Song of the Highlands: The Cambels (The Medieval Highlanders) (29 page)

Robert grinned. “Let him in.”

* * *

Grímr spurred his stallion into a walk. When
he was through the gate, his host called out, “Welcome!” and strode
toward him as he dismounted and handed the reins to the stableman
who’d jogged over to him.

“I hope you do not mind a guest for some bit
of time, as I’ve dealings in the next shire, and thought of your
generous offer as we shared a bowl of
björr
together on the
road last winter.”

“Aye, aye, as before: Welcome!” On a turn,
his host continued, “Come. We shall share a tankard of ale together
while I have a chamber prepared for you.”

Grímr glanced around as he walked. “I see
you are expanding the fortress. The work looks to be going
well.”

“Aye. I shall show it to you in a while, if
you wish.”

“I do. My thanks.” He’d taken it as a
benevolent sign when he’d discovered, after first traveling back to
court, then on to her manor, that Vika had journeyed to the
selfsame holding that he, himself, had been invited to as
guest.

With a quick glance up, Grímr scanned the
windows on the upper levels of the keep, wondering which one opened
into her chamber. Tho’ he’d left court last winter after his
ill-begotten attempt to seduce her into returning to
Leòdhas
, and traveled back home to his daughter and his
responsibilities, ‘twas not long again before his daughter’s pain,
her discontent and inability to be comforted by any other but
himself, made him once again vow that he’d not rest until he’d
given her the thing she craved the most. For, she would not listen,
would not believe, that ‘twas her mother who refused to come home,
but he who was somehow keeping her from it.

But, this time, he’d hardened his heart
against Vika’s wiles. Last time, when he’d seen her walking in the
moonlight, all the tenderness, the desire, the gut-wrenching
need
for her had near to poleaxed him, had o’ercome all
reason, and he’d acted on those emotions. He’d taken her, claimed
her as his once more—or attempted to, at least. And, good God in
heaven, how sublime it had been! Just as before, mayhap, better.
And, once again, he’d let her see his weakness where she was
concerned. And, once again, she’d taken his love for her and thrown
it back, as if ‘twere the vilest, the most putrid, of gifts.
Because, as was nearly always true with Vika, the more a man pushed
to bind her to him, the quicker she panicked and scurried away.

So, he’d show no mercy, he’d give no
quarter, he’d offer no soft words, and he’d bring her back to their
daughter, force her to take up her duty, even if he had to toss her
in a chest and take her there by force.

* * *

Morgana peeked around the corner of the keep
and saw Robert and his guest walk through its portal.
Praise
be!
Her husband hadn’t seen her, and tho’ she was eager to
learn who the blond warrior knight was, she’d not forfeit this
chance at freedom. Her husband had been acting so strangely these
past days since Vika’s accident, always no more than a step or two
away, where e’er she turned. And tho’ his concern warmed her, it
also thwarted her from being able to make a short survey of the
place where Vika had taken her fall. She, herself, had ne’er
entered there, believing it so tumbledown that it surely would be
destroyed and rebuilt as a more permanent extension of their living
quarters. And now, Robert didn’t want her going there. He’d told
her so. When he’d startled her out of her skin not three days past
just as she was nearing its entrance. But, in this, she would not
obey him.

For now, she simply could not keep her
curiosity at bay another moment. Vika had told her that there was a
rather lovely view from the windows on the second floor, and since
Robert would be using the funds to extend the wall of the bailey
instead of for the keep itself, she thought, mayhap, the old keep
might still be used as a second area for the making of cloth, from
raw wool to final fabric, with a bit of restoration, which she
thought, surely, would not be too costly.

She’d already found several broken looms in
a storage chamber, which she’d tasked one of the carpenters to fix,
but she’d worried how she’d fit them into the already crowded space
of the existing weavers’ chamber. Then, upon hearing Vika’s words,
it seemed a boon sent straight from heaven. Mayhap, if she were
frugal with coin, but lavish with ingenuity, she might even be able
to use some of the discarded materials from the fortress
furbishing.

With a skip in her step; a smile on her
face; bright images of the coming fair, with bags of coin and bolts
of cloth changing hands; and a jaunty tune trilling in her throat
(that she was thoroughly unaware of), she hurried toward her
destination.

* * *

“Donnach will not be pleased by this,”
Alaric told the apprentice late that eve.

“Aye. This I
do
know,” he answered.
“But will you help me?”

His partner gave a loud sigh and said, “I
will, but ‘twill not be easy.” Clearly agitated, he began to pace.
Alaric’s stallion snorted and stomped in reaction, and Alaric went
to it and soothed it with a stroke of his hand on its corded
neck.

“I’ve heard whispers that the mute one’s
voice is returning, that she sings, that she has visions. ‘Tis time
to act, and ‘tis what I did—though, I admit, I should not have
acted in such haste, nor should I have acted without speaking to
you first. But, I believed the opportunity presented itself, and I
could not let it pass….”

Alaric’s brow furrowed. As he pondered what
had been revealed, he tapped the pads of his fingers on his lips.
After a moment, he said, “Aye, that does bring some urgency to
this.”

Hopeful now, the apprentice said, “I have
another who has agreed to aid us—the same lass, in fact, who gave
me those tidings regarding our quarry. She is a servant inside the
keep. I’ve given her a tincture to mix in the mute one’s wine.
Soon, all of this will be done and we can return to our own
holdings.”

A growl burst from Alaric’s throat, taking
the apprentice by surprise, just as his partner’s beefy fist
connected with the apprentice’s face. He stumbled and was on his
arse before the sharp pain knifed into his skull and the blood from
his lacerated lip drained onto his tunic. He ignored all and flung
himself to his feet again rushing Alaric in the same motion. Now
they twisted on the ground, pounding their fists where e’er they
could find purchase.

After a moment, his partner called out,
“Enough, Symon!” and the apprentice rolled away. The harsh sound of
their ragged breaths filled the silence for a long moment until,
finally, Alaric spoke again, saying, “This solved naught.” Tipping
his head back and pressing his palm to his nose in an attempt to
check its bleeding, he continued, “And I fear you have taken a
gravely rash step in using the servant to gain any end.”

Symon sat up and tried to stanch the flow of
blood from his lip using a portion of his torn sleeve. “Nay, there
is no danger in that, at least. The lass will do aught I ask of
her. She believes herself enamoured of me, and I’ve promised a
wedding, in the bargain.”

Alaric sat up as well and draped his arms on
top of his knees. “ ‘Tis a folly I am angered by, but I see no way
out of it now that you’ve revealed your intent to someone outside
our circle.”

“This
will
work, and then we can hie
ourselves away before the husband has had time to learn any of our
plan.”

His partner did not answer; in fact, he
remained deathly silent for quite a time. Finally, he said, “There
is still Gwynlyan with which to deal.”

“Nay, I do not believe so. I am beginning to
wonder if she even survived the escape, for if she had—where is she
then? Why would she have not shown herself at court, given the King
her tale? ‘Tis been too many moons since her flight. Nay, she does
not live. She no doubt drowned in the sea, or was murdered by
freebooters before she e’er made it to King William’s court.”

* * *

Grímr trod, with some stealth, down the
stairs to the level below his own tower chamber, to the one where
Vika had been housed. It had been a horrible shock to learn of the
tumble she’d taken. Robert had told him, after some talk of his
plans for his keep, and Grímr’s false reason for being in the area,
and
after several tankards of ale, that his wife’s cousin
was on a visit here as well, and was recovering from injuries
caused by a fall a few days past.

His innards had not stopped roiling since.
And it had taken all his will not to blurt out his true purpose and
storm the inside of the tower keep looking for her. But, if he was
to be successful in his plan, he could not reveal it too soon. For
now, however, he must find his daughter’s mother and see how she
fared.

He knew which door was hers, for he’d asked
the young servant who’d brought him up to his own chamber earlier,
and the lad had been more than willing to inform him of all he knew
of the lady, the mishap, and the injuries she’d suffered. Grímr
gave no indication of his presence beforehand, instead, simply
opening the door and entering. ‘Twas best, he’d learned long ago,
when dealing with Vika, to give no warning of one’s intent with
regard to her, else she’d find a way to thwart it.

An old woman, no doubt the healer, was
curled up on a pallet by the fire, and seemed to be full asleep, so
he went to the bed on silent feet to pull back the drapes that
covered the canopy, then settled next to her, pulling the drapes
closed again, enveloping them in near complete darkness. She’d not
awakened, which told him she’d no doubt been given a draught to aid
in her sleep, and now he listened a moment to her soft breaths as
she slumbered. It caused such a pang of longing, such a strong wish
for what they’d had, that his breath caught in his chest.
Why
could you not have been the woman I believed you to be?
On the
cusp of the thought came renewed anger at himself, renewed resolve
that she would not now, not
ever
, work her wiles upon him
again, get beneath, over, or around the fortress he’d built to
protect his heart from her. He was here for his daughter’s sake, he
reminded himself. Naught more. After a time, his eyes adjusted to
the low light, and he could see the outline of her visage, the
curve of her shoulders and hip as she lay on her side facing him.
As he gazed down at the woman who’d sworn so long ago now to be his
wife, he studied the wrist that was still bound in linen, the
bruise that still marred her cheek and forehead, and clenched his
fist, gritted his teeth against the impulse to feel them with the
pads of his fingers, soothe them with the touch of his lips.

‘Twas clear, as the lad had told him, that
Vika’s outer injuries were mending well. And, he could only hope,
and pray, that the lad was also right about the injury to her
brain: That she had not lost her wits with the pounding her head
had taken in the fall.

Having found some solace from his worry for
her now that he’d seen her for himself, and heaving a mental sigh,
he slid from the bed and slipped out of the chamber without waking
either the healer or Vika. ‘Twas clear she could not travel as yet,
and he would not leave without her, so ‘twas a boon that he’d told
Robert that he was not sure how long ‘twould take him to conclude
his dealings in the area, and Robert had extended his hospitality
to him for as long as was needed.

Back in his own chamber, he doffed his
clothing and swung himself onto his back on the bed, with his arms
under his head. Staring up into the dark nothingness above him, his
thoughts continued to churn and turn on Vika. He was as determined
that she would be the mother to their daughter that Halla needed
and craved, as Vika was that she could ne’er fulfill that duty.
But what if her wits
had
been damaged?
Nay, he would
not think such. Not, at least, until he’d seen it for himself. So,
he’d somehow contrive to visit her in privy on the morrow to find
out for sure.
And, if her wits
are
gone?
Well, he’d
deal with that as it came.
And, what if she is cold as stone to
our daughter after being forced home?
Rolling onto his side, he
closed his eyes, turning his back on that dread thought, which
slipped between the cracks of his resolve sometimes, unbidden.

* * *

Vika, feeling full of vigor the next morn,
and refusing to owe it to the stirring dream she’d had the night
before of a familiar pale-haired warrior she refused to give name
to, hummed as she took the steps down to the great hall to break
her fast. As she swept through the entry, a word of greeting
trembling on her tongue, her gaze landed on the back of a blond
head, skidded with heart-palpitating panic down the well-formed
shoulders and back, then swung to Robert as he came toward her,
hand extended, saying, “Vika. Come. Meet our guest.”

She only had time to see a glimpse of the
all-too-well-known visage of her former lover before she whirled
and fled, without a word, out of the hall, up the stairs, and into
her chamber, swinging the bar down to lock out any who would
follow.

A scream burgeoned in her throat, so full
that it caused a piercing ache to keep it down. Pressing both hands
o’er her mouth, she paced in a frantic pattern about the chamber.
What to do...what to do...what to do...what to do…. Oh Lord,
Dear Lord, what am I to do?

A knock came on the door, and Vika stumbled
as she swung around, her eyes wide with dread as she stared,
unblinking, at the slatted wood.

“Are ye ill, m’lady? Th’ laird sen’ me oop
to ‘ave a look a’ ye.”

With some relief that she had not made the
true purpose of her flight known, she called out, “Aye, Wife
Deirdre,” and stepped to the door, lifting the bar, and opening it
for the old woman. “My head began to pain me and it caused a sudden
churning in my stomach. I feared I might purge, so I fled. ‘Twould
do me a great service if you would tell my cousins that I will rest
in my chamber this morn, and should be well again by the nooning
meal.”