Morganna (The Brocade Collection, Book 4) (29 page)

“One bit of my teasing about your teasing, and you seek to run. You are a strange creature, Morganna. I think it’s because you will lose control if you allow humor into your world. You are so blasted serious because you canna’
allow the slightest crack to your composure. You canna’ lose control. If that
happens, you’ll...what? Let something besides your vow rule your world?
Something...like love, mayhap?”

She gulped again. She didn’t have an answer. She shook her head. He
didn’t know the extent of her life vow. When he found out, he wouldn’t be
speaking words of love or losing control or anything else to her, except hate and
revenge, himself.

“Maybe you hunt for this reason. Maybe you hunt because it puts perfect
order to your world. It puts you in command of it, instead of the other way around. Perhaps this is what hunting is to you.”

Her eyes were awash with moisture, and he glimmered through it as a
blur of blue and green sett, and long, thick legs and arms. “I already told you the
elk could live, Zander. What else would you have of me?” she whispered.

“
Do you carry my bairn?” he asked, softly.

Morgan had to look away. She concentrated on a tree, any tree, and she
picked a large, stout one, with bark as thick as Zander’s head must be. The
thought helped as her tears faded.

She looked back down at him.
“I already told you, FitzHugh, that I am
unable to carry a bairn, whether it is sired by a grand fellow such as yourself, or a
mere man.’Tisn’t a fault of yours, if you think to place the blame there. ’Tis
mine.”

“If
you carry no bairn, ’tis na’ my fault, nor is it yours, Morganna, my love.
’Tis God’s will.” He shrugged. “I was hopeful you would be by now, though. ’Twas my fondest wish.”

“Why?”

She’d give anything not to have asked it. She realized it as he put the entire force of those blue eyes on her. Morgan’s eyes widened and she gaped.
She actually felt the burning sensation starting at the depth of her and spreading
outward, and the bairn felt it, too, if the movement within her was any indication.

“R
emember when I spoke of a woman’s power, Morganna?” he asked.

She nodded. It was the most she was capable of.

“It is in the life she gives. The life she creates for the men about her, it’s the realms of valor, gallantry and chivalry that she makes a man strive toward, just so
he can be noble enough to deserve to be at her side. And it is the life she grows within her. A man canna’ do any of these things. This is the power women have. I ask you again, Morganna, and I beg of you not to lie to me...do you carry my
bairn?”

She didn’t betray herself by so much as a hairsbreadth of motion. “And I
asked you why you keep asking,” she finally replied, although nothing about her
voice sounded normal. She was actually having a hard time hearing it over the roar of sound in her own ears.

He sighed. “This season
just passed? ’Twas wondrous. ’Twas all I longed for
Scotland. The Bruce had his countrymen to sway. The need for freedom has
gained root, and with every word he spoke, and every crowd he swayed, he has
encouraged it and helped it grow. This forced march canna’ last, though. The
winter months are coming. Snow is already in the air. ’Twas cold last eve, in the
circle, was it not?”

“I was na’ cold
,” she whispered.

He smiled, and it had everything warm, and loving and pure about it.
Morgan heard the ocean in her ears crest in waves of reaction. She felt them to
her gut. The baby within her didn’t move.

“There will be an end to this season, and then there will be living to do for
everyone. You, too.”

There wasn’t going to be anything for her except
Phineas’ death, and then
hopefully, her own. Or, she suspected, it would be worse than dying. Zander was going to be lost to her. Forever. Death would probably be more merciful.

The bairn twinged, almost painfully, and her breath caught at it. How
could she will herself to die, when she was carrying life within her? Her eyes went huge with the thought. Did Zander suspect that was her plan, and was that why he gave her his baby, on purpose?

“...and there is the future. This bairn you’re carrying, Morganna...it ties
us together. It is as much mine, as it is yours. You do realize that, doona’ you?”

She forced herself to listen to him, and caught the tail end of what he was
saying. Her heart sank. “Zander, I grow tired of—” She’d found her voice, but before she could start her rebuttal, he was interrupting her.

“I will have no bastards, Morganna. I told you that what seems a lifetime
ago, when we first met. You carry my bairn in your belly. I will na’ allow you to bring my child into this world without its father. Hear me well, Morganna, for I
vow this to you.”

“I d
oona’ carry a bairn!” She shouted it. “Now, cease speaking of it!”

Silence descended all about them. Morgan looked at him and waited. He
twisted his lips into a semi-smile, raised those eyebrows and very slowly blinked
at her. The result was worse than having a bucket of cold water tossed on her.
She wondered if he knew.

“If you d
oona’ carry my bairn, then this talk is but a bit soon, for you will
be. I will make certain of it.”

“Please...don’t touch me again,” she answered.

“Oh, Morganna, my love. That is the most teasing thing you’ve yet said,”
he responded.

“E
ven if I carried a bairn, Zander, it would na’ change anything. I have a
vow to fulfill. I have always had this vow. You knew this. You knew this, and still gave me your seed. I will never forgive you for that, I think.”

“I had to. The way you see your vow ends in death.”

“It always did!”

“I will na’ allow death about you, Morganna. D
oona’ you ken anything I
have said? You are the receptacle of my love, and the bearer of my future. I will
na’ allow death near you, ever again. Ever. That is another of my vows.”

“Zander...please?” She was begging. She only hoped it swayed him. His
words were doing more damage than any sword.

“You are carrying my bairn, Morganna, and it makes you more beautiful
than before. That is how I knew, actually. You deny what is, and yet I already
know. I
know
, Morganna. This makes it right and true that we wed. I would have wed with you a thousand times over a-fore this, but I had to have the means
to force your hand. You will wed with me, Morganna. You will na’ be given the choice. I canna’ risk it.”

“D
o you na’ ken what that would do to me, FitzHugh?”

“I am afraid to ponder it, actually
,” he answered.

‘‘Would you have me fade into a shadow of myself, because I had no
pride? Is that what you wish of me, FitzHugh? To lose every sense of pride I
have? I will na’ wed with you, and I will na’ birth a bairn for you. I will do
nothing save what I vowed to do over eight years ago. I will have justice for my
clan, and I will na’ allow you to sway it. I canna’.”

He put her sock back into place on her leg, and sprang to a crouch, and then slowly stood to stand beside her. Then, he reached to lift her chin to make
her face him, and she jerked her face away.

“This has been a bad day for a hunt, I think
,” he said finally.

“You think to finish this by ignoring it.
’Twill na’ happen, Zander
FitzHugh. You say I am serious, and ’tis true. I had to be. I still have to be.
The man that destroyed my family still walks the earth. He still talks, eats and enjoys this life you are always spouting to me about. I will na’ allow it. I will na’
rest while it is so. I canna’ wed with you, or any man, until there is an end to this. I canna’. You doona’ understand!”

“I understand, Morgan. Forgive me
.”

“You will n
a’ press me?”

“I have pressed you enough for one afternoon, I think. I will ponder the
means for my next attack upon your defenses, although I am uncertain as to what
they are. You are immune to talk of love. You are against talk of future and babes. You are prickly with anger at the thought of a warm house and me at
your side as your husband. I will have to think of another tactic to sway you.”

Her eyes flooded with tears. She gulped and sniffed and held herself stiff,
and absolutely nothing worked. She was humiliated that he saw it.

“’T
is all right, love. Forgive my forceful words. I forget myself with the
desire I have. Come. Our sup awaits, and I’ve a long night planned ahead.”

“Zander
FitzHugh!”

She said it in response to the hands he was cupping about her buttocks, in order to lift her against him.

“You wear no loin-wrap, flaunt yourself above me, putting all your
charms within easy reach and sight, and now say me nay? You are a tease,
Morganna, lass. I am surprised I dinna’ note that a-fore.”

“And you are insatiable, my lord Zander.”

He grinned, and used his thumb to wipe the tears from her face. “If you
have complaints, you are to voice them.”

“
What would happen if I did?” she asked, trying to chuckle through the
last of her emotional weeping.

He cocked his head and regarded her until she looked. “
I believe I would consider
them,” he answered, “and try to change to what you need. What say you to that?”

Nothing. That was the only answer she had
. She didn’t voice it.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

They came for her just before midnight, and without warning. Morgan wasn’t asleep, mainly because Zander hadn’t arrived back, but when FitzHugh man after FitzHugh man entered the tent, she was on her feet, rubbing at her
eyes, and trying not to look as terrified as she felt. There were five of them
altogether, Zander bringing up the rear. She recognized Plato, but that was all.

“
Morganna?” Zander said, and at his use of her name her eyes widened
to their full extent.

“Zander, what have you done?” Morgan whispered the question.

“I have brought my brothers. They wish to meet Morgan, the great
marksman, the squire who has brought such fame and recognition to our clan,
and who is also the woman, Morganna, whom I love.”

Morgan’s eyes were huge. She was afraid to breathe.

“This is Ari FitzHugh, second-born. Ari? The maiden, Morganna.”

A man, the same height as Morgan and looking a bit like Plato, but with
Phineas’ light-blue eyes, and a slim physique that defied any relation to Zander,
went on his knee before her. Morgan watched him do it and took a step back.

“Next born is Caesar. Caesar FitzHugh? The lass, Morganna.”

The next FitzHugh male stood to her eyebrows in height, had hair as blonde as Zander had described, and was as slight in build as Ari. He also went to a knee before her. Morgan’s eyes were still wide and now her mouth opened.

“The fourth-born, and the lone one with a strange name, William
FitzHugh. William? The lass, Morganna.”

This brother had midnight
-blue eyes, and receding medium-brown hair.
He was a bit taller than Caesar, but shorter than Ari. He was more solidly built
than the preceding brothers, too. He went on a knee beside the others, and
bowed his head.

Morgan looked toward Zander, but he had a taut look to him, and anger
in every pore. She looked back at Plato. The apologetic slant of his eyebrows
didn’t give her a clue, either. Zander hadn’t said a word that wasn’t true. His
brothers were all small, less prepossessing, and not near as handsome. Plato and
Ari were the only ones to stand to Morgan’s height.

“
We’ve met, my lady,” he said, dipping his head. “Plato FitzHugh.”

And then Plato went to his knee.

“Zander?” Morgan whispered. “What is this about?”

“I have told my brothers that you are carrying my bairn, Morganna.”

His face was as tight as before while he said the damning words. Morgan
went white. Then, she had to hold to a tent pole to keep upright. She was
shaking, stunned, demoralized, and totally degraded. Tears flooded her eyes and she wiped angrily at them before she pulled away from the tent pole and sent
every bit of hate she possessed into the look she gave him.

“You have lied then, FitzHugh, for I d
oona’ carry anyone’s bairn. Yours,
or no,” she replied, finally.

“Aye, you do, and I have brought my brothers to attend the wedding that
I would force on you.”

Her mouth wouldn’t function, and her knees wobbled. “Zander,
I...”

Then, she was falling, but he caught her, and pulled her against
him before that could happen. His chest was huge, strong and comforting, and
she let herself rest against it for the span of a heartbeat, then she was hitting at
him.

“I will na’ wed with you, FitzHugh! I will na’!”

He caught her fists and held them, holding her in place while he did so.
“You will, Morganna, if I have to force it. And I will force it. Doona’ doubt
me.”

“Nay,” she whispered.

“I will na’ do it alone, either. I have brought over a hundred clansman to make certain of it
. I will have you to wife. You are nae longer being given a choice.”

“But...why?”

His jaw was still set and a nerve bulged out the side of it. “You carry my
bairn. I will have no bastards to claim. You will wed with me. This night.”

“Nay, Zander, nay. I
canna’. You doona’ understand.” If she wanted him
to listen, she was going to have to find a stronger argument than that, especially
said with a hint of tears, she told herself.

“You can, and you will. Dinna’ you listen? I will force it.”

“Oh God, not this, Zander. Please? Not this! You doona’ understand!”
Morgan looked about wildly.

The other four FitzHughs were still on one knee in a line, and acting like
they couldn’t hear a word. It was horrible. She’d had nightmares about this
baby, about facing the eventual size she was bound to become, about birthing a
member of the FitzHugh clan, about facing the members of her dead clan when it
happened. None of her nightmares matched the one Zander was forcing on her.

“Morganna, you carry my bairn,” he repeated softly, more gently than
before, but just as implacably. He had his head lowered, pinning that midnight-
blue gaze on her from an angle beneath his eyebrows. The hands holding to her were trembling, too.

“
Please, not this. I’m begging you. Please?” Morgan felt the tears of
self-hate mingling with the same emotion as she begged him. A KilCreggar was
stooping to begging from a FitzHugh. She didn’t think she could stand it, but wedding to him would be worse. She knew it.

She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t vow before God to be his for their entire
lives! She couldn’t! She couldn’t put his name with her own. She couldn’t vow
allegiance to a clan that Phineas FitzHugh was laird of. She just couldn’t! The
betrayal to her ancestors would be more than she could bear.

“You are carrying my bairn,” he repeated again, in the same calm,
controlled, emotionless voice.

“
Very well, Zander, aye!” Her voice was low, although she felt like
screaming. “I carry your bairn! ’Tis what you wanted, what you schemed for,
worked for, and made certain of. You convinced me it was love, when it was
nothing of the sort. It was a trap you were setting. Well I will na’ wed with you.
I will na’ vow to a FitzHugh. I canna’. I canna’ stop this child you have given
me, but I dinna’ want it, and I will na’ accept it. I will decide what I will do with
’tis birthed, but I will na’ wed with you, FitzHugh! I canna!”

Zander was perfectly still, although she could tell he still breathed,
because there was the slightest grunt of pain to each one. He was pale beneath
his tan, too, and his jaw looked even more set, with his teeth clenched. The hard,
reflective, midnight-blue of his eyes was more like the surface of a
winter-blocked loch, and just as warm. Morgan looked away. She couldn’t keep the gaze. It was killing her. The bairn wasn’t reacting well, either, for it seemed
to be doing push-up type antics in her belly.

“
Well, you heard her, brothers? She carries my bairn. She is going to
wed with me, whether she wishes it, or no. Now, do I have to force you,
Morganna, or will you cleave unto me without it?”

“You d
oona’ understand, Zander! I canna’ wed with you. Even if I
wished to, I canna’! You doona’ understand!” Tears were running down her face
now, and she ignored them.

He sighed hugely. “If
you dinna’ walk of your own power to the horse,
Morgan, mount it and follow me to the cathedral, Morganna, I will bind you. I
will gag you, and I will carry you. Now, which is it to be?”

“If
you force me into this, FitzHugh, I will hate you. I will never forgive
it. I want you to know this.”

Nothing. She got no reaction from her words, nothing. Morgan looked
down. She looked at the four kneeling FitzHughs, and then she looked at the
door. She tightened her thighs to run. If Zander weakened his grip at all, she
was ready.

“D
inna’ you hear me, love?” Zander whispered. “There are a hundred clansmen outside this tent. You would na’ get two steps from me. Now, which
is it to be?”

Morgan closed her eyes, tried to send every emotion to where it wouldn’t
hurt her and opened them. All the weeks of love, all the words of worship, and
all the vows he’d made were for this? He’d done it to force her to wed him,
when everything that was KilCreggar in her would rather die.

She yanked a hand free and reached for the dragon blade.

Zander was quicker. He had her against his chest, and was plucking the
blade, and dirks hidden at her back. Then, he was advising Plato to get those
from her socks. Morgan fought. She kicked. She twisted. Everything failed.
She was forced to cease when they had all thirteen of her weapons, and she had
nothing except Zander’s arms about her like iron bands.

“Get the ties, Ari,” Zander said.

“
Wait,” she said, stopping everyone. She was defeated, and she knew it.
They all knew it. All that further fighting would do was get her trussed up and
taken like a fresh kill before the priest, and all that would change is that the
church would know, too. They wouldn’t stop it, though. There was an unborn
bairn to consider, and women had forever been forced. They always would be.

She bowed her head. “I will marry you, Zander FitzHugh,” she
whispered, and then the tears started.

Morgan wept when the cloak was put on her, covering her from head to
foot. She wept when she was put atop the horse, Morgan, and then pulled back
into Zander’s arms. She wept with every step of the horse and every tear felt as though
it carried blood. She wept when they arrived at the cathedral. She wept when
they went inside: not just the six of them, but all the FitzHugh clansmen he’d brought with him. She wept when Zander carried her into a small room, just large enough for the two of them, and unwrapped her, and showed her the
beautiful dress that was hanging there for her.

She wept the hardest when he left her to dress.

Morgan took every bit of FitzHugh-given squire’s raiment from her
body. Then, she untied her breast binding and looked at the square of fraying cloth that had been her constant companion. She scrunched her eyes shut at the same moment she wrapped a fist about it. She no longer deserved to wear it. She certainly wasn’t worthy of owning a piece of it. She opened her eyes, slashed an arm across her ceaseless weeping, and placed her KilCreggar plaid atop the bench by itself. There wasn’t any way she was going to allow it near FitzHugh colors…not now. The only time she’d pick it up again was when Zander turned his back and gave her time to join her clan in death.

Morgan sighed, wiped at her eyes again, and then she turned her back on the last remnant of her clan. She
put the FitzHugh-given dress on almost viciously. There was a
chemise. There was a linen sheath over that, and there was an off-white, woven
flax dress, with a square neckline and long laced-on sleeves that fell below the
wrist.

There was no veil, so Morgan undid her braid, and combed her fingers through her hair until she had her veil. There was a silvered mirror on the wall,
but she ignored it. She couldn’t see through her tears, anyway.

There was a bit of sound coming from the front altar when she stepped
out, and she noted Plato was the FitzHugh standing outside her door to escort
her. Morgan looked up the aisle-way of the cathedral and saw the altar. She
saw the huge, pointed hat on the bishop, who was to wed them, she saw that
every available bit of standing room was taken up with a FitzHugh, and then she started walking.

There were altar boys singing as she grew closer, their voices combining
to make heavenly, reverent-sounding music. That was strange, when they were
doing such a desecration, she thought. Her feet grew heavier the closer to the altar she came, and that was strange, too.

Then, Zander stepped out to the front of the altar, and time stood
completely still for the briefest moment of time. Zander FitzHugh was dressed from neck to knee in a
feile-breacan
of her beloved KilCreggar gray-and-black
plaid.

Morgan’s steps faltered, her breath completely left her body a
s she felt
and heard the reaction of shock, disgust and hatred about her. Then, she heard,
from a long way away, Zander telling Plato to catch her, for God’s sake, and then
she heard absolutely nothing.