Do as I say, or ‘twill be twice the
punishment for you. I’ll not have a willful whore for family.”

Tears of utter dread streaked down her face
but she turned and did as he’d bade.

In the next second, her skirts were flung
o’er her head and the crop came down on the tender flesh of her
buttocks and thighs in swift, repetitive, searing, strokes.

* * *

Robert had just come out of the stables when
he’d seen Morgana’s uncle pushing his niece through the doorway of
the dungeon tower.

He’d raced to catch up to them, but by the
time he’d made it into the tower, they were already nearing their
destination. He could hear the sound of their footsteps coming from
somewhere below him in the stairwell. While he was still descending
the stairs, he heard the echo of a door slamming. He continued on,
listening at first one door and then another, until he came to one
in which he heard the distinct
thwack
ing sound of
something—a crop, mayhap?—meeting flesh. He pushed on the door and
it opened.

“Leave her be!” he roared. In the next
instant he was between the earl and Morgana. He took two of the
strokes to his shins before he was able to wrest the crop from the
earl’s hand.

The earl, sweating and red-faced, his
shoulders heaving with each new breath, looked up at him. There was
a gleam in his eyes that caused the hairs on the back of Robert’s
neck to rise. ‘Twas clear, the man did not even see who was
standing before him, so thralled was he by his means of
punishment.

Robert heard shuffling behind him but dared
not turn his back on the man. “Morgana, go back to your
chamber.”

“You have no right to give her a decree such
as that! I am her guardian and she must do as I dictate!”

“She is my betrothed. From this day forward,
you have no right to her.” Robert’s heart pounded in his chest.
What am I saying?
He wasn’t going to
wed
the lass—he
had to find an
heiress
for his clan! On the cusp of that
thought, he saw a blur of white hair pass next to him. When he
looked, he saw the daubs of blood that stained the back of
Morgana’s pale gray gown, and was livid. After that, no matter how
he tried, the words would not rise up in him to negate his previous
statement. He was in deep, deep,
deep
, trouble.

* * *

Guy shoved the velvet purse filled with most
of the coin he’d gained from the tournaments these past sennights,
along with a rolled scroll, into the young novice’s hand. “Take
these directly to the King. He’ll have audience with you
immediately if you say you’ve a missive from me.”

The youth nodded and tucked both in the
billowing sleeves of his habit before turning and making his way on
foot down the path leading to the abbey at Scone, where the King
held court.

‘Twould be well past nones by the time the
novice arrived at his destination, but Guy’s conscience and pride
were soothed by the knowledge that by nightfall, not only would
Morgana be well out from under her uncle’s iron-fisted sway and
under the protection of both her betrothed and the King, but that
Guy would have at last paid the debt he owed to the MacVie clan for
his part in their financial ruin due to his youthful dalliance with
the lovely Isobail.

* * *

“So, you wish to wed the lady Morgana
Cambel?” King William asked Robert late that evening. Robert was on
one knee at the base of the King’s throne in the royal court
chamber. His liege had sent forth a decree to Robert that he wished
to meet with him after dinner.

Robert had a yawning dread that the King may
have reconsidered even the three moons he’d given him to repay his
debt and would now tell him that he wanted the payment in full
forthwith.

But this question he’d asked gave him
pause.

“Aye, my lord King, I do.” Tho’ he still had
no idea how he could do it and still pay his debts. His clan was
going to kill him. Beat him, flay him, roast him o’er a spit, fire
flaming arrows into him, then kill him.

And he’d help them.

King William nodded his head. His red hair
had long turned to gray, but there was still a youthful, yet
speculative, twinkle in the old man’s sharp gaze. “Because the
lady’s uncle demands it?”

Robert swallowed hard. “Nay, sire.”

King William’s eyes narrowed. “Because you
love
the lady?”

Robert’s heart began to thud. What was King
William’s purpose? Would he scorn the match? A thrill of relief
coursed through him. But then, immediately on its heels, came
remorse and an even stronger sense of purpose. He would not leave
Morgana in the violent hands of her nearly mad uncle. “Nay, sire,”
he answered honestly. He dared not lie to his liege. “But I like
her well. As she does me, I trow.”

King William settled back in his chair.
“Donnach told me he found the two of you hidden away in a hunter’s
cot up in the hills. Is this true?”

“Aye, sire.”

King William studied the nails on his
beringed right hand. “And did you force the lady?”

“Nay, sire.”

The king looked at him. “But you did tup
her?”

Robert cleared his throat. “Aye, sire.”

King William smiled. “Well then. I see no
reason for the wedding not to take place as Donnach has arranged.
We’ll leave for the chapel at the morrow’s dawn.” He rubbed his
hands together. “Now, I do believe I’ve a wedding gift for you that
you’ll not forswear.” He paused, a jolly grin splitting his
countenance. “I’ve decided to forgive a portion of your debt,
Robert MacVie. Exactly half, in fact.”

Robert’s heart began to race so rapidly, he
grew dizzy.

“And the remainder you may pay me o’er the
next five years.”

“My...my thanks, sire.”

“ ‘Twas a boon that you chose my darling
Morgana to seduce. For I’ve had a soft spot in my heart for her
since she was no more than a babe. ‘Twas my fondest wish, after the
horror of her youth, that she would have the chance to be a wife,
have bairns.” He sighed. “Aye, ‘twas a boon for you, and a good
decision on my part to demand that Donnach take her from that
nunnery and bring her here to me.”

Robert cleared his throat again and nodded.
“Aye, sire.”

“Off with you then. You’ve a wedding to
prepare for, and I’ve six more subjects with whom I must meet
before supper.”

Robert rose to his feet and bowed before
walking with a lighter step than he’d had in many, many moons out
the door.

There was silence in the chamber a moment as
the King watched the young knight’s departure, and then he said to
the high steward, “ ‘Tis a fine thing, and only fitting I trow,
that Guy de Burgh sent such a heavy purse to pay MacVie's debts—and
the extra half I shall receive o’er the next years will aid in my
campaigns against the upstarts, eh?”

“Aye, that it be, sire,” the man
replied.

* * *

“So, it all turned out well for you after
all,” Vika said later that night as she sat in Morgana’s chamber
watching the lady’s maid put salve on her cousin’s welts and sores.
“Tho’ if you’d only agreed to the match when I told you to do so,
you’d not have near the number of marks on your flesh that you bear
now.” Vika let out a loud sigh of frustration. “Did I not tell you?
My father can be quite cruel in his punishments.”

Morgana kept her gaze on the older woman’s
ministering hands, but she nodded.

“Ack! But enough of that. It turned out well
in the end.”

Morgana swiveled her head and looked at her
cousin, one brow lifted.

Vika chuckled. “Do not give me that look, my
pet. It
did
turn out well. You shall be wed to the man
you’ve pined away for these past sennights, and he’s had half his
debt forgiven by the King—and the other half he has
five
years
to repay!”

Aye, Morgana thought, but for how long will
Robert remain hers alone? She’d seen too much of the ways of the
flesh here at court these past sennights to believe he’d stay true
for e’er more.

She returned her gaze to as much of her
sorely-abused backside as she could see. Nay, she’d not ruminate on
such dreary thoughts. No matter what the outcome with Robert, she
was determined to remain cheerful, to enjoy her new life, and to be
thankful that she’d now be able to have the bairns she’d dreamed
of, but had given up hope of having.

And who better to sire strong sons than her
mighty, virile, handsome lover—soon to be husband—Robert
MacVie?

In some future time, when he left her bed
for good, she’d not break her heart o’er it. Nay, she’d busy
herself with other things that she enjoyed, like cooking and
raising her bairns, and she’d ne’er bat an eye at his wandering.
Not one eye.

* * *

‘Twas as Vika was making her way across the
courtyard to meet her lover of the evening that a strong arm swept
around her waist and a large, gloved hand clamped o’er her mouth
and nose, nearly suffocating her. As the man hauled her into a dark
alley between the stone walls of two of the abbey’s inner
structures, she struggled to free herself from his grasp.

This abduction felt too real to be a lover’s
game and her heart raced with fear. Would he slit her throat?
Strangle her? She redoubled her efforts to get free, but she was
fast losing consciousness. She hadn’t taken a full breath since her
captor got hold of her and her mind was swirling, her ears
ringing.

But just when the soft ebon mist began to
surround her vision and she was near to swooning, he dropped her to
her feet, pressed her up against the wall—she started to scream,
but he stuffed a gag in her mouth—then jerked her hands behind her
back, bound them, and yanked up her skirts. When he had both her
legs bent o’er his arms, he leaned down and nuzzled her ear.

Oh, God. Let me live through this.
Her blood turned to ice and she began to shake. She screamed behind
the cloth, twisted and bucked.

But then, an all-too familiar voice said,
“This is how you like it, is it not, Vika,
my love
?” In the
next second, he was pushing inside her.

“Ohhh,
God
!” she ground out in a wash
of relief and instant desire, tho’ ‘twas muffled by the gag. The
sound of his voice alone had sent a flood of juices into her canal.
He had always had that effect on her. Always. Since their first
meeting when she was but a young bride of twelve summers. He
stroked into her again and she tightened around him. Would he like
her new trick?

He jerked. “Aargh!” And then: “
Vika.
”
There was heartbreak in his voice, as if he knew well of all the
lovers she’d lain with since him.

But then he began to take her in earnest. He
kissed her neck, with a rough, biting suction, pounding into her so
deep, so voraciously, she could feel him battering the mouth of her
womb. “Come for me, Vika,” he said as he strummed the pleasure
point at the apex of her sex with the pad of his thumb.

Her womb quivered but she shook her head.
She didn’t want to come for him. She fought hard not to do so.
‘Twas not fair. He had much too much power o’er her for her liking.
‘Twas another reason, mayhap the
true
reason, she’d left the
isle of
Leòdhas
after her husband’s death. To get out from
under this Nordic warrior’s control.

But ‘twas no use. “Nay! Nay! Nay!” she
moaned through the cloth. Her limbs quaked, her tummy trembled, her
sheath violently convulsed around his erection.

He ripped at the neckline of her gown and
chemise. "I want to hear you come apart," he said, pulling the gag
from her mouth at last as well. But she was in the throes of such
an intense release, she was barely aware of what he was doing. As
she was over the edge of the crest, however, she felt the same hot,
humid suction on the tip of her breast as she had a moment before
on her neck. It sent her careening once more.

“Aaahhhh! Aaahhhh! Aaahhh! God!” She heard
her keening cries, felt the hot tears streaming down her cheeks,
touched the stars he handed her once more.