Song of the Highlands: The Cambels (The Medieval Highlanders) (27 page)

Of the silvered moon that shines

O’er the glen,

Doth beckon now my heart from

Its dark, dire grave...”

A small hand landed on his shoulder. He
started.

His heart plummeted into his stomach as
mortification washed through him. Cheeks burning, he lurched
upright and whipped his head around to stare, frozen, at Modron,
Morgana’s gray-haired lady’s maid.

“Aye?” he said gruffly.

* * *

“Be easy, Laird. Your lady and the babe she
carries are well, you shall see,” Gwynlyan soothed. Even tho’ she
seethed at his stupidity in allowing Vika to deliver such a blow to
her daughter, she also saw well that her son-in-law was smitten to
his core with Morgana, and would ne’er knowingly do anything that
would cause harm to her feelings or her health. And that, she was
determined, was what her mission this day would be: To give this
fierce warrior, this brave knight, this noble leader of his clan, a
bit of well-needed tutoring in proper behavior with regard to the
gentler sex.

After taking a last quick glance at her
slumbering daughter, her son-in-law bolted to his feet and strode
to the washstand, there splashing his ruddy cheeks with the water
in the bowl and saying, “Aye, ‘tis as you say.” While patting his
face dry with a cloth, he turned back to her and said brusquely,
“Is there aught else you wanted?” clearly intent on her swift
departure.

But, Gwynlyan was not near finished with
this quest, and tho’ ‘twas a very fine line of proper deportment
she trod, as slender as a blade’s edge, in fact, still she ventured
forth boldly, saying, “Aye, Laird, there is. I’ve heard a tale from
Wife Deirdre that the lady Vika admitted she is carrying your
bastard bairn after you challenged her with the query in front of
m’lady, and that is the reason m’lady swooned.”
Are you the
biggest oaf in all of Caledonia?
“I thought surely the healer
had wrongly kenned you, and so I came directly to ask what truly
passed, so that I may end this false tale before it spreads
further, Laird.”

‘Twas with no little satisfaction that
Gwynlyan saw a renewed flush invade his cheeks before he said, “
‘Tis no chatter you heard, but truth.”

“I...see. I
would
wonder at the
reason for allowing your wife such a shock, Laird.”
You
dolt.
“Although,” she rushed to say, “I am sure ‘tis merely my
feeble, female mind that stumbles o’er the complex strategies of a
great male mind such as yours, Laird.”

A metallic thud sounded near the bed and
they both swung their gazes in that direction. Morgana had risen,
but was swaying on her feet rather precariously. The pewter cup
that had held her sleeping draught rolled on the floor and stopped
a foot away from where she stood.

Gwynlyan and Robert moved
simultaneously.

“—Here, let me pour you—” she said.

“—Morgana! Get back in—” he said.

...And collided mid-stride, with Gwynlyan
unable to keep her balance and flying back. She would have toppled
onto her bottom, had Robert not made a grab for her and saved her
from that ignominious end.

* * *

Robert spent only the briefest second
assuring himself that Modron was well-planted back on her feet
before striding to his wife’s side and sweeping her up, then back
on the bed.

She shook her head and tried to rise again,
but he pressed her shoulders back down until her head touched the
pillow once more.

When she shook her head again, caressed away
the tightness and worry on his brow, around his mouth, with her
delicate, sweet touch, then sat up once more, he relented and
stepped back a bit, but kept his palm on her shoulder, tracing her
slow pulse with the pad of his thumb on her warm, silken neck.

She swiveled her gaze to Modron and reached
her hand out to the woman. After the
too-perceptive-for-her-own-good servant had sidled up to the bed
next to him with her hands primly clasped in front of her, his wife
surprised him by taking Modron’s hand and squeezing it.

It didn’t take long for either him or the
older woman to gather from Morgana’s mouth movements and gesturing
at him with her free hand that she had heard the woman’s last
statement to him. She was now intent on reassuring her that he’d
acted rightly, as he believed also—even tho’ the woman had pricked
the sore of his own self-doubt, making it chafe and bleed to the
point where he, once again, and possibly for the hundredth time
since his wife’s upset and swoon, questioned his decision to do
so.

In truth, it had not been a thought-out
decision, for he’d not even known she had followed him until he’d
felt the quiet strength of her hand on his hot back as he strode up
the stairs and, ‘twas truth also, that he’d been more focused on
his anger and—aye—fear that his suspicions regarding the paternity
of Vika’s unborn bairn would prove true. His wife’s presence had
seemed a calming ray of sunshine in the center of the turbulent
storm brewing in his insides, and knowing he’d be telling her of it
despite her wish otherwise, he’d not thought….

Aye, he’d not thought, not until Vika had
shot her barb, not until he’d seen it strike true by the look on
Morgana’s face in the moment before she’d crumpled to the floor,
and moments later, when she’d awakened and been so distraught o’er
all that the news entailed.

A tug on his tunic brought him out of his
troubled musings and he centered his mind and sights firmly back on
his wife and her maid once more. Except, the maid was nowhere
about. The blasted woman was as light-footed as a cat, much more
nimble than he’d e’er conceived possible for one so late in
years.

His wife’s hand movements caught and kept
his attention when he realized she was telling him that Vika must
stay with them at least until her babe was born and, ‘twas vexingly
clear as well, that Morgana intended to raise the bairn
herself—with, or without his consent!

“Christ’s Bones, you’ll not!” He needed
uisge beatha. Now.
“Nay!” His heart raced, his palms
sweated, and the heavy burden of guilt—and the inevitable—weighed
upon his conscience, but still he whipped around and stormed toward
the door as if he could outrun the hounds of his own personal hell
that growled and nipped at his heels. After swinging the portal
wide, he halted midstride, turned, and warned: “We’ll not—argh!
I’ll
not!” With more than a little satisfaction, he yanked
on the door and slammed it behind him, creating a quake that could
be felt in the wood planks under his feet, and a bang so loud, King
William himself no doubt heard it all the way in Perth.

M
ORGANA RELAXED
BACK against her pillow with a furrowed brow and nibbled her lip.
Her husband, tho’ blustering about, would do what was right in the
end, she was sure. And her cousin, whom, ‘twas now clear to
Morgana, had had more as purpose for her visit than a simple desire
to aid Morgana in learning the events surrounding the attack on her
family, would no doubt be relieved by, as well as amenable to, her
babe being left with them to raise.

Feeling restless and needing to set things
in motion, she swung her legs off the bed and stood up.
Light-headed and swaying, she grasped hold of the edge of the
bedside table for support. The effects of the sleeping draught,
which Wife Deirdre had promised would not harm her babe, had still
not fully abated she realized. But, determined to see the task
done, she remained where she stood. After a time, at last feeling
more steady on her feet, she stepped over to where the deep-blue
gown she’d been wearing earlier was hung on its hook and began
dressing, pulling it o’er her head, wiggling and twisting until she
had it well-settled o’er her frame and had the chemise she wore
beneath adjusted and aligned properly as well.

After closing the clasp on the silver girdle
around her hips, combing, and re-braiding her hair and placing a
silk veil of the same silver hue as her girdle o’er her locks, then
holding it in place with the silver filet made of the same delicate
and finely linked chains as those of the girdle, she took a moment
to caress the cool, smooth sapphire encased in silver filigree
which hung as a pendant on one end of the girdle. The filet and
girdle had been gifted to her by Robert not long after she’d given
him the news that his seed had taken root in her, and because of
that, they were now two of her most highly treasured
possessions.

Gazing at the results in the silvered glass
Robert had taken from his sister’s childhood bedchamber and brought
in here for her use, she gave a small mew of satisfaction that all
was neatly in place before turning to leave on her mission.

With luck, all would be settled by
nightfall.

* * *

An hour later, Vika watched with more than a
little ire Morgana depart her chamber. Her accursed head still
pounded with as much pointed precision as it had all the day long,
and she was now despairing that she’d be in any state to away from
this holding, these irksome cousins of hers, in stealth in the next
day or two as she’d originally hoped.

Taking another long swallow of the bitter
draught Wife Deirdre had given her to dull the pain enough to fall
asleep again, she closed her eyes and allowed her head to slowly
fall back as she drank it down. Afterward, she settled back and
rubbed her temples with the pads of her fingers, trying to clear
the haze from her brain enough to think how to deal with this new
dilemma Morgana had foisted upon her in the past moments.

She was glad, she did admit, that Morgana
and her babe had not suffered any lasting effects from her crash to
the floor—nor from the distress Vika had caused her with the blunt
lie she’d spoken. Nay, it seemed, her cousin was more than
recovered, and ready now to remedy Vika’s problem with a solution
of her own: She expected Vika to stay until the babe was born, then
leave the bairn in Morgana and Robert’s care.

This, however, was
not
going to
happen. She may not be the most honest, selfless person in the
world, but she was not so deceitful she’d allow Robert to raise
another man’s bairn, thinking ‘twas his own.

A growl of frustration erupted from her
throat and sent answering spikes of pain pulsing into her brain.
I must leave. And soon.

* * *

Late in the night, and several hours now
since he’d stumbled back to his chamber, calmer with the liberal
quaffing of ardent spirits, and fallen into bed beside his
slumbering wife, Robert awoke with a jolt and sat up. His heart
hammered against his rib cage as he blinked the sleep from his eye
and looked around the chamber. What had awakened him? And then he
heard it. The sound. Not just any sound, but one that was so rare
and precious, one that, even tho’ he’d grown to know the hearing of
it could only be more proof of some inner turmoil within his wife’s
mind, still, he had begun to crave its beauty more with each
passing day. ‘Twas his wife’s voice. She lay curled on her side
away from him, only the light from the hearthfire illuminating her,
silhouetting the curve of her hip and limbs.

‘Twas the softest of sounds, almost too
slight to hear.

He leaned o’er her a bit to see her profile.
Aye, her eyes were closed. Just as he’d expected. Once again, ‘twas
only in her sleep that she gained her voice. But, ‘twas not a song
this time. Nay, this time, she spoke; almost as if she were
speaking to someone. Answering them. And her eyes came open, looked
right at him.

“
But King William said I could have the
mare!
”

At those last, much louder, words, Robert
sat back a bit. Despite the seriousness of the moment, he chuckled.
After all these moons of waiting to hear more from her, she spoke
of a
horse!
Recalling the strange affinity she’d shown for
the palfrey her uncle had brought for her to ride from the stables
at the abbey that day he’d discovered them at the hunter’s cot,
Robert wondered now, if ‘twas that same horse she spoke of now.
Tho’ that made little sense, as she’d not have remembered the
beast—or, mayhap, ‘twas only that she remembered the feeling and
not the event? He shook his head. Yet another riddle in his wife’s
past.

He waited for more from her, but naught
emerged. She’d had a shock earlier that day—due to him—and he had
little doubt that ‘twas for that reason her sleep was restless. Was
his babe affected as well? He placed his palm o’er the slight mound
of her warm belly, willing his babe’s continued health with the
strong protection of his large hand.

Her generosity of spirit still had the power
to humble him, and she forced him to be a better man because of it.
How she knew, even before he did, that he would ne’er be able to
forswear any offspring of his making, whether bastard-born or of
legitimate stock, astounded and warmed him to his very soul. ‘Twas
a boon—a boon disguised as a blight—that Vika had tricked him into
bedding her impoverished, mute, but oh-so-lovely cousin and that
the unctuous, angered uncle had done as he’d done to force a
wedding on him.

Brushing a kiss on her brow, he thought
again of the irony of all that had come to pass. He’d planned to
get Vika with his babe in order to gain her hand and with it, her
inheritance, and now that he was well wed to the cousin she’d
believed she’d been foisting on him, and that lady bore his babe
‘neath her heart, Vika, too, now bore a babe of his as well. And,
there was little doubt in his mind, or his heart, that were the
tables reversed, if ‘twas Morgana who carried his bastard, and Vika
the legitimate heir, Vika would have expected he forsake his
bastard child, and may have even banished Morgana from her
home.

As he gazed down at his slumbering wife, her
eyes came open again. Thinking ‘twas yet another dream she was
having, he remained still, watching her, and allowing her to lead
the way through her dream.