Song of the Highlands: The Cambels (The Medieval Highlanders) (45 page)

“Nay! Never!” She tried to twist from his
hold, a squeal of exertion exploding from her throat. When he only
laughed and squeezed her tighter—so tight, it cut off her wind—and
then clamped his wet, acrid mouth to hers, she bit down hard on his
lip until she tasted blood.

“Ow-w—You shrew!” He flung her from him and
she fell onto her side at the base of the grass-covered hillock,
scraping again the same cheek as the night before, making it sting
and, no doubt, bleed afresh. Thankfully, her skirts had not risen
enough to reveal the purloined weapon she’d strapped to her calf.
Tho’ her wrists were still bound behind her, she struggled to rise.
The effort nearly put her shoulder out of joint, but she finally
made it to a sitting position. She’d barely caught her breath
before he hauled her to her feet, wrenched her around and pushed
her, making her stumble but not fall, as she was forced to walk up
to her grave.

* * *

Robert tied his horse to a
tree a half-mile from the place he’d seen his quarry turn off the
path they’d been on for o’er an hour. ‘Twas not more than a
quarter-hour more before he saw in the growing darkness the licking
orange flame of a torch positioned on a knoll up ahead.
This must be the burial site.
He stealthily made his way closer, crouching as he moved
forward and doing all he could to seem part of the shadowed
land.

He’d pushed his mount hard to catch up to
the three, and had at last been successful some five hours past,
tho’ he’d remained far enough behind them that he would not be
detected, or suspected. ‘Twas during that time, he began to ponder
the best strategy for freeing his wife; killing the priest, who
Robert knew from past experience would have been the one
responsible for his wife’s chafed cheek; and capturing the
apprentice as proof against the uncle.

Several yards from the
base of the rise he spied the horses tethered to a tall standing
stone.
God be praised!
The men had made the first tactic in his plan easy. He went
down on his belly and crawled closer to the stone until the men’s
horses served to hide him from view. Using some of the rope he’d
brought with him, he hobbled the animals’ legs, intermittently
soothing and murmuring to each when it snorted or
balked.

Next, he moved in a hunched run around the
base of the hillock until he reached the side that was not visible
from the underground burial chamber, due to the position of the
slab o’er its opening. From his close proximity, he could now hear
the raised voice of the priest. He was telling his confederate to
unsaddle the horses for the night and take them down to the burn
that flowed a quarter-mile away to let them drink and feed on the
grass. In spite of all that was at stake, Robert grinned, mentally
rubbing his hands together in anticipation of the coming
battle.

Crouching down as low as he could go, he
prepared to pounce.

* * *

Morgana surreptitiously slid the blade from
its leather sheath as she watched the priest help the red-beard
awkwardly maneuver himself on all fours through the small opening
of the carn. It had been necessary to unbind her wrists in order to
get her inside, and the false priest had yet to rebind them. ‘Twas
clear this was the best, and only, chance she’d have of escape, and
she intended to take it—with zeal. Even if it meant committing a
mortal sin, even if it went against all her teachings at the
convent, and even if she was not successful and she was killed in
spite of her endeavor not to be.

For this man, this false priest, had led the
brigade of bandits who’d attacked her family and had later defiled
her mother multiple times, and in front of a bairn of a mere five
summers. And now, he intended to defile her as well, before ending
her life and leaving her remains to rot in this forgotten tomb of
the ancients.

* * *

The apprentice heaved himself into a
standing position with a grunt, then worked a knot out of his neck
with his fingers, grumbling under his breath the entire time.
Robert fisted the grass under his hands to keep from rushing the
man there and then, but he knew his best chance at a clean capture
would be once his quarry was by the restless animals. So, Robert
held his breath and waited until the man was halfway to the tree
where they’d tethered their beasts before he began a silent
crab-walk around the slope toward his prey. When the apprentice was
but two paces from the animals, Robert sprang forward, flung the
noose around the man’s neck, and yanked him to the ground. As
Robert had planned, the rope cut off the man's wind, and his quarry
made no more than a puling, strangled sound.

Robert fell upon him with a right to his
jaw, sending the man into a swoon, to keep him still long enough to
bind his hands, so that he could loose the noose to allow him
breath again. Tho’ he’d like naught more than to slice his gullet
clear through, he’d not forgot that the villainous vermin was worth
more to him alive than dead, so he suppressed the urge and forced
his focus back on the task at hand.

* * *

“Your mother learned quick enough,” the
false priest said, sliding the rope through his hand and walking on
his knees toward her, “ ‘twas best to obey me than to defy me.”

Morgana gripped the hilt
of the blade, hidden in the folds of her gown, in her clammy fist,
ready to strike. Her heart raced so, she feared it might seize. In
the quiet of the cold, dim tomb, she could hear the
whish
of her ragged
breath as she sucked in, then blew out again.

“Aye, she learned that lesson early on.” He
paused in his motion, dropping his gaze to the rope and continuing
in a musing voice, “ ‘Twas a shame, what happened.” He blinked, as
if coming out of a dream and focused on Morgana once more. “But,
alas, it could not be helped.”

Morgana sat forward. Somehow, she found the
courage to ask, “What mean you? Did you ki— is my mother dead?”

The false priest’s visage tightened, grew
stern. He sat back on his heels, resting his hands and the rope on
his thighs. “The foolish whore tried to fight me, and caught her
gown on fire. She was burned, scarred.” He let out a hallow laugh.
“I thought surely ‘twould douse the flame of my desire for her, but
I found it only kindled it higher.”

But does she live?!
Morgana wanted to scream the words, and would
have, except the man took up his knee-walk toward her once more and
she swallowed them back.
Go directly into
the groin or neck
. The heart or lungs
would be good, too, but if she missed or hit bone, it might not lay
him low long enough for her to make her escape. She sent a grateful
thanks to the bloodthirsty ladies she’d met at court who had avidly
watched the men on the tourney field and eagerly spoken of all the
quick-kill maneuvers a knight might employ in a real battle to the
death.

“If I enjoy you as well as I did your
mother, I might just keep you.” The false priest reached out and
gripped her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “You’d prefer
that, would you not, to burial alive? Give me your wrists.”

Strike!
Morgana straightened, tense, but kept her gaze
locked on that of her captor’s.
Strike!
Her heart raced. Her frame
shook.
Strike!
Fanning her fingers, she clenched tight the hilt once
more.
Strike
now
!
She
lunged forward and swung the blade.

“Wha—?” The false priest grabbed hold of her
wrist and twisted until her numb hand let loose the weapon and it
fell to the earthen floor.

God in heaven!
She’d missed.

“I’ll beat you raw for this!” he said,
clamping his hand o’er the bleeding wound in his shoulder.

“I think not,” came an all-too-welcome and
familiar male voice as she watched him leap to the ground behind
the false priest. In the same movement, he kicked out, hitting her
captor from behind and propelling him face-first into the wall next
to her.

The false priest whirled around and,
bellowing, plowed into her husband’s middle with his shoulder, but
thankfully Robert’s larger girth kept him firmly on his feet.

“Hurry! Flee!
Now
!” Robert said to her
as he yanked the priest’s head back by the hair then punched him in
the jaw, sending him sprawling onto his arse.

Morgana rushed to obey. As she skirted the
two men to gain the exit, the false priest struggled to his feet,
swayed a moment, then barreled forward with the same crude blade in
his hand Morgana had used on him moments before, aimed right at
Robert’s face.

“Robert!” she cried out in warning, frozen
in place behind her husband.

Robert grabbed the man’s wrist in an iron
fist to deflect the blow, then pressed the blade, still in the
false priest’s hand, against the man’s throat.

Just then, a calloused, beefy palm snaked
from behind Morgana and clamped o’er her mouth and nose, impeding
her ability to breathe. She clawed and stomped, tried to fight, but
could not break the man’s grip.

“You make this too easy,” Robert said to the
false priest through gritted teeth.

“Aye, you do,” the red-beard said, tossing
her away from him onto the cold, stone floor.

The false priest grinned.

“Blood of Christ!” Robert
gritted out, swinging his head around just as a
thud!
rent the air.

Morgana watched in terror, Robert’s head
loll, his eyes roll back, and his frame crumple to the floor of the
carn.

“What took you so long?” the false priest
said, tucking the dirk in his belt and sliding her husband’s sword
from its sheath, then kicking it so that it landed at the
red-beard’s feet. While he listened to his confederate’s reply, he
lifted the rope he’d dropped earlier and restrained Robert with it,
binding his arms against his chest, and his ankles together.

“He ambushed me and tied me up outside, but
he didn’t know of my ability to slip from such bonds by moving my
bones from their sockets.” The red-beard let the stone clatter to
the floor, then lifted the rope tied ‘round his neck and let it
slither through his palm as he hissed, “ ‘Tis clear we’ve been
found out, so I say let’s kill them here and now, barricade the
entry, and get to that ship that holds our copper and then on to
our own holdings without further delay.”

The false priest’s eyes narrowed on her.
“Nay, I’ve got a bit of unfinished business with the mute.” He
reached out his hand to the red-beard. “Hand me that...and give me
an hour, then, aye, we'll make haste from this hole.”

Morgana's heart
sped.
Oh-God-Oh-God.

The red-beard growled. “Nay! We must leave
forthwith!”

“Aye, and we will. In an hour. The
rope.”

The red-beard grudgingly handed it over, but
protested, “We know not how close behind are his men, for 'tis sure
there will be more.”

“I believe he is but one, and that is why
we've seen no others yet.”

“He'd not have undertaken this on his
own.”

“An hour more, or I take the mute with
me.”

“Are you mad? Do you want to hang?”

As the two men continued
to argue, Morgana’s gaze tripped from her captors to her husband. A
trickle of blood ran o’er his forehead, across the bridge of his
nose, and dripped into the dark red puddle that had formed near his
cheek. She waited with breath held and eyes keen until she at last
saw a slight rise and fall in his back and shoulders.
He lives!
Praise
be.

Now. How to save them
both. She took a look around. From playing here as a bairn, she
knew that there were two other chambers off this one, but none held
another opening to the outside. So, her only option was to somehow
o’erpower her captors and gain the exit. But how?
How?

In the next moment, the false priest yanked
her up with a vicious grip ‘round the tender flesh of her upper
arm, whirled, kicked Robert in the side, and said, “Wake up!”, then
told his confederate to gather their belongings and wait for him by
the horses.

* * *

Robert battled his initial instinct to pound
his fist into the priest’s face until all that remained was an
oozing mass of blood, flesh and broken bone, for daring to touch
Morgana in such a manner. Instead, he listened to the other that
told him to continue the ruse, which he’d begun moments before when
he’d first awakened, that he slumbered still, in hopes that his
captors would become careless, and he would then be able to
implement the remainder of his original plan.

He’d been trying to find a way to divide the
two so that he could vanquish them one at a time, when the priest
had told the apprentice to leave him with Morgana for an hour. Tho’
Robert had nearly come out of his skin, so great had been his
thirst to pulverize the lascivious priest, the realization that,
yet again, the two men were making this venture easy for him, as
well as the fact that the priest would ne’er have a chance to
implement his lechery, had served to temper the need.

From behind his lashes, Robert watched the
apprentice, clearly annoyed, but submitting to the priest’s wishes,
grumble under his breath and reach for his leather satchel, then
trudge toward the false priest’s to do the same with his. He left
Robert’s sword where it lay on the ground, either from
dull-wittedness or rebellion, Robert knew not which. ‘Twas a tight
squeeze, just as it had been for Robert, but the apprentice at last
managed to wiggle and worm his way back through the opening of the
carn.