by K. E. Saxon
* * *
An hour-and-a-half later, Robert nearly choked on his half-swallowed bite of meat, when first Vika, who sat on one side of the man, and then his wife, who sat on the other, both hurried to give Guy a drink from their cups after he’d burned his tongue on some portion or other of his meal. Vika had had a seemingly miraculous return of vigor at learning of Guy de Burgh’s arrival earlier; in fact, had all but prostrated herself and spread her legs for him right there in front of all, from the moment she’d entered the great hall for the evening meal, which—Robert gritted his teeth—Robert had been obliged to allow Guy to partake of when his clearly-smitten wife had proffered the invitation along with her welcome earlier.
After clearing his throat of the blockage with a long pull on his ale, and then clearing his throat loudly enough to gain the others’ brief glances, he dipped determinedly back into his trencher and turned his mind to the other matter: Roger de Burgh’s death.
His wife’s interruption earlier had curtailed all discussion in regard to the tidings and how ‘twould affect the bitter connection between the two families, and now Robert wondered if Guy de Burgh intended more than only a discontinuance of violence, if he intended, instead, an actual alliance between them.
Again, Robert lifted his gaze briefly to the ridiculous tableau playing out before him, but this time quelled the ire that immediately rose within him so that he might study the man and his behavior with more acuity, and without prejudice. His eyes narrowed. Aye, ‘twas clear by the easy smile, the relaxed posture, the amused look in Guy de Burgh’s eye, the complete lack of tension in any portion of his visage or frame, that the man was quite content—nay willing—nay, determined to thrust himself into the good graces of the lot of them. Especially the ladies.
* * *
Guy had had enough experience with jealous husbands, suitors, and competitors to know Robert was near at his limit, and ‘twas no doubt past time that he disengage from the attentions of the women and turn his own attention back to his host, especially as he’d not as yet accomplished what he’d come here to do. Which was to end the feud between the two families for good.
“I would beg to continue our earlier conversation in privy with you, Laird MacVie, after our meal, if you will?” he said, and was relieved when Robert gave him a silent nod, tho’ the man’s eyes watched him with much distrust in their depths as Robert lifted his ale to his lips.
Thankfully, the ladies took their leave not many moments later, and, after the remains of the meal were cleared, with the great hall once again void of all prying ears, Robert returned to the hearth area with Guy following.
Guy had, of course, been privy to chatter regarding Robert’s brusque constraint in words and in manner while they both were at court, and, as well, Isobail herself had told him very much the same of her young brother during their long-ago amour. Therefore, it did not come as too great a surprise to Guy when Robert did little more than rest his hands on the arms of his chair and give him a dark look without a word spoken to prompt Guy further to begin what e’er he was fixed to speak upon.
“My father took a bad fall from his steed two moons past, and tho’ it seemed in the beginning that he would recover his wits and his health, alas, he did not. Upon the dire mischance, I was, of course, sent for, but only arrived a fortnight ago from Pembroke, and found that I was too late to say my farewells. As I am his only heir, I have been released from my duties to Guillaume le Maréchal so that I may take up my duties as lord and baron of our lands here.” He paused, waited for Robert’s nod, then continued, “I will begin my journey to King William’s court on the morrow, where I will give him the tidings of my father’s death, and swear my allegiance to him as well, but before I do so, I want to end the war our fathers waged between our two families.”
* * *
Robert had every intention of ending the war waged between his father and Guy de Burgh’s, but first, he wanted answers. Narrowing his gaze, he leaned toward the man who’d so vilely used Robert’s gentle, beautiful sister. “I know—at least, I believe I know—why my father despised yours, but why, pray, did yours despise mine? There was naught my father did that any man would have done were his own daughter so viciously and openly spurned by her seducer.”
Guy gave him a surprised look. “You know not?”
Robert ground his teeth. If I knew, why would I ask, you pretty-faced pustule! “Nay,” he growled.
The chamber went very still, the only sound, a nervous clearing of the throat from his guest. Finally, when Robert was near to yanking the man up by the neck of his indigo tunic, he responded at last: “Your father…. My mother…. God’s teeth!” he exclaimed, scrubbing the back of his neck, then doing the same to his cheek. “I did not foresee the need to reveal to you this wretched tale.”
A sickening knot of dread formed in Robert’s gut. He needed naught further to be said—in fact, he desired that it not be with a savage vengeance. “Aye, we shall call an end to the strife, then.” He stood. “Come, I am sure you have much to do in preparation for your departure on the morrow. I will walk with you to the courtyard.”
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?” h
e 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.
