Song of the Highlands: The Cambels (The Medieval Highlanders) (22 page)

Guy blinked in surprise, but remained firmly
seated. An overwhelming need filled him to purge his conscience, to
do what was right, to even things between them, especially now that
he knew that Robert had not been privy to all that had led up to
the hostilities. So, instead of responding to Robert’s words, he
continued on with the tale, saying, “Your father and my mother met
many times in secret.”

Robert turned his back to him. “I care not
to hear more. I know what my father was, what he was apt to do when
any lady caught his eye, be she wed or nay, and I need not hear the
particulars.” And there was a time when Robert admired his amorous
adventures, when he merrily followed in the man’s footsteps.
Until he left me in debt and despair. Until….
Morgana
.
He swung back to face him. “I ken in full now, the reasons for your
father’s hatred of mine. Let us speak of it no more.”

“Ah, but I find I must. And you must hear it
all, else naught will truly be well and right between us. For, I
need you as my ally—and, I wager, you, I, as well—as we are each
other’s closest neighbor. Surely, you ken that?”

Robert narrowed his eyes at him, but finally
he gave him a nod to indicate he should continue his tale. Guy de
Burgh cleared his throat and Robert, feeling the need to quench the
dryness in his mouth—and to give himself a small reprieve to
recover from the angry shock he was feeling—walked to the buttery
and brought forth two tankards more of the ale the butler had left
for them earlier. Once Guy de Burgh had swallowed down a long
draught of it, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, and filled
his lungs with a new breath of air, he continued, “We—my father and
I—did not learn of this until after….” A shadow of what Robert
recognized as grief passed o’er the man’s countenance as he sat
forward, resting his elbows on his thighs, then dipped his head.
“We did not learn of their affair until after I found my mother had
hung herself from a tree in our wood by a plowman’s rope, with
letters to me, to my father...and...to
yours
pinned to her
cloak.”

Robert’s knees went weak. He sat down with a
thump
. “Y—Your mother committed self-murder?” He feared he
knew the answer, but still he asked it: “Why?” It must have taken
place years earlier, while he was being fostered at the Macleans,
during his squire training.

Guy de Burgh lifted his head and met his
gaze. Robert could see the tortured pain reflected in the man’s
eyes, and sympathy stirred within him. It deepened further, and was
compounded with an even greater anger at his deceased father, when
his guest verified his suspicions, saying, “Because your father
spurned her when she would have left us for good to be with him as
his wife, or concubine, she cared not which.”

Robert leapt to his feet and strode several
paces away. Without turning to face his guest, he said at last,
“I...see.”

“There is more I would tell you—more that
regards your sister and my...connection.”

Robert did turn then. “Aye?” he said with
much more fire behind it.

He watched Guy de Burgh resettle in his
chair before saying, “After...after the inquest by the coroner and
jury, with my father unable to bear the shame of being known by his
neighbors and peers to be a cuckold, a mere challenge to the death
seemed not enough to my father to balance the scales between him
and his rival,
Kenneth MacVie
.” His guest cleared his
throat. “You must understand that I, as well, held much rancor for
your father—your family—as I’d not only lost my mother, not only
learned of her desire to betray us,
but
had also been the
one to find her swinging by a rope in the wood.” He took in a deep
breath and released it before continuing: “So, ‘twas with a large
measure of ease that my father was able to induce me to gain
retribution—an eye-for-an-eye, if you will—by seducing, then
spurning the cherished daughter of his enemy: Your sister,
Isobail.”

The ball of fiery anger in Robert’s gut sent
the blood rushing to his head, and he was at Guy de Burgh’s throat
in two strides. “I should enjoy wringing this pretty neck of yours
with naught but my bare hands!” But when the man did not attempt to
escape, only gasped for air as sweat drops formed on his face, grew
red as a woman’s cunt, Robert regained control of his rage and
thrust him from his grasp, then stumbled back, filling his lungs
with deep intakes of air.

Guy de Burgh straightened, resettled on his
chair—with no little amount of strain, ‘twas clear to Robert—as he
coughed, gasped, and rubbed his gullet. When he spoke again, ‘twas
with a wheeze. “It should give you a good amount of comfort, and a
satisfying feeling of retribution, as well, that I have been
tormented by a ne’er-ceasing lovelonging for your sister all these
years, and have ne’er found another that could claim my heart
again. It went to the grave with her and I shall ne’er retrieve it.
Tho’, in a small way, it gives me comfort that ‘twill always reside
with her.” Using the arms of the chair to lever himself up further,
he continued, “So, you see, the punishment I wished to levy on your
father, came back to me a hundred-fold.” He turned his head, his
gaze drifting to Robert-knew-not-where before he murmured, as if
only for his own ears, “And I’ve much longer in years to bear it
than your father e’er did, I fear.”

There was a time, not very many moons ago,
that Robert would not have recognized, would not have believed, Guy
de Burgh’s heartache to be free of deceit, but now he did
recognize—oh, aye—and he did believe, for his own heart was owned
by, and fully in the hands of, his woman, his wife, his Morgana.
“I...I see.” He cleared his throat. “Although I cannot offer my
forgiveness for what you did—I know not whether I e’er will be able
to do so—I will not bankrupt my clan again by continuing the strife
between our two families.” He took in a breath. “And, as you
say—and as I know well myself—‘tis better for all that we two form
an alliance.”

Guy de Burgh drank down the last of his ale
with an audible swallow and, as he settled the tankard on his knee,
met Robert’s eye once more. There was a look of surprised regret
reflected in their pale green depths before he said, “I had
believ—Nay, I had
hoped
I would find at least
some
bit of forgiveness had already risen within you when I arrived
earlier, but I see that is not, and will not be so, no matter how
much silver I yielded in your name.”

“Wha—”

“And, alas, I suppose if ‘twere my sister
whose honor and virtue had been defiled, I’d not be so easily
softened in my hatred with coin alone, no matter how dire the need
for it, nor how timely the gaining of it might be.”

Robert’s pulse pounded in his ears. Numbly,
he staggered and fell back into his chair, his gaze frozen on Guy
de Burgh’s countenance. With effort he said, “Am I kenning aright?
‘Twas your coin—not the King’s good favor—that washed away half my
clan’s—my father’s—debt?”

Guy straightened. “Half? ‘Twas
all
.
And, aye. I sent it with a messenger—a young novice—to King William
the same day your wife’s uncle brought to an end our planned escape
to be wed.”

“ ‘Twas not the King then….”

“Nay, and ‘twas for the full amount owed by
you.”

“The King has played me false.”

“Aye, as is his right—tho’ not, I agree, a
most honorable dealing.”

Robert’s gaze sharpened. “And I’m still to
pay him
more
—the other half, so is his decree—o’er the next
five years.” He pounded his fist on the arm of the chair. “I
thought him generous!”

“I’ve fiefs under both King John and King
William, and must support them both with subtlety and cunning.
However, when I see King William next, I will mention the funds I
gave on your behalf, and see if I might wheedle him into forgiving
the other half as well—tho’ I doubt not that he will continue to
give the belief that he was behind the coin given you.”

With a hand rubbing the back of his neck,
Robert rose and strode a pace or two away then turned back to Guy
de Burgh, saying, “This does change things between us.” And, in a
quieter tone, more to himself, “Aye, it does.” His gaze sharpened
on his guest. “I shall find some way to repay the debt, tho’ at
present, I know not how.”

Guy de Burgh bolted from his seat. “Nay,
I’ll not take a penny from you. ‘Twas repayment for the harm I did
your family—did Isobail—but also, ‘twas a keeping of a promise
given to your wife, Morgana, before you were wed, when I inveigled
her to escape with me. I gave her my oath I would pay your debts if
she would consent to be my wife.”

Robert’s gut tightened yet again into a
raging ball of jealousy, making his face hot, but he swallowed the
bellow that rose in its wake and allowed the man to continue.

“Tho’ we were thwarted in our plan, she
would have kept her side of the bargain, so I kept mine. And there
is also the fact that, tho’ I do not love her with the passion I
still hold for your sister, I do care for her and I’ll not see her
living in penury because of my foolish, callow, faithless
deeds.”

Robert took a step forward. “She’ll not live
in penury, no matter what happens regarding this holding. I can
support my wife. She’ll not want for food or shelter—or clothing,
either.”

“I see I have offended you, and that was not
my intent, but I ask that you do not trouble yourself further
regarding the coin I gave the King on your behalf. Even—”

“I will, I mus—”

“—if you cannot see it as remuneration for
the wrong I’ve done your family, then simply know that for me, it
is, and is also not less than I would do for a friend.” As if he’d
only just heard Robert’s words, Guy de Burgh sighed and said, “But,
if you must repay it in order to be at ease, then take what e’er
time you need to do so. For now, I have done what I came to do, and
I must return to my own holding and prepare for my journey to King
William’s court.” With a dip of his head to Robert, he strode out
of the great hall.

Robert was too stunned to stop him—and, in
any case, had naught else to say to the man. That same dread that
had roiled in his innards for all those moons after learning how
deeply his father had gotten them into debt, roiled within him now,
mixed with the jealousy and knowledge that his wife would have had
better fortune had she wed the Norman. Robert sunk down into his
chair once more and dropped his face into his hands.

* * *

“ ‘Twas not the King who forgave my debt,
but Guy de Burgh who paid it—did you know this?” Robert said to
Morgana an hour later as he stood over her with his arms crossed
and watched her take another stitch in the small tapestry she was
making for their babe.

Her head shot up and she stared at him,
wide-eyed, a moment before shaking her head and dropping her hands,
filled with needle and cloth, into her lap. Relief crashed through
his veins, for, aye, he believed her.

It had not been until a mere quarter-hour
past that the thought had taken root in him that she’d known of
Guy’s beneficence all along, yet had kept the truth from Robert,
out of fear of his response—or more worrisome—loyalty to Guy,
deliberately allowing Robert to continue in his belief that ‘twas
the King’s beneficence instead. And with only half the debt
paid!

Coming down on his knees, he reached for her
cheeks and brought her face toward him so that he could quench the
thirst for comfort he could only receive by a deep draught from her
supple lips. Afterward, he settled his head in her lap, his cheek
cushioned by the cloth she’d been plying her artistry upon. With
soothing, soft fingers she combed his hair off his forehead, when
he placed his hand on her belly. “Modron said that we should feel
him move sometime nearing the feast of Saint Michael,” he murmured,
“but I hope ‘tis sooner.”

She leaned down and touched her mouth to his
temple, and he felt more of the tautness in his shoulders wane.

“Morgana, what am I to do about this debt I
owe to the man who spurned my sister?” He lifted his gaze to hers
and, brows furrowed, lips pursed, she shook her head.

Robert settled his head back in her lap. “He
told me why his father hated mine so, why he was determined to ruin
our clan. His wife, Guy’s mother...” Again, he lifted his head,
resting his gaze on Morgana’s gentle countenance, and again the
tension that had returned with the recollection of Guy’s words
eased in him enough so that he could continue, “...She committed
the gravest sin, Morgana, and all because of my father’s perfidy,
his faithlessness.” Robert gripped his wife’s hands. “She committed
self-murder.” Robert’s voice cracked on the last. He was still
finding the guilt o’er all that his father had caused hard to bear.
As well as the guilt of knowing that, if not for the horrors he’d
suffered in trying to save his clan o’er the past three years, he’d
with certainty have continued down that same path, wedding and
siring children with what e’er woman suited his purposes for power
or position, while he bedded as many others that struck his fancy
as he could who might fulfill his baser needs, be they wed or
unwed. And, even with that, and actually
because
of that,
he’d still almost wed a woman for nearly that very same purpose.
And, he had little doubt, knowing himself and Vika as he did,
they’d both have conducted their marriage with little or no
fidelity. But, by some fortunate twist of fate, or mayhap—though,
knowing the blackness of his soul, he did question this—the
benevolent grace of God in Heaven, he’d been given the precious
gift of Morgana. And he would ne’er take the gift of such for
granted.

* * *

Morgana worried her lower lip between her
finger and thumb as she paced her bedchamber a bit later, after
Robert’s departure. Had Guy paid the monies Robert owed because of
his oath to her, or mayhap, because of the bond he had formed with
her while they were at court? She was beginning to believe ‘twas
the case. She’d queried Robert about Guy’s reasons, but by that
time, he’d returned to his usual brooding, quiet self, and had
wanted only the comfort of her body, which, of course, she’d more
than willingly given.